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peachywrite · 3 years

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Before I Let You Go

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader & Protective Brother!Josuke

Trigger Warning: violence, inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Josuke doesn't understand why his sister has been spending even more time with Morioh's Famous Mangaka.

Josuke sat himself down beside Koichi, the pair of friends awaiting the next delicious plate of specialty pasta Tonio was whipping up for them.

“You know, your sister has been hanging around Rohan quite a bit recently.” Koichi’s concern was evident in his tone of voice and the way he avoided eye contact with Josuke.

“What are you talking about? She just likes his art, is all. She’s always been into drawing and stuff since she was little.” Josuke tried to brush Koichi’s worries away, but he too was a bit suspicious of their sudden closeness.

Tonio returned with two heaping plates of authentic Italian pasta, smiling down as he placed each on the table. He gave a small bow and returned to the kitchen. Koichi poked at the new food with his fork, spinning it around as he began to speak.

“I mean, they’ve been hanging out with each other for a while now, but just recently it feels like something’s changed.” The two paused for a quick bite of their dishes and thought quietly to themselves, both suddenly coming to the same conclusion.

“Hey, Josuke. You don’t think your sister would ever date Rohan, right? What am I thinking, that’s a stupid question. It would never happen.” The shorter boy scratched his cheek nervously, staring down at his plate.

“I-I don’t know. She’s never had a boyfriend before. Rohan’s also too proud to date anyone, so we shouldn’t worry our heads over this, Koichi.” Josuke smiled at him, patting the gray-haired boy on the back to reassure him.

“I don’t know, it’s just… The other day, when I went over to return some photos to Rohan, I saw the two of them through the window. I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but it kinda looked like he was holding her hand? And placing a kiss on it? I don’t know though, the window was so high up, so I probably didn’t see anything.” Koichi’s voice wavered, the overwhelming silence from his friend concerning him.

He didn’t have the heart to look Josuke in the eyes at the moment, too afraid he may have let the young man down by not sharing this memory sooner. The dread in his heart outweighed his fears quickly, and Koichi looked up to see a Josuke imbued in the darkest aura imaginable. It reminded him of those terribly frightening spirits in the alley that tried to steal him that one day.

“Uh-Josuke? Is everything a-alright? I know I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to be a hundred percent sure about it before you could go off and beat up Rohan again.” Josuke silently nodded, pulling out his wallet and dropping enough to pay for both meals on the table as he scooted his chair in and began to leave.

“Josuke! We aren’t sure if they even are dating yet!” Koichi shouted.

Josuke turned around, a chilling smile spread across his face as he waved.

“No worries, Koichi. I’m off to find out. Sorry about leaving you, I’ll call Okuyasu to take my place while I’m out. I’ll see you later and tell you what I found out.”

All Koichi could do was stutter in surprise at Josuke’s changed demeanor.

Was he putting on a show to calm his nerves? Or was he actually thinking about how it would affect his sister if Rohan was dating her?

The boy returned to his meal, lost in thought, until a tired Okuyasu joined him at the table.

Josuke’s heart was conflicted. If y/n was really dating Rohan, that would mean she was probably in love with the mangaka. He knew his sister wore her emotions on her sleeve and would never fake a romance, but was that true for Rohan? Could he have used Heaven’s Door to make her love him?

He didn’t trust Rohan after what happened with the others, but he did save his life when they fought against Highway Star.

This is what conflicted him. Rohan had a good soul, but was he doing this because he truly loved y/n, or was this another trick to get back at him for the lost dice game or the partial burning of his mansion? Rohan was the kind of person to hold grudges for as long as he saw fit, so this frightened Josuke.

“You can tease and mess with me all you want, but as soon as you bring my sister into this, you’ve crossed the line.” He muttered under his breath, jogging to the café he knew the artist would probably be sitting at.

As he finally spotted the mangaka, enjoying a sip of tea between his quick sketches, he rushed past the hostess and right up to the table. Rohan was caught off guard, a bit frightened and prepared to use his stand until he saw the steak shaped head of hair.

“Josuke? You idiot, I almost attacked you. Why are you rushing me like an enemy?” He blew out his held breath and took another sip of tea.

Josuke pulled up a seat across from the artist, his hands neatly folded in front of him, eyes staring down as he tried to formulate the proper words without working himself up.

“Rohan, I heard from someone that you may be dating my sister. I just want to know if the rumor is true.” Rohan nearly spit out his cup of tea, the shock of the question taking him completely off guard.

After composing himself, the Great Rohan Kishibe began to sweat as he tried to decide whether he should divulge the truth. Y/n would want him to be honest, but he feared the beating Josuke would surely give him if he found out the two of you were dating.

“Your hesitation to answer is making me nervous, Rohan. You better speak up soon, or I’m gonna lose my patience.” The young delinquent spoke through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Yes, we are. We have been for at least a week now. I love her. It’s simple. Why are you asking me? You could have easily just gotten the same information from her.” Rohan took another sip of tea, hiding his face behind the cup as he tried to figure out how the young man would react.

Josuke’s hands reached out from across the table, grabbing Rohan by the collar and dragging him off to the side, so he could pull him in closer. The smashing of glass on the quiet block alerted the hostesses as they worriedly watched.

“Rohan-sensei! Do you need us to call the police?!” Shouted one of the waitresses, who had reached for her cellphone behind the counter.

“No, everything's alright. I can handle this.” Rohan waved her off, Josuke still dangling the man in the air.

“You better not be doing this to get back at me. I can take the teasing and the jabs at my intelligence, but I won’t let you make a mockery of my sister and her feelings.” Josuke lowered the man down, taking a breath to relax himself, then began to drag the manga artist off the café patio.

“Hey! Release me, you brute! Where are you taking me?!” Rohan struggled in his hold, trying to call Heaven’s Door out to control Josuke.

“We’re going to see y/n.” Rohan stopped fighting and instead calmly placed his hand on Josuke’s shoulder.

The boy stopped, turning around to meet Rohan’s stern face.

“I’ll go with you, just stop manhandling me.” Josuke stared into him, debating with himself, then let the manga artist go.

Rohan stumbled back to his feet, dusting himself off as he grumbled under his breath about how rude Josuke was being to him.

The two walked side by side towards the Higashikata residence. When they were nearly a block away, Josuke spotted you being dropped off by Jotaro. You waved goodbye to the older man, but turned around to face them after.

“Good grief.” Jotaro rolled his eyes with a sigh, leaning against the car as you spotted your brother and your boyfriend angrily walking toward you.

“What do you think is up with them?” You asked, curious as to why both seemed to be in foul moods.

“Looks like your brother found out who your boyfriend is. I’m only staying because I don’t want an unnecessary stand fight.” The marine biologist pouted to himself, annoyed.

You looked back at the pair, shaking your head in annoyance as well.

“I should have just told him from the start. I knew Rohan couldn’t keep quiet about this.” You motioned to the two of them to speed up, so you could talk.

As they reached you, Josuke grabbed onto Rohan again, dragging him by his collar with one hand.

“Why must you fling me around like a rag doll!? I already agreed to come with you!” Rohan shouted, squirming in Josuke’s death grip.

“Use Heaven’s Door on her.” Josuke mumbled to the mangaka.

All he could do was shake his head in response, his eyes wide at the order given to him by the delinquent. Suddenly, a second hand came up to grip the other side of Rohan’s collar, both now shaking him violently.

“I said use Heaven’s Door! I want to be sure you aren’t messing with her!” The tears that welled up in Josuke’s eyes shocked you.

You’d seen Josuke cry before, but these tears were different. He looked scared.

“Josuke, stop it! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You placed a hand on Josuke’s back, your touch pausing his tirade and causing him to drop his hold on the artist. Helping him up, you touch Rohan’s cheek and nod to him.

“Rohan, I give you permission to use Heaven’s Door on me right now.” He shook his head again, adamant about his refusal.

“I won’t use it on you. Not for that bastard or for you. It’s not right.” You could tell how upset this was making Rohan. He turned his head away from you, not allowing you to meet his gaze.

“Rohan, please. He’s just scared. Just this once. I’ll never ask for you to do this again.” He finally meets your eyes and sighs.

His hands carefully touch your cheek as he whispers Heaven’s Door. The pages on your face open up and prevent you from moving, but you happily look up at the man, reassuring him that you felt safe and accepted this. Josuke came from behind the artist, flipping through all your pages quickly, searching for any scribblings Rohan could have made.

A few minutes pass and Josuke is finally content with his search. He closes the book on your face and your movement returns to you.

“See. Everything was fine. I really do like him. A lot, actually.” You pinch Josuke’s cheek.

Josuke pulls you into a tight hug as you feel his stress melt away. The mangaka crosses his arms, an angry pout on his face. All you can do is sigh and return the hug.

“I just wanted to be sure. If you were to get hurt because of me, I don’t know how I’d live with that.” He squeezes you tighter, your breath leaving your body quickly from his sheer strength.

“Josuke, it’s fine! Trust me! Now let go, you're crushing me.” You squirm, but your brother refuses to budge.

“I don’t think I will. If I let go, you’re gonna go give Rohan a hug, and I don’t want to see that.” The boy then lifts you with little effort and attempts to run, but his plan is foiled when your stand manifests and wraps around his legs, keeping him from moving.

“I see how it is, y/n. Fine, go be with your boyfriend, but no lovey-dovey stuff.” Your vines unwrap his legs as he sets you down.

You give your brother one last hug and a smile, running into Rohan’s arms. He still looks upset, but when you nuzzle into his chest, his anger melts away.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. It had to happen, though, so don’t be too mad at me. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” You look up at him, still in his arms, he leaves a quick peck on your cheek followed by a hefty sigh.

“You’re lucky I’m such a forgiving man.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba #platonic josuke

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gabrielleragusi · 4 years

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Tips to freelance illustrators to avoid being screwed over

Hello! I’m Gabrielle Ragusi. I’ve been a freelance illustrator for years now and, as many other freelancers, I had to deal with difficult situations in the past - recent past. These situations come with the job (for everyone), but they can be easily avoided... if only I had known this sooner!

This post doesn’t paint a pretty picture of the one client, but know that I refer to a very small percentage of people (the clients I work with are actually great).

Yet, the one client exists and these tips might help you face them.

When The One Client tries to screw you over.

From time to time, clients will try to have their way with unforeseeable requests and demands at work started and, quite often, at work done.

Solution: State your terms.

Before starting a project, even a sketch, I strongly suggest sending a contract or a simple Terms of Agreement document in which you state everything: commission process, revisions, payment method, ownership... This way they won't be able to make up some half-ass excuse for their demands.

Also, you don't have to be overly generous. If the client asks for extra revisions, ask for extra payment. The extra money will cover the extra time you spent on the project, so don’t feel guilty about it.

When The One Client sells bad ideas or asks for the wrong revisions.

Clients may know what they want, but they also might try to sell ideas that you know won't work or ask for revisions that won't make the project look any better. They won’t consciously bamboozle you, but the project has your name on it and judgement will come with the audience feedback.

Solution: You're the artist in this project, so speak your mind. Giving your clients alternatives and your opinion helps the client know that you care about the project and that you know your stuff. You want the best for your client.

When The One Client wants you to work on spec.

Solution: Don't.

On-spec work is a bad idea. If clients contact me, I take for granted they've seen my portfolio and know what I do, but if you're just starting as a professional, my suggestion is to ask for a minimum upfront payment.

The power to say yes doesn't always apply.

This isn’t about The One Client but about our own ‘Yes’, when inside we’re screaming ‘Hell no’, screwing us over.

Yes is not always good. When in doubt, think about your lack of time, disinterest in the project and all those things that lead to bad results!

If you don't have time to work on a new commission, say no. If the project isn't your cup of tea, say no.

Also, not all clients are jerks, so if you explain you don't have time to work on another project right now but they like your portfolio, it's possible that they will contact you again in the future or ask for your time schedule.

(Don't) Assume that clients know your art style.

This one is tricky and has a lot to do with the first stage of commissions and my personal experience. When clients contact me for the first time, most have seen my portfolio and know what I do. They contact me because of what I do and how I do it. When these clients say "I love your work", I naturally assume they've seen my portfolio.

But when there are no signals that the person contacting me has seen my work, I can't assume. This happened just a few weeks ago with a client who asked for my availability to illustrate a book after seeing an illustration of mine (the book was about faeries, my illustration had faeries). Problem is I assumed they knew my work, but they didn't. What happened is that they asked me to work on spec, I said no and gave them a minimum quote for an initial sketch instead. Feedback received, I finally understood they hadn't in fact seen my portfolio, although I’m not sure where they found my email address.

I don’t have a real solution to this kind of situation other than not assuming things. I guess it’s a matter of dealing with The One Client once again.

Payment fees are covered by the client, always.

If you receive payments through PayPal and similar services, I’m sure you know about the fees.

Unfortunately, I found the solution to this only a couple of years ago - looking back at all the money PayPal took from me in fees, I want to cry (living in Europe and working with clients based anywhere in the world, these fees vary, from 2,9% to 4,5% + small transfer fees).

Now I send all invoices myself (I don't let clients send money my way on their own) and I add a tax that covers PayPal or Stripe’s fees to the project’s quote: this is not money that ends up in my pocket, it's money that PayPal takes, mind you.

My final advice is: be professional.

The One Client will try your patience, but don’t lose your composure. Even in disagreement, be professional, offer your thoughts and compromise if necessary. If the project is successful, The One Client will be happy. You want your clients to be happy.

I hope you’ll find this post helpful!

Peace out,

Gabrielle

Follow me on Instagram - ArtStation - YouTube

#Tips to freelance illustrators to avoid being screwed over #tips #Illustrator #Artists on tumblr #Artist #Freelancer

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

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If you're taking prompts, maybe for feysand - Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see person B smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

<33

Oh my darling anon, I am always eager for prompts! Thank-you for sending this in! I altered just a few minor things, ie trains and not not busses and the diologue is just worded diff... and then over indulged in my own whims and fancies, just a touch.

2.7K words of fluff and awkwardness...all i know is awkwardness so ya know...

Strangers and Favors

Exhausted. Tired. Sleepy. There were far too many ways to describe what Feyre was feeling. Not even the coffee in her hands was doing anything to give her the boost she needed.

Amid the chill of morning and the slowly growing light of dawn, Feyre found herself hurrying from her car in the park-and-ride lot. She practically flung herself up the small steps that led to the train platform and into the first train car she was near.

She’d been running late that morning and nearly missed her alarm. Alis had been a dear and poured her coffee in a thermos, but Feyre hated the feeling of being rushed. Especially after a poor night's sleep. And when it was five thirty in the morning.

Feyre slipped into a seat before she could finally tell herself to breathe. She’d made it onto her train with only a few minutes to spare. Thankfully there were other straggling passengers filtered into the train car and made their way to their various seats.

Feyre took a long sip of her coffee and tried to convince herself that she wasn’t really tired. Even though it was far too early to be awake and she had an hour and a half train ride to sit through.

Dawn had barely begun to rise over the horizon with not even the promise of pink and blue streaks through the sky. She sighed and drew out her sketch pad.

She was barely into starting the picture--of what she had no idea--when the train started moving and a form fell into the seat across from her.

Feyre blinked and glanced up.

There were plenty of other open seats lining the train. Granted the place she’d found herself was the only one with a small table set up, but still.

Sitting across from her was a man far too attractive for his own good. He wore a black suit with a deep navy-blue button up beneath. No tie, only the top few buttons of his shirt undone giving a peak at a series of tattoos on his chest. His black hair was styled in a neat wave revealing a chiseled jaw and glorious eyes.

Feyre tore her gaze away before she could be accused of staring. But honestly, who could blame her?

Over the course of the train ride, Feyre finished her coffee and scribbled out at least four pages worth of drawings. Unfortunately, inspiration didn’t strike. Not that it was surprising. She’d not drawn anything new in months. Oh, she’d tried. She could sit for hours on this train, on her balcony, or out in the middle of the forest with a pencil in one hand and paper in the other--and nothing. Nothing would come.

Alis always told her that she couldn’t force herself to draw. She couldn’t force herself to be inspired if she didn’t make the conscious choice. But Alis didn’t understand that sometimes, it was too damned hard.

The train ride passed without excitement. Not even the man across from her did anything interesting. Figured. He was so attractive his life had to be mundane. At least, that was what Feyre told herself while she was not covertly looking at him

She was glad to get off the train when it reached the city. After making sure she had her things, she slipped out and onto the platform without trouble.

Chaos was not something she enjoyed.

Especially not lately. As long as everything was in its place of simplicity, life could continue on as normal.

Honestly, if Feyre could have chosen a simple life involving nothing more than eating donuts she would have chosen it. Because living in a state of missed calls and impatient clients and looming deadlines was far from her state of happiness.

With a bag of donuts from Rita’s bakery in one hand, Feyre collapsed in her seat at the end of the day. She’d managed to leave work five minutes early giving her enough time to swing into Rita’s and grab a few treats. And she would not apologize for it.

“Long day?”

Feyre glanced up to see the man from that morning taking a seat across from her. He had an amused sort of expression on his face which made it even harder to look away. Feyre snatched a frosted chocolate donut from her bag and glared at him.

“No.” She took a giant bite leaving sugar to lace around her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned and shook his head.

Feyre was able to finish her donut in peace and managed not to stare at the man the rest of the train ride home.

Life continued. And much to Feyre’s dismay, nothing changed.

Her sketch book remained empty. Her coffee remained dull. Work did not improve.

Something needed to change. But honestly, she couldn’t figure out what it was. She’d left her ex months ago. She’d gotten a new wardrobe, a new phone, moved in with her friend. She’d started getting out more too. Somewhat. When Nesta called, which wasn’t often but at least her sister was trying.

It was five-thirty in the morning and she was seated on the train, again. And the man who seemed to only own clothing that was black was seated across from her, again. Since that first day of seeing him, he hadn’t tried talking to her again, which Feyre was semi grateful for. She was certain she would just make herself look like a bigger idiot than before.

Had she really stuffed her face with that giant donut?

Not that she cared. She could do whatever she wanted.

Except draw.

Feyre stared out the window of the train. It was slowly starting to get lighter sooner and Feyre now had more scenery to watch instead of the reality of the empty sketchpad.

Inevitably, however, Feyre found her attention drawn to the man across from her.

There was something about him. Feyre couldn’t place it, exactly, perhaps an energy of some kind. Or it was his confidence. Arrogance. Something. She found him mesmerizing. How stupid was that? A man she had said one word to and ignored for an entire month and she could help but watch him.

He did a cross word every morning. Texting someone throughout--or else cheating and looking up the answers. Other times she caught him reading a book about astrology or NASA’s recent magazine release. She wanted to ask him about the astrology, it was such a fascinating topic, one that she liked learning about. But she never knew how to strike up a conversation, so she remained silent.

She’d always been good at staying silent. At least that was what she’d been told.

The thought came so suddenly that Feyre had to physically shake herself to make it disappear. She sat up in her seat, hands clenching in her lap.

She snapped her attention away from the train window and forcibly removed her sketchpad from her bag. In a fury, Feyre moved her pencil across the page. It wasn’t the bed utensil to use, but it was better than bringing her entire art supply on the commute to work. The pencil would suffice.

It wasn’t as though she liked being quiet. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have anything to say. Sometimes it was just easier. Sometimes it was just better. Sometimes the silence was how she communicated. Sometimes people just didn’t understand that.

The scene came alive beneath her fingers.

Mountains and stars. Storms and shadows. All convalescing on a shape. A person. A…

Feyre frowned at the scene. Someone was kneeling on a throne of night and she couldn’t see their face.

“Do you always glare at your art like that?” The midnight voice broke Feyre out of her revere.

Glance up, Feyre locked gazes with the violet eyes of the man across from her. The crossword in his lap was complete. Feyre realized for the first time that he was younger than she’d originally thought. Maybe about five years older than she was. And even though he oozed arrogance, there was almost a genuine sort of smile dancing across his lips.

“Only when it’s being difficult,” Feyre answered. She offered a brief shrug and gestured to the crossword on his lap. “Do you always cheat at the crossword?”

He made an affronted sort of gasp. “I don’t cheat.”

“You’re always on your phone when you scribble answers in,” Feyre pointed out. She smirked, unable to help it.

“I’m texting with a friend,” he said, “she’s always trying to finish the damned thing before me in the mornings. All I do is offer a bit of...encouragement.”

“Right,” Feyre said doubtfully. She shook her head, still smiling.

The man watched her, almost confused, before he leaned forward. “And the art? It’s the first time in over a month I’ve seen you actually draw something.”

“I was searching for the right inspiration,” she said. And then as she found herself nearly drowning in the heat of his gaze--Feyre had what she’d been hunting for. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find.”

The train pulled to a stop where they usually got off. Feyre collected her things and half expected the man to be right at her side when his phone went off.

He muttered something under his breath before answering it.

Feyre almost had half a mind to wait for him. To linger on the platform and dredge up some excuse so that she could talk to him. If only for a moment longer. She still hadn’t asked him about the astrology book.

Instead she was swept up in the crowd of commuters.

For the next two weeks, Feyre was out of her mind with anxiety.

There really was no other way to describe it. Because every morning and every evening when she would board the train there would be no sign of her mysterious companion. Not even the sight of him running to try and catch a ride before the train completely left the station. Not even a hint of him getting on a different compartment one day by accident. Nothing.

So, naturally, her mind told her that it had something she’d done. Something she’d said. Hell. She hadn’t even done anything that stupid. Aside from stuffing a whole ass donut in her mouth.

She was an idiot.

Eventually she was able to push thoughts of her mysterious companion aside. Not only was she drawing again, but her workload had increased. And now she was getting up earlier and staying later and her schedule was entirely too chaotic.

She really missed the simpler days of dashing into Rita’s or relaxing on the train bench not staring at the man across from her.

After two weeks of commuting alone and another two weeks of being run ragged at work, Feyre finally found herself being able to return to a normal timeline. Somewhat. At least she was going to be able catch her usual train home and get home before ten o’clock.

Feyre fell into her seat and leaned up against the window of the train. She didn’t mean to fall asleep. Not really. But as soon as she was seated and relaxed her eyes drifted shut and she was gone.

The next thing Feyre knew there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop,” said an all too familiar voice.

Feyre’s eyes snapped open and she nearly flung out a fist to the shape in front of her.

“I take it you slept well?” Her mysterious companion snatched out a hand and caught hers before it made contact. He gave her a cheeky grin. “You didn’t even twitch between all the other stops.”

Feyre blinked up at him. Sleep still addled her brain and he was making no sense whatsoever.

“What?” she finally managed to spit out.

“Your stop?” he said, jutting a thumb to the train doors.

Feyre cursed, loudly, and jumped up. “I barely even closed my eyes,” she grumbled.

“Here, let me,” her companion grabbed her bag for her and helped her off the train before it took them all the way south to Hybern.

“Thanks,” Feyre said as they stepped out onto the platform. She accepted her bag from him and gave him a smile. “It’s been a long couple of weeks I guess.”

In the still fading evening light, Feyre was able to see his easy smile and the way his eyes crinkled softly. His black hair was tousled easily as if he’d been running his hands through it recently.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, “in fact I was surprised to even see you. It’d been a few weeks.”

Feyre blinked. He’d noticed she wasn’t on at her usual time?

“You were gone for a while too,” she said without thinking. You idiot.

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise, but not for long. A gleam flashed in his eyes.

“You noticed, did you?”

“You noticed me,” she shot back quickly.

They stood in silence as the train moved on with a loud whistle and the last few men and women passed them by hurrying to catch their connecting busses or get to their cars.

His smile stretched into a full grin. “I’m Rhysand.”

“Feyre,” she said, returning the smile. She then noticed the small paper bag he held in one hand. Immediately, Feyre recognized the logo on the outside. “Rita’s? That’s my favorite place to stop at after work.”

“Yeah, uh,” Rhysand said as he ran a hand through his hair, “I noticed and decided to give it a try.”

“And?” Feyre pressed.

“I have you to blame for my new addiction,” he said.

Feyre laughed, shaking her head. “I take full responsibility, though I will not apologize.”

Rhysand paused only for a moment before he glanced at her and an almost sheepish smile crossed his features. “Have you been to Dreamer’s? It’s a late-night coffee shop on Main.”

“I haven’t, but I’ve been meaning to,” Feyre admitted.

“My treat,” he said almost immediately. “I mean, if you want. You can tell me about what helped you find the inspiration to start drawing again.”

Feyre blinked at him remembering that train ride over a month ago now where she’d finally been able to draw more than a few measly lines. And she realized now as she watched a halo of light glimmer from the setting sun around his head that all this time she’d been trying to draw him in the outline of mountains and stars.

“Deal,” Feyre said. “But you should know, I don’t give up my secrets lightly.”

Rhysand quirked a brow. “Noted.”

They spent hours sharing secrets. The small kinds, the simple kinds.

Feyre learned that Rhysand’s brother had broken his leg playing football and needed surgery which was why he’d disappeared for a few weeks. She learned that it was his mother who taught him about astrology before she died not that long ago. And now he spent most of his time trying to avoid his father.

She’d told him about her love of painting, of art, of creating. Anything that made her feel alive. She’d told him about walking out on her old life and how here she was six months later and still desperate for change.

They were both trying, it turned out, to become something different.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--after sunset when the inky black sky gave way to the millions of stars overhead--that Feyre found herself home. Rhysand, of course, made sure she’d arrived safe and she’d rewarded him with a brush of her lips to his cheek and a small smile over her shoulder.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--amid the cool mid-spring air that promised a new dawn--that Feyre would pull out her sketch pad. She would draw sharp lines and angular features and a man kneeling amid the night. She would draw power and beauty in something, someone, she didn’t know perfectly. But one day. One day, maybe she would.

thanks for reading my dears! i am always eager and open from prompts so thanks for sendin gthem! I really do enjoy them!

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let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed. it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tottenhamboys20 @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @emikadreams

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand au #modern au #fanfiction #sjm #acotar #acomaf #just me writing #writing is better than self misery #thanks anon!#anon #anon answered

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years

Note

Yo can i get some hurt/comfort historical lams please

You want more angst? I gotcha! This is going to be based off of when Laurens found out about Hamilton's marriage to Eliza. I used Nora from Duty and Inclination because she's the only person/name I could think of-

***

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens sits at the dining room table in his father's house in Philadelphia. The house empty only but him in the room, the candle light flickering on the table as Laurens narrows his eyes on it. He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table as he ponders about something. His expression, anyway, dark and exhausted, seems to be pondering on something.

Laurens frowns with his lips pinched together as he leans forward against the table so his chest is pressed agaisnt the table with his arms folded on top. He stares down at the piece of parchment before him, blank. His quill and and inkpot beside him. He thinks about writing a letter to his Hamilton, updating him on his health and safety during his time on parole as prisoner of war. It's been almost a year since he last laid eyes upon his beautiful Hamilton and to be quite honest, Laurens has almost forgotten what he looked like. Which is what his portfolio is for.

Laurens reaches for his portfolio nearby and flips it open. He sighs through his nose as he pulls out a rough sketch of Hamilton, of when he was his and his only. In the sketch, Hamilton beams back up at him, his eyes closed and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his nose scrunching up. Mouth opened. He appears to be laughing at something, probably a joke Meade had said or a sarcastic comment from Harrison.

Laurens smiles as he stares down at the sketch, laughing himself a little as he traces over Hamilton with his thumb, resting one hand on his cheek while the other grips the paper. He swallows the lump down his throat as his eyes begin to water. In all truth and honesty, Laurens misses his Hamilton. He misses him more than anything. He misses that bright red hair of his, those strange violet eyes. He missed how Hamilton would talk in his sleep, curled up beside him and face buried in Laurens's chest. He missed how he would used to count Hamilton's freckles as he slept peacefully. In all, he missed Hamilton's beauty. He missed those soft, pink lips most of all.

Laurens sighs as he sets the drawing back down, face up. Laurens returns his attention back to the paper and grabs his quill. He begins to write.

A half hour has passed since Laurens began his letter to Hamilton. His father’s...employ in better terms...Nora enters the dining room hesitantly, watching Laurens draft his letter. Nora bites her lip as she glances at Laurens’s back facing her before back at the letter clutched at her hands and then back at Laurens.

“Mr. Laurens, sir?” Nora asks sheepishly.

“Yes?” Laurens says polietly as he turns around to face her.

“There’s a letter from a...from Mr. Alexander Hamilton for you?” she says, quickly handing it to him.

Laurens frowns slightly at the hesitancy of Nora’s voice but takes it nonetheless, carefully ripping it open. He braces himself for whatever news may come as he unfolds the letter and reads it.

His eyes scan the words until he stops on the words in his Hamilton’s handwriting: I give up my liberty.

He freezes, shaking his head as he rereads the words. His Alexander’s own words.

I give up my liberty...

Give up your liberty? Lauerns thinks. What--

I give up my liberty to Miss Schuyler. She is a good-hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant. Though, not a genius, she has a good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes--is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy.

Laurens stares at the letter in his hands. He repeats those words in his head, his breathing starting to quicken as he shakes his head, his vision getting blurried. The words morphing together so it’s difficult for Laurens to make sense of them.

He’s married? Laurens thinks as he shakes his head, slumping back down in the chair. Nora rushes towards him immediately, crouching down in front of him to try to comfort him.

Laurens stares at his half-written letter to Hamilton in shock.

He’s married. His Alexander is married...? He’s... A thought suddenly clicks.

“Revenge...” Laurens whispers to himself.

“Sir?” Nora whimpers, scooting back as Laurens slowly stands from his chair, his mind churning.

“Revenge...he’s doing this for revenge...for me...because of me...” Laurens says as he begins to pace back and forth.

“Sir?” Nora whimpers from behind.

“He’s doing the same thing I had done...revenge...he did this out of revenge...otherwise...he would have told me sooner...”

Laurens mumbles. He glances back down at the letter in his hand, feeling himself growl low and his face twisting sourly.

Laurens growls, ripping the letter in shreds. He storms towards the table, grabbing the sketch of Hamilton he just had, staring at it for less than five seconds, before he tears it in half then tears it into smaller pieces. He yanks the other sketches of Hamilton out of the portfoilo, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as Laurens shakes his head, not wanting to believe it.

He doesn’t look at the drawings as he tears them piece by piece. Laurens lets out a desperate wail, unable to hold it in any longer. He runs up the stairs towards his room and pulls out the other letters Hamilton had wrote to him. Words of comfort, words of hope and assurances. Words of love.

Laurens slumps down to his knees as he stares wide-eyed at the letters, his hands trembling. He hears Nora calling his name, but he ignores her. Growling again, seething, Laurens rips the letters in half. He then rips them into smaller pieces. HIs eyes lands on the first letter Hamilton wrote to him and freezes. Shakily, he grabs it and reads it.

Cold in my professions. Warm in my friendships. I wish my dear Laurens it might be in my power by actions rather than words to convince that I love you. I shall only tell you that till you bade us Adieu. I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart upon you. Indeed my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain in mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me.

Laurens scowls at the letter, the letter crumpling in his hands.

And rips it.

~~~

A few weeks have passed since the Laurens had discovered of Hamilton’s marriage to Eliza Schuyler and nothing has approved. Laurens has been rather quiet and distant, even around his father which concerned him somewhat. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t spoken a word since the discovery of the marriage. The marriage that took his Alexander from him.

Now Laurens sits at the table he was before, gazing off when a knock is heard. Nora quickly rushes over to open it, lifting her dress as to not trip over it. She opens the door and freezes.

Alexander Hamilton stands before her with a kind smile on his face, wearing his blue Continental coat and uniform. His bright red hair underneath the tricorn hat. Hamilton bows respectfully.

“This is the Laurens’ residence,” Nora says. “May I help you, sir?” She knows who he is, she’s seen such drawings of Hamilton from Laurens and she knows how he broke his heart.

“Good evening, Miss,” Hamilton says. “I am Alexander Hamilton, current aide-de-camp under General Washington. I am here to see an old friend of mine who was recently captured under the British seige at Charleston and taken prisoner. I heard he was on parole and he would be here.”

Laurens tenses when he hears Hamilton’s voice but remains still like he was before. His back facing Hamilton.

“His name is Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens?” Hamilton says.

Nora glances over her shoulder at Laurens before back at Hamilton. Finally, she steps aside and lets him through. Hamilton breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees Laurens alive and well before him. Safe and unharmed. And God, alive.

Hamilton takes off his tricorn hat and tucks it under his arm as he marches slowly towards Laurnes. He stops when he notices Laurens’s hand clenching around the quill.

Hamilton knows what this is about. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before reopening them again.

“John...?” Hamilton says.

Laurens swallows as he turns around to face him. “Alexander...”

Hamilton sighs, relieved. His tense shoulders slump. He smiles.

“It’s good to see you again, Jack,” Hamilton says.

Laurens says nothing.

Hamilton sighs, frustrated. “John--”

“Don’t,” Laurens hisses, his throat working as he clenches his jaw. “Just don’t.”

“John...my dear...you know ...you know I had to get married at some point...right?” Hamitlon asks.

Laurens still doesn’t say anything. Hamilton sighs and walks up towards him, standing face to face. Laurens narrows his eyes at Hamilton but tries to remain calm. Laurens crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t...we can’t be like this for the rest of our lives! Men can’t get married! Men can’t have children! We can’t...we can’t raise a family, Jack. We--”

“I know.”

“John, please,” Hamilton begs as Laurens turns around, his back facing him. “I understand your frustration and upset and you have every right to be but--”

“Do you?” Laurens snaps, glancing over at Hamilton. “Do you, Alexander?”

“Yes, actually, I do!” Hamilton argues. “I’m not the one who lied for two years about a wife left back in England and a child!”

Laurens winces.

“John, you have to understand--”

“Understand what, Alexander?” Laurens snaps. “I loved you!”

“Yes, I loved you as well! So much! And still do, every aching day!” Hamilton protests. “But it is required of the law, John! We...people like us...we do not have a place in this world.”

“I loved you!” Laurens shrieks suddenly, grabbing hold of Hamilton’s arms. “Do you hear me? I loved you, Alexander! I loved you first!”

The sight of Laurens breaks Hamilton’s heart, seeing Laurens so distressed and hurt. Tears trickling down his cheeks. Laurens lets out choked sob and rests his head on Hamilton’s chest.

“I loved you,” Laurens whimpers as more tears start to slip. “I loved you, Alexander...”

“But that does not mean you own me, John,” Hamilton whispers, stroking Laurens’s honey blonde hair and pressing a kiss to Laurens’s forehead. “I love you too, my Jack. Always.”

Laurens sniffs as he lifts his head back up to meet Hamilton’s eyes. Hamilton smiles softly as he cradles Laurens’s cheek. Laurens closes his eyes he leans into Hamilton’s touch.

“Marrying Betsey is, yes, indeed the happiest day of my life--” Laurens winces but Hamilton contnues. “But marrying her doesn’t chage my love for you, Jack. My love for you is never in doubt.”

“I wished to be your life, Alexander,” John mumbles.

Hamilton’s eyes widen and stares up at him in shock. “Jack...”

“I know it is impossible. I know...” Laurens sighs as he struggles to get his words together. “But if we could, if we were able...I would...I would want to spend the rest of my life with you Alexander.”

Hamilton beams as he stands on his toes suddenly and smashes his lips onto Laurens. Laurens grins as he presses his lips harder to Hamilton, causing Hamilton to grunt in response and hiss sharply through his nose, startled.

After a few minutes, Hamilton and Laurens unfortunately have to pull away and Laurens presses his forehead onto Hamilton’s.Hamiton giggles as he traces the crook of his jaw.

“I do.” Hamilton laughs, pressing his lips to Laurens once. “I do. I do.”

Laurens grins as he kisses Hamilton hard, their kiss turning from slow to a quick and rushed one, their breathing labored with each kiss. Laurens pulls back slowly, resting his forehead agaisnt Hamilton’s. He smiles as he whispers:

“I do.”

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 years

Text

Ghoulish Portraits - Rain Ghoul (Ghost)

No idea what this is lol. I’ve been wanting to make more Ghost content but haven’t been able to think of anything. Then bam! This idea hits me as I’m coloring.

~~~~~~~~~~

All the Ghouls were hanging around the ministry's sitting room, admiring the portrait that you had created.

“I don’t understand how she can draw things so life like!” Swiss awed.

“Hey! I’m not a thing!” Aether whined.

“She doesn’t just do portraits jackass!” Swiss argued back.

The drawing was of Aether. You had a talent for making very detailed drawings, even of people...or Ghouls. You had drawn most of the Ghouls already, Aether being the newest and you gave the drawing to him last night.

The Ghouls found out that you could draw when Dewdrop saw your sketchbook a few weeks back, well, more like stole it from you.

You had been drawing some of the scenery in the ministry’s huge garden and you left your book on a bench for what you swear was only five seconds, but that amount of time was all it took for the feisty fire Ghoul to steal the book.

You were furious, but the rest of the Ghouls forced him to apologize...that was after they all looked through the book first. But you found that it was hard to stay mad at the Ghouls for long.

Soon after, some of the Ghouls came to you to see if you could draw them. At first, you didn’t want to because you were still slightly bitter from when they saw your book without your permission, but Swiss was very persuasive.

You drew Swiss first, and he loved it of course. He made sure to rub it in everyone’s face that he was the first Ghoul you had drawn.

Cirrus and Cumulus asked if you could draw them together after, which you happily obliged. Then you drew Mountain.

Dewdrop wanted you to draw him too, but you refused to when he stomped over to you and basically commanded you to draw him, which was rude. You told him you’d only draw him if he asked nicely. Your request irked him and elicited a growl from him.

You decided to draw Aether just to spite him.

“She even got your thick ass thighs!” Swiss laughed.

“Shut up!” Aether complained.

“Well...he’s not wrong.” Rain mumbled.

Rain really wanted you to draw him, but he was shy and afraid to ask you.

The rest of the Ghouls tried to encourage him to ask you, knowing that you’d be happy to draw him, but Rain was petrified of rejection.

In truth, you had been waiting for the water Ghoul to approach you to be drawn, but became disappointed when it didn’t happen. You had taken a liking to the Ghoul, his shy personality captivating you. You had almost the Ghoul yourself, but you didn’t want to scare him off.

So you decided to let him come to you when he was ready, if he ever was.

“Rain, when are you gonna get yours done?” Dewdrop teased, knowing how he felt about you.

Rain’s ears turned to the side as he blushed, not liking his fellow Ghoul making fun of his nervousness towards you.

“Shut up, Dew. You know how Rain is.” Aether fussed, making Dewdrop angry.

“I’m just joking around with him, asshole!” Dewdrop growled.

Rain rolled his eyes and sighed, starting to walk out of the room when he sensed that the two bickering Ghouls were going to start fighting with each other again. Rain wasn’t one for conflict.

As soon as he stepped out of the room, he heard some crashes coming from inside of the sitting room. He was thankful he left when he did. The last time Dew and Aether fought wasn’t pretty and Rain accidentally got involved and got a few deep scratches from trying to stop the two Ghouls.

Never again would he try to get in between one of Aether and Dewdrop’s fights.

Rain suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, looking over to see Swiss. “How bad was it?” He asked.

Swiss smiled. “Not too bad. Just a few broken vases and some scratches, maybe a couple ripped up pillows. Sister Imperator is not gonna be happy.”

“Like she ever is when Dew and Aether get into fights.”

“True, true.”

Swiss followed after Rain when he started walking away. “So, not to make you upset again, but...are you ever gonna ask Y/N to draw you?”

Rain sighed. “I want to...but, I guess I’m just scared.

Swiss refrained from laughing. “Come on! She’s drawn most of us by now, there’s no reason she wouldn’t draw you too!”

“I guess...”

“If you’re that nervous...I can ask her for you!”

“No!” Rain suddenly raised his voice, causing himself to blush again. “No...I want to do it.”

“That’s it!” Swiss patted him on the back. “I think she’s in the garden again.” Swiss pushed him in the direction of the garden. “Go on!”

“Now?!”

“Yes!”

Rain sighed and rubbed his hands together. “Okay...”

Rain peeked around the corner and saw you were indeed sitting in the garden, sketchbook in hand. You were sitting on the usual bench you sat on when you drew. The Sun shined through the circular glass dome that covered the garden, the rays of light giving your person a soft glow around you that made you look like a fallen angel.

You had an intense stare on your face, the typical face you make when you’re concentrating hard on a sketch. Rain though it was cute, and he didn’t realize he was smiling until you turned your head up to take another look at what you were trying to draw.

Mountain had recently planted a bunch of Chrysanthemums in the garden and you were awed by how beautiful they were, and you just had to draw them.

Rain shook his head, trying to get himself to walk over to you. But you were so concentrated on what you were drawing, he would feel bad if he broke that concentration. He didn’t want to bother you while you were working. Wouldn’t that be rude? He didn’t want to be rude.

Unfortunately for Rain, he hadn’t realized that he was out in the open and just staring at you.

From your peripheral vision, you saw that Rain was staring at you. If it was any other Ghoul, you probably would’ve been a little creeped out. But you knew how Rain was. Poor thing was probably too nervous to talk to you.

You smiled, hoping that he’d find it easier to approach you than when you were wearing that focused face. You were annoyed at yourself for having a resting bitch face, not liking that it made people hesitant to approach you. But anyone who knew your personality knows that you were the opposite of a bitch to those who are nice to you.

You decided to call out to Rain. It was risk, but you wanted to talk to him. “Hello, Rain!” You smiled at him.

Rain’s eyes widened, finally realizing he wasn’t hiding anymore. He had no choice but to talk to you now. “Hi...” He tried not to stutter.

“You can come over.” You beckoned him over softly, trying to make him comfortable as possible.

Rain finally gave a little smile and sauntered over to the bench where you were sitting.

“Have you seen the flowers Mountain planted yet? Aren’t they so pretty?” You asked once Rain sat beside you.

Rain followed your gaze and saw that there were indeed new flowers in the earth. “Hmm, yeah. I’m not really a big flower guy though...” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, me either. I just think they’re pretty.”

I think you’re pretty, is what Rain would’ve said if he had any flirting skills at all. But instead he just hummed in agreement.

He looked over to you drawing and saw that it looked amazing. “Wow...” He voiced accidentally.

You giggled. “It’s not even done yet!”

“I think it still looks really good. No. Incredible.”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Well, thank you.” You smiled bashfully.

“I was thinking...” Rain started, getting your undivided attention, making the Ghoul feel the pressure to word his thought correctly. “Uh, I thought, maybe you could draw me?”

Silence.

“You don’t have to though!” Rain panicked. “I was just, uh, well, you had drawn some of the others and I just thought, uh, oh, uh. Ah fuck, sorry. You don’t have to!” Rain continued ranted nervously.

“Rain!” You called out, grinning from ear to ear. “You don’t have to apologize! I’d love to draw you!”

Rain’s eyes lit up and his tail started quivering in excitement. “Really? You don’t have to! I mean, I’d love-”

You stopped him from nervously ranting again by putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Rain.” You said softly. “I’d love to draw you.”

Rain smiled and sighed in relief.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to ask me.” You chuckled nervously.

Rain’s eyes widened. “Oh...well, in that case, I wish I had come to you sooner.” He grinned.

“Well, you’re here now.” You smiled back.

~~~~~~~~~~

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfiction #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Month of Miracles Day 9 - Tradition

Find the prompt list here!

I’m mixing up the prompts a bit here because I had a plan for ‘Moments of Wonder’ that can’t happen until a little bit further on in the Hallmark AU. I was just gonna do the next prompt while I got a little bit ahead on the Hallmark ones since they tend to be longer, but...this one wouldn’t leave me alone and I didn’t have enough time today to do both. Honestly, I might not be able to keep up the one a day through the next week, but whatever I miss, I’ll catch up on Christmas week where we have some planned time off.

Marinette understood why her mother thought this trip would do her good, but the truth was that she felt at loose ends rattling around in Gina’s old-fashioned but large house, all alone. At home, there was always somewhere to pitch in, something that needed doing. Gina kept her life pretty streamlined, and when she was home, she delighted in fixing up anything that might be out of sorts in her home. Gina was just too efficient, so other than keeping her plants alive, which really wasn’t that difficult since Gina kept mostly hardy breeds that could survive being left under the care of a neighbor for weeks at a time, there just wasn’t much for Marinette to do.

Finally Marinette planted herself on the couch, set the TV to a channel covering the most recent fashion shows, and sat down to sketch. She’d have a lot of work to catch up on when she got home, so she might as well take advantage of some of this quiet time to get ahead.

She sketched a few basic silhouettes to warm up and get the juices flowing, but after that...nothing came. Every time she started a line, she quickly rubbed about it again. Stop editing yourself, she scolded. Just get it out, and you can fix it later.

It didn’t work. Everything she did felt wrong. Audrey’s complaints echoed in her mind. Too derivative, too pedestrian, where’s the art, Marinette? That’s why I hired you, and all you ever give me is this trash! Did I make a mistake bringing you on?

Did Audrey make a mistake? Marinette put down her sketchbook and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she dropped her face against her legs, fighting down the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard and tried to breathe.

Okay. So she couldn’t draw right now. That was okay. She’d do...something else.

She got up, leaving her sketchbook on the couch and the television on, and went into the kitchen. She started pulling out ingredients without conscious thought, the spiral in her mind continuing until she actually stood in front of the mixer, measuring cups in hand.

Marinette took a deep breath. She began measuring out ingredients, repeating the recipes in her head as she worked. This, at least, was something she could do. Nobody got all twisted up over cookies, after all.

Well. Except Audrey are you trying to destroy my figure you’re FIRED Bourgeois. Marinette pushed that thought aside. Rose would appreciate cookies, she was sure. Gina’s neighbors would too. Maybe even Sally...would it be insulting to take some to Sally? She tried to remember if she’d seen cookies for sale in the café, and finally gave up. She’d just make some, and figure out who could eat them later.

This was something she could do, and nobody could say she didn’t do it well, and that...that mattered to her right now. She could feel herself relaxing into the process, and she began to consider what she could make. Gina’s supplies weren’t as extensive as Tom’s, but there were still plenty of options to choose from…

Her first batch was in the oven, and she was making some simple Russian teacakes for a breather, when Gina’s old-fashioned doorbell rang.

Frowning, Marinette grabbed a towel from the oven and went to the door, wiping at least one hand as clean as she could get it before she opened it.

If she’d expected anything, it was a package delivery, or maybe even a neighbor stopping by with some cookies of their own—this seemed like the kind of place where that stuff happened.

On the doorstep stood a grey-haired woman with a bright smile, glasses that made her blue eyes look huge, feet well apart, and her hands solidly on her hips. Behind her stood Luka Couffaine, his lips pressed together in exasperation, propping up a large Christmas tree. He gave her a tight smile when her eyes flicked over him, but the woman in front of him had a presence that was impossible to ignore.

“Um,” Marinette said, smiling uncertainly. “Can I help you?”

The woman stuck out her hand. “Hello, lass. Marinette, isn’t it? Anarka Couffaine! Yer grandma be a friend of mine. When I heard you were keeping house for her while she’s away I thought we’d best be bringing over her tree!”

“Her tree?” Marinette asked, mystified. She glanced at Luka, and couldn’t help a smile when he mouthed I am so sorry at her over his...mother? Surely she must be his mother. Only a parent could put that look of embarrassed frustration on a grown man.

“Aye, Gina always gets a tree from us,” Anarka was saying. “Thought she wouldn’t be needing one this year since she’s gone. Hated to think of her not having one when she gets back, but it makes sense, no one here to take care of it and all. But since you’re here, all’s well. You can decorate it and have it ready for Gina when she comes home. She’s still planning t’be back for Christmas Day, aye?”

“Uh, yes,” Marinette said, reaching up to tug a pigtail and remembering just in time that she’d pinned up her hair, and that her hands were still dusted with flour despite the wiping. “She and my parents and all were supposed to meet back here for Christmas Eve, so I guess—but I don’t know if—”

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Anarka burst out cheerfully. “She’ll definitely be wanting her tree, then. No worries, lass, we know where everything is. We won’t be in your way but for a moment.”

She didn’t push past Marinette, but it was clear she intended to move forward, and Marinette backed out of the doorway on instinct.

Luka gave her a kill me now look as he hoisted the tree and followed his mother. Marinette giggled in spite of herself, and closed the door behind them.

True to her word, Anarka knew exactly where to find Gina’s Christmas tree things, and ordered her son around with a brusqueness that left no room for argument or debate. Marinette hovered, a bit at a loss for what to do. She wondered if she should go change into clean clothes, but Anarka said they weren’t staying long, and she still wasn’t done in the kitchen—

The oven timer chimed, and she automatically turned to tend to it. She hesitated in the door to the kitchen for just a moment, but Luka was half under the tree, getting it adjusted in the stand while Anarka barked orders. Neither was paying any attention to her, and even if she wasn’t cooking for anyone in particular, she couldn’t stand to let perfectly good cookies burn for no good reason.

She’d just gotten everything settled when Anarka’s booming voice behind her made her jump. “I’ve got to run, lass, but Luka can finish getting things set up. I’ve already told him what to do and where to put everything. We left the box of decorations out for ye, so ye can get things all nice for when Gina comes home. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, so, goodbye for now. Don’t forget to check the water in the tree every day!”

Marinette didn’t even have time to answer before Anarka was seeing herself out.

As soon as the door banged closed behind Anarka, Luka made a beeline for the kitchen. Hands against the doorframe, he leaned in. “Hey.”

Marinette turned to look at him from where she stood rolling some kind of round cookie in powdered sugar. “I swear I tried to talk her out of it,” he told her, ears burning. “I’d have had more success wrestling a bear.”

Marinette laughed, blushing, and Luka couldn’t help his grin. She looked adorable, with her hair pinned up and her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, flour streaking the red and green, frilled apron she wore. “I can imagine,” she replied, placing the sugar-coated ball carefully on a pile of others already in a dish on the counter. “She seems like someone it’s hard to say no to.”

Luka shrugged. “That’s my mom.” They looked at each other for a moment, Luka thinking about what a sweet picture she made and her thinking—probably that he was completely weird, standing here staring at her. “Anyway,” he said hastily, pushing himself back upright, “I’ll get this finished up and get out of your hair. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry and I had nothing to do with this...whatever this is.”

Marinette giggled. “It’s fine.” Her shoulders came down a little, and Luka gave her one more grin before he went back to setting up the tree. He was starting, he reflected ruefully, to have some dangerous if only thoughts. If only they’d met sooner, if only she weren’t leaving in a couple of weeks...

If only the people in his life weren’t so damn pushy, so that he wasn’t sure how much of the attraction he felt was sincere or mutual. If only he could be sure he wasn’t seeing things because Rose put the idea in his head.

Luka wasn’t sure what had put his mother on the scent. It was, just barely, possible that her motives were exactly what she said they were. Gina did buy a tree from them every year, and since they were friends it was usually more of a visit than a delivery, and Anarka had more than once hauled Luka out to help set the thing up when he was home.

Luka doubted it though. Either Rose had blabbed, or someone else had. Sally, maybe, who might have seen him holding her hand at the café, or maybe one of the townspeople who had seen them say goodbye outside afterwards, smiling and friendly. Marinette blushed so easily, and he did find her extremely pretty. it might have been easy for someone to get the wrong idea.

The television was on, but Luka hadn’t paid any attention to it until Marinette’s name caught his ear. He looked up, and saw a good-looking blonde man on screen, waving to the crowd before he turned to help a lady out of the limo he’d just exited. There was a smaller picture of Marinette on the arm of the same handsome blond in the corner.

Luka put it together with what Marinette had told him at the café, and pressed his lips together, irrationally angry at the man. Clearly he has a type, Luka thought sourly, looking at the new woman on his arm as the couple proceeded down the red carpet. Luka glanced back at the kitchen, and then walked over and turned the television off. Marinette didn’t seem like she was watching it, and she certainly didn’t need to see something like that by accident.

He finished up, making sure to clean up after himself as best he could, stacking the boxes that had held Gina’s things neatly where his mother had found them. Conveniently there was a broom in the same closet, so he was able to sweep up the needles he’d inevitably tracked all over the house.

He put the broom back, and went back to find Marinette. Whatever she was making smelled amazing. Luka paused in the kitchen doorway. Marinette was concentrating hard, piping icing onto cookies laid out in front of her. Even focused as she was, he couldn’t help but note that she looked more content than he’d ever seen her, smiling and at peace, humming softly to herself. She leaned back to study what she’d done, and the humming turned to singing.

Luka took a quick step back and turned, putting his back to the wall next to the door, one hand going to clutch at his heart as it suddenly decided to gallop away.

She was singing one of his songs.

So she’s a fan, he scolded himself. I knew that. And why should he care? By the end, Luke Stone had been almost an entirely separate entity from himself. An illusion created to sell music, not a real person.

Except Luke Stone still played Luka Couffaine’s music. And it was one thing to know Luke Stone had fans, to see them screaming in a crowd or throwing themselves at the security ropes to get to him, but...it was entirely different to hear sweet, sincere Marinette, thoughtlessly humming Luka’s songs just because she was happy and she enjoyed them. It was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? To know that people appreciated the music, and not just the image. It was no wonder his pulse was racing.

Luka sighed and closed his eyes. I’m in trouble, he admitted to himself.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #hallmark au #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #promptfic #quickfic

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verfound · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday: 2/17/21

...wasn’t the point of posting yesterday bc I wasn’t going to have time to post today? I’m still crashing hard, but I mentioned earlier I MIGHT post a snippet from Ch2 of Hey Stupid, and Mal made the oh-so-convincing argument of “as long as you’re home by midnight...”

Ch2 gets Stupid, y’all. 😁

And then it was Wednesday, and the tent he showed up at was even crazier than the one they’d been using the past two days, and when the tech escorted him to the vanity he’d be using he was surprised to find Marinette sitting in his chair, her head tipped back and mouth open as a half-eaten granola bar dangled precariously from her hand. She was dead asleep.

Seeing her there like that…he paused as the tech prattled on about times and models and where to send them, barely hearing any of it before the tech dashed off. Something in him twisted as he took her in, sitting in his chair like she belonged there. Like she always would. In that moment, it was easy enough to imagine a life where he would come home from a gig to find her passed out amidst sketches and fabric scraps. Where he would wake her with a gentle shake and a kiss, where he would make her dinner (or breakfast, given his usual schedule) and make sure she was taking care of herself. Where he could take care of her for her. Where…but no. Because that wasn’t the life meant for him. He’d made sure of that, and after this week he’d be gone again. Like he was supposed to be. He had to remind himself of that: that this was all just an accident. He was only there because of an accident. This entire week (and, he was sure, the weeks and months leading up to it) had been crazy for her, so she was just exhausted. She probably hadn’t even realized it was ‘his’ chair – had probably just seen an empty spot and collapsed. There was no ulterior motive here. She wasn’t seeking him out, because she didn’t know who he was. Because if she did, she’d toss him out of here sooner than he could say I’m sorry. And it would be over all over again.

Except Juleka’s text from the night before kept flashing before his eyes, taunting the thing twisting in him that he was steadfastly trying to ignore: Mari was looking for you after the show.

To thank the Makeup Guy, though. Not because she wanted Luka Couffaine. She’d never want…

With a heavy sigh, he put his bag down on the vanity and turned towards her, crouching before the chair and taking her granola bar before she dropped it. He wondered if it was just a pick-me-up or the only thing she’d eaten recently. He laid a hand on her knee and gently shook.

“Marinette,” he called softly, smiling as she grumbled and stirred. He shook her again.

“Mmm…Luka…” she murmured, and he froze, his grip tightening on her knee. His heart stopped in his chest. Had she just…did she…her brow furrowed, and she shifted again. Sleepy eyes blinked open at him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly too dry.

“H-hey,” he choked out, coughing a little to clear his throat. He forced a smile (well, not exactly forced, though in his frazzled state it did take a bit more effort than it otherwise would) and tried again. “Good nap?”

Her face scrunched adorably, her eyes scanning his face for a moment like she was…reorienting. Waking up. Definitely not like she actually recognized him. Her eyes shot open a moment later and she jerked up, flailing a little as she came to. He jumped back, holding his hands up, to avoid being accidentally kicked.

“Oh my God, I fell asleep!” she yelped, her head swiveling as she looked around the bustling tent. Her eyes landed back on him, her expression a mix of nerves and terror. “What time is it? How long until the show? Oh my God, how long did they let me sleep? How –?”

“Whoa, whoa – easy!” he said, crouching down again and reaching for her knees. He squeezed, hoping to steady her, and she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “You’re good. I just got here – you still have a few hours before the show. You’re good.”

“…I’m so sorry,” she sighed, reaching up to rest a hand on her heart. She took a few more focused breaths, and when she opened her eyes again she looked much calmer. He tried to ignore the way that thing inside him (his heart, he was pretty sure it was his heart) twisted again as he remembered the summer before she started lycée, when they’d started meditating together and he’d taught her some of his breathing techniques. Techniques she was still using, it seemed. “It’s…been a long week. I haven’t been sleeping as much as I could be, and every time I do…”

She trailed off, and he swallowed at the almost haunted look in her eyes.

…she had said his name.

Did that mean…had she…had she been dreaming about him often?

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said, squeezing her knee. He hoped he didn’t sound as abrupt as that had felt. “I’m just here to do your makeup, remember?”

She groaned, leaning forward to press her face into her palms. His breath caught at how close the motion brought her.

“Right. Right. Makeup. Ok. Wednesday, right? It’s Wednesday,” she breathed. Her fingers – tipped with pink nails so much more immaculate than his chipping black – rubbed little circles into her skin. She took another breath, pushing it out slowly. “The Bourgeois show. Two looks. I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this,” he echoed. When she looked up at him, he smiled, and she finally smiled back.

“I should get back to work,” she said, peeking out at him from under her hands. He nodded. “I should move so you can get to work.”

“Probably a good idea,” he said, squeezing her knee again. He should move his hand. “Schedules and deadlines and all that.”

#wip wednesday #ver fic #hey stupid #there are other parts I could share #but Idk I just love the image of Mari passed out with the granola bar #it's one of my favorite parts of the chapter #also the bit right after this is where the stupid comes in #but you'll see that Sunday 😂#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #god see I'm so tired I forgot how to tag

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me-and-your-husband · 4 years

Text

Honey, I’m Home (Part 2)

Summary: After Steve went on the run from the government after the events of civil war, you await the day you can see him and your daughter again. When that day comes, a new hope s found.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Dad!Steve Rogers, Mom!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, bearded steve

Word Count: 2.1k

Part 1

Sam opened the back door of the black Cadillac Escalade for me to take a seat inside. I did so as Bucky took his place in the passenger’s seat. When Sam got in, he started the car, put his seatbelt on, and put the car into drive. We sat in silence for a few moments, before I finally spoke up, the empty noise becoming too much to avoid.

“Where are we going?” I questioned as Sam’s eyes briefly met mine in the rearview mirror. Bucky drew a deep breath and huffed it out.

“After what happened at the airport, we brought Jane to a safehouse in Germany. After everything transpired and Steve broke the rest of the team out of custody, we all became fugitives. We’ve been on the run for the past year and a half,” Bucky clarified.

“Steve and Jane are in another safe house in the Canadian Rockies with the rest of the team that were on his side,” Sam added. I hummed in understanding and turned my face to look out the window.

Soon after, we were boarding a plane, using fake passports, of course. Once the plane successfully took off, Bucky put on a set of headphones and Sam nodded off. I noticed a small pad of paper and a pen in the seat pouch in front of me, and so I took it out and began sketching. My hand danced around the rough paper, crossing over lines and margins. I sketched from memory, and from what I remembered my daughter to look like.

I stared down at the completed sketch, coming out quite like the way I remembered three-year-old Jane. It was not as smooth and professional as Steve’s sketches, but you could still be impressed by it. My eyes started to fill with tears, the realization finally hitting me like a tsunami hits a small island.

I was finally going to see my family. After all this waiting, suffering, I was finally going to run my fingers through my daughter’s hair and tell her it was going to be alright. I was finally going to kiss my husband goodnight after a day of playing games at the beach and having a family picnic. I was finally going to have back the life that I missed so dearly.

I let a few tears make their way down my cheeks, before wiping them discreetly with the back of my hand. I looked to my right to see Bucky slipping his headphones off, a loft jazz tune revealing what he was listening to. Steve listened to the same type of music. It reminded him of a time when things were not so complicated.

“She looks almost identical to you, now,” Bucky said, staring down at the drawing on my lap. “She still has Steve’s blue eyes and blonde hair, but if not those then she would be your twin,” Bucky said as a smile crept onto my face, just imagining her. My five-year -old girl. My five-year-old girl. So much time has passed.

I sit in silence and can’t help but wonder to myself the worst. What if she doesn’t remember me? She will. She has to, right? I’m her mother, there’s some type of bond there where you just, know, right?

My overthinking is interrupted by the flight attendant letting us know we’re landing over the intercom.

When we land, I get out and am immediately glad I decided to wear a jacket. I never really believed people when they said that Canada was that cold, until now. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to create some friction induced heat, but that did little. Luckily, Sam packed accordingly.

“Here, put these on over your clothes,” he said as he handed me a fluffy parka, a pair of sweatpants, a weird beanie (which I would later find out they called “toques” in Canada), some mittens, and winter boots.

“People actually live in the cold like this?” I queried, to which both Sam and Bucky chortled.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, we’ve been doing it for the past couple of months,” Sam stated.

“You think this is cold? Try spending a winter in Saskatchewan, Jesus, it’s got nothin’ on Alberta,” Bucky added.

“Is that where we are?” I questioned, and Bucky confirmed it with a hum.

Sam led us to another car, this time it was a black Dodge Ram. I guess if we were going to the mountains, we would need a heavy-duty vehicle, one meant to trek mountains.

I stepped up onto the foot rail, and hoisted myself in. We fastened our seatbelts, and I managed to read the time over Sam’s shoulder; 4:39 PM. It was already getting dark, a behavior I assume was regular during Canadian winters.

Sooner than later, my head fell against my chest as I slept a bittersweet sleep, thankful for the rest, as it would pass the time and bring me closer to seeing my family, but also not wanting to miss a single second of the journey to my imagination.

When I awoke, it was to Bucky shaking me lightly and whispering my name. I blinked back the sleep, and drowsily climbed out of the truck. I took in my surroundings. It was pitch black outside, but it only felt like nine or ten. I spun around, to see a huge, cozy looking hotel with trees and snow surrounding it. My mouth hung agape as Sam and Bucky ushered me into the hotel.

Sam checked us in for a one night’s stay, and as much as I wanted to see my family, the sooner the better, I knew that not Sam nor Bucky were accustomed to drive through the snow in the dark.

Bucky and Sam ended up sharing a bed, whilst they insisted upon me having the other one to myself. They made it out to be them just being courteous, but I really think they knew Steve would destroy them for sleeping in the same bed as his best girl.

The morning consisted of a quick pot of coffee to wake us up, and then we were right back on the road, Bucky driving this time. Casual conversations were made, just them asking me what I have been up to for the past while. Nothing much had happened, but I didn’t want to seem like a bore, so I only told them the interesting bits.

Soon, we were in the mountains, occasionally stopping for gas and snacks at random pitstops. I couldn’t help but feel like a little kid on a road trip, constantly wanting to ask, “are we there yet?” or “are we almost there? How much longer?”. Eventually, Sam announced that we would be there in about five minutes, which really grabbed my attention.

“By the way, he doesn’t know you’re coming,” Sam said, which barely fazed me, as I was too excited. My leg bounced up and down like a giddy teenager during an exam, and I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

In a short amount of time, we pulled onto a gravel road, which had recently been neatly shoveled. It weaved through a thick forest, sometimes catching deer in the headlights. The path was shadowy and was barely lit, considering the trees looming over us blocking the sun. The rocky sound of driving across gravel and freshly packed snow filled our ears as we made our way down the trail.

Soon enough, which felt too long even in itself, we came to a clearing. In the middle of that clearing, was a huge, three story log cabin, with multiple vehicles, varying size, type, model, year, color, and brand, scattered around the lot. Before my jaw could fall off its hinges, a familiar female giggle caught my attention. I turned my head to look through the window, to where I saw Wanda and Vision having a snowball fight. I guess Vision must have reconciled with Wanda, and realized that our side was the right to be on.

The truck pulled up to the front of the house, and I slowly, as if mesmerized, took of my seatbelt. Wanda and Vision greeted Bucky and Sam, and they froze when they seen me. I gave them both a small wave and a smile as my feet hit the soft snow, and I may have come across as rude for not greeting them properly, but that could be saved for later. I turned my head to Sam, who quickly understood what I was getting at.

“Inside,” He stated, gesturing towards the big double doors of the manor. My heart skipped a beat as I clambered up the few steps leading to the porch and grasped the wood door handles. I took a breath in and swung the doors open. My eyes wandered the wood interior, before getting caught in a movement at the other end of the hall. I sprinted to where I saw that movement, and looked to my left, where some type of bedroom was located.

Clint sat on the bed, holding a framed photo of his wife and kids. Before he could see me, I made my way back down the hall, and started frantically running around the maze of a place, trying to find my family. It was around noon, so it was very likely that they could be in the kitchen, eating.

When I finally reached the huge kitchen, nobody was to be found. I let out a small sigh, but before I turned to walk out, I heard a voice coming from the next room over.

“Okay, Janie! Ready or not, here I come!” said that voice I knew all too well. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I took fast steps to the entrance of that room, the living room.

Standing beside the fireplace, was Steve Rogers, but he was different. His back faced me, but I could still see him in the mirror above the fireplace. He had a harder look to him, but those soft eyes I always adored were still there. He had grown out his hair, and now had a nicely trimmed beard. I took a sharp breath in, which must have alerted him that someone was there. He always joked about me being the only one who could sneak up on him.

His eyes met mine in the mirror, and his clenched jaw softened. He slowly lifted his head and spun around to face me. My breaths were shaky as he slowly took a step towards me.

“God, please tell me it’s you, Y/N, because I think if I have to convince myself that I’m seeing you one more time, I’ll go crazy,” He pleaded, his brows knit together.

“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking as my vision started to blur with tears. “It’s me, I promise you it’s me,” I said, as I ran towards him, immediately wrapping his arms around me and pressing his nose into the crook of my neck. I inhaled a long, sharp breath through my nose, missing the way he smelled, as well as the way he felt, the way his voice sounded in the morning, the way looked as his muscles flexed under his shirt when he was working out, and the way his lips tasted on mine. After I felt my tears had permanently stained his gray Henley, I pulled away. His blue eyes were so easy to get lost in, but the overwhelming need to kiss him, to feel him again, outweighed anything else in that moment. Our lips were together in an instant, in a passionate kiss. My hands rested at the back of his neck, and his on my cheeks, his body heat instantly warming me up from the chilly climate of Alberta. After we both pulled away for a breath, he rested his head against mine. I ran a hand down his beard clad cheek, and scratched it gently, to relay that I liked it, which elicited a smile from him.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I-“

“Daddy! What are you doing, are we still playing hide and seek?” said a little girl’s voice. My breath caught in my throat. Steve looked over my shoulder, and back to my eyes. He gave me a knowing look, and I slowly turned on my heels.

“Mommy?”

“Baby…”

“Mommy!” Jane screamed as she dropped her stuffed rabbit and sprinted towards me. I fell to my knees and held my arms open for her. I held her in my arms like that, like the day she was born, for what felt like forever. I don’t even remember exactly when Steve wrapped his arms around us. Silent cries and sniffles could be heard coming from either one of us.

Finally, I was where I should be, home.

Thank you guys so much for the support on the first part :)

Would you guys want an epilogue?

#steve rogers x reader #dad!steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america civil war #captain america #The Avengers #Avengers #marvel #marvel angst

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Little Pistol - Nothing Personal

Chapter 2

First Previous Next

It'll be a minute before Tim is actually introduced here, by the way. Mostly because I'm not 100% certain who exactly I want him to be affiliated with and how he'll operate yet.

Which reminds me, I'm opening that to a vote that I'll post tomorrow. It's open to all, but anyone tagged in this should expect to be tagged onto that as well. I would like your input, please.

LP Taglist

@zalladane @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @elmokingkong @queen-in-a-flower-crown @karategirl119 @dreamykitty25 @danielslilangel @melicmusicmagic @xahriia @sassakitty

Permanent list

@naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @my-name-is-michell @maribat-is-lifeblood @dast218 @novicevoice @shizukiryuu @princess-of-fangirls @bigpicklebananatree @pirats-pizzacanninibles @abrx2002 @breemeister @darkthunder1589 @thestressmademedoit @severelyenchantedwonderland @isabellemasen @multi-fandom-freak0221 @fantasyloversblog @bzz75 @cloudiedraws @jardimazul @orbitsvt @gingerdaile @sotheresthatthought @kadmeread @novaloptr @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @crazylittlemunchkin @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tiny-goddess-of-chaos @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-alice-of-hearts

~---~

The next battle came as a stark contrast to the normal. Chat still flirted, still tried to get close, but he kept fighting, kept helping even when she ignored him. Then, the most amazing thing happened. She got hit after getting distracted by one of his comments and instead of yelling at him for it and being pushed off in turn, he turned to the akuma. Without a word from her, he stopped his comments and went after the cursed object with a single minded focus she'd never seen from him before. Within ten minutes with minimal help on her part, he was presenting her with the blackened hair tie of the victim.

"A token, m'lady," he bowed, but kept his eyes downcast.

"Thank you, Chat," she managed to get out in her surprise, taking the item and working her magic on it and the city alike.

"I'm sorry," he murmured at her side, "I distracted you and got you hurt. That's my fault."

"It is," she agreed, not wanting to lie and say it wasn't, but also fighting back her urge to comfort him, "You'll do better next time," she stated.

"Much better," he promised, peeking up at her in hope of forgiveness. She swallowed back her instinct to grant it.

"Good," she nodded and took off back to school.

…

She spent most of the school day comparing his attitude this time to the last akuma attack, startled to realize what a difference a single conversation could make. She did that. She managed to make him change. Sure, she was injured, but only the once and he even said he was sorry! Took responsibility for his mistakes. That was unprecedented. She couldn't help but wonder how much pushing it would take to stop him completely. To incite obedience. Not that she planned to push it to that level, but it was a curious thing.

As she pondered on the logistics of such an act, just for the fun of it, she stepped out of the classroom, intending to head out for the day, she noticed Chloe shooing Sabrina off. Probably to act on some offhanded whim of the blonde. Marinette can't help the niggling thought of how she could change that as well. What words would it take to set Sabrina free? What made Chloe tick?

As she passed Alya, the reporter talking to Nino, or rather, at Nino, she thought of how to switch the roles. How to encourage Nino to express himself more openly. To be comfortable in his own skin enough to confidently express it.

Her grin grew as she planned out exactly how each encounter went down, coming up with on the spot ideas and improvising at a drop of a hat for whatever response they might have. It reminded her of the thrill of figuring out a particularly difficult lucky charm. Plus, it was perfectly harmless to consider right? As long as she didn't act on it. And even if she did, it would benefit them all, so really, it didn't hurt to consider.

And if the outcomes were as good as Chat's were, even better. If she went through with it, that is.

…

A week came and went and as did another attack.

Chat waited until the akuma was caught and purified to flirt, ensuring she never became distracted by him or anything else for that matter. He called out any incoming projectile, caught her attention anytime anything happened that she might've missed. Took another hit for her. That frustrated her, but the rest was a needed reprieve from the stress of akuma's past. And then he started flirting.

"Chat, what are you doing?"

"Well surely, I've proven my dedication to you, m'lady. I figure we might celebrate?"

"You've proven nothing of the sort," she stated, head tilted in confusion.

"I did to! I made sure you weren't harmed, I took the attack seriously, I even apologized and caught the akuma for you last time!"

"That isn't proof of love, Chat. That's basic human decency. I would do that for any hero or civilian for that matter. If that's a show of devotion to you, I'd hate to see how you treat people you're indifferent to," Ladybug countered, lips pursed and eyebrows pinching in.

"I'm perfectly nice to people I don't know," he defended himself quickly.

"Oh," her expression swiftly morphed, eyes widening into a look of taken aback surprise, "So you treat strangers well, but those you care about are lucky to hear an apology from you? Thank kwami I'm a ladybug then, I guess."

"That's not what I meant, of course I apologize when I'm in the wrong," he backtracked.

"So you think last time was the only time you messed up with me," she clarified.

"Well no…" Chat hedged, looking down again.

"You've barely proven that you don't hold malicious intent towards me. Don't push your luck, kitty. Black cats don't have any," she stated, taking off to leave him alone with his thoughts once more.

…

Arriving home, she dropped the transformation, collapsing on her chaise and shaking her head, "I can't believe I said that. Oh my gosh, I actually said that," she stared off into the distance.

"Neither can I. That was very harsh of you, Marinette, I'm disappointed in you," Tikki spoke up from her knee where she sat glaring with a pout on her face.

However, instead of immediately groveling as she normally did, Marinette's eyes sharpened as they snapped to the creature, sick of the treatment she'd received from the goddess since she first implemented this new tactic, "Was anything I said a lie?"

"No, but you could've said it in a nicer way," she insisted.

"When has carefully and nicely ever worked with him in the past?"

Tikki opened her mouth, but Marinette swiftly cut her off, "Never. It always ends with you chastising me and me apologizing for something that wasn't my fault. Nothing ever changed. But this, being direct with him, it works. He's changing, finally," she felt relief in letting this out, especially in the face of someone so hypocritical in her expectations on her compared to that of her so-called partner.

"Marinette, you can't just change people into who you want them to be!"

"I'm not changing him. I'm telling him what I see and how I feel and he is reacting to that information how he sees fit," she corrected, eager now at the prospect once more.

Tikki frowned, considering this point, "That's technically true… I still don't like it though."

"It's okay Tikki, you'll see soon enough," she reassured.

…

As day shifted to night, she pulled out her tablet, checking for any news on her new favorite hero.

Nothing to discover today, though she did start making a few sketches of his suit, looking at possible redesigns. Adjustments or details that could be made to improve the overall look or functionality. Granted, it looked very functional already.

She was startled to discover that even she wouldn't change much in that aspect. It became blatantly clear that he designed the suit to accommodate him perfectly, playing up his strengths and drawing away from any potential weaknesses. It only further her admiration and assured her of her choices.

…

The next attack came sooner than expected, Hawkmoth apparently deciding he had more free time than them. As though that hadn't been obvious from the beginning. Surely, they knew that from the start and didn't need this reminder. Didn't the man have a job or something? Could he get back to it, please?

Speaking of, Chat was doing a remarkable job of trying to follow a purified white butterfly off into the horizon, wanting to please her by taking the hunt for the villain to heart. As though she hadn't tried that already.

You'd think he hadn't listened to a word she'd said before the way he retraced her own work over again. Rolling her eyes, she let him humor himself, waiting until he came back, tail tucked and ears flattened, to admit his failure.

Sitting down, she relaxed into her spot. This was going to take a while.

…

It was three am and she had pulled up the newest article on her Robin. She still hadn't found his official name, but she thrilled to see new pictures of him, though still shadowed and from such terrible angles. Apparently he had more recently been seen working alongside another. Something he hadn't done before as far as the city of Gotham knew, still so ignorant to him being their very own wonderful Robin. She couldn't really be bothered to look further into who he was seen working with, but something in the back of her mind twinged as her heart stuttered to know he was willing to fight alongside another.

Closing up the window and shutting down her tablet, she fell asleep with a smile.

#Dark!timinette #timinette #maribat #ml x dc #can yall see where this is going?

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 3 years

Text

Scarlett and the Professor

[continued from]

moodboard by @strangelock221b

author’s note : Reader may recall the many references to Scarlett’s preternatural connection to the Sea. This chapter reveals that her Professor has a true, supernatural connection of his own.

His study door was open, but Scarlett lightly knocked upon it anyway, as much from good manners as from believing that such behavior was still very much within the expected parameters of their relationship. “Come on in, m’dear,” was his distracted sounding reply.

Hennessy was seated in the same wingback chair as from the evening before, reading glasses perched on his nose, a red, felt tip pen in hand as he marked up the quiz sheet he held in the other. A stack of papers sat on the side table next to his chair. He glanced up at her over his glasses, then squinted and pursed his lips. “Darling, didn’t you bring a change of clothing? Or do you plan to swan about in my dressing gown all day?”

Yet again, Scarlett felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Well, yes, Sir, I…I did. But I thought you meant for me to see you first.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded, quirking a quick smile, “Not that you don’t look lovely in it, of course.” Scarlett was thinking how casually handsome he looked, his thick, dark hair still wet from his shower and meticulously slicked back, with him wearing a navy blue, athletic fit polo which accented his broad shoulders and firm pecs—reminding her of how thrilled she’d been to pamper them with moist, hungry kisses during their many hours of play the night before. A pair of grey Adidas track pants and well-worn leather boat shoes completed his relaxed look.

“Thank you.” Scarlett fidgeted with her sash, without a clue of what to say next—though Hennessy soon solved that for her, casting her an indulgent smirk.

“I’ll be tied up here for a bit longer, so feel free to keep yourself occupied. You are welcome to explore any of the rooms on the first floor, and the grounds if you so wish.” His eyes seemed to drill into hers with his next instruction, “However, I must insist that you refrain from entering any room on the second floor other than my bedroom suite.” His gaze raked her from head to toes in a way that made her feel he was numbering her every physical attribute once again—numbering and weighing, as though calculating her worth, before he added quietly, “For there are some things you’re still too delightfully innocent to learn, m’dear.”

She nodded solemnly, her mouth gone dry at the implications. “I’ll leave you to this, then,” she offered, and then turned to leave, reaching the door before he called her back.

“Scarlett, there was a question you asked earlier which I never got to answer…wasn’t there?”

“Yes,” she blinked in surprise.

Hennessy nodded forbearingly, “In light of the…advance…in our relationship, I can offer you several options.” He whet his lips, then continued, “I don’t especially care for ‘Sir’, but if it’s a kink you enjoy, I’ll allow it. ‘Professor’ is fine as well, and you may also address me as ‘Hennessy’—many of my lovers do. But don’t even think of using my given name…” He chuckled. “It’s the single least sexy name in the world, and I only tolerate it from my mother.”

“Alright,” she replied softly, though he appeared to have something more to add.

“And as you are quite soft and…” he paused and inhaled deeply, as though he had caught a trace of her musk on the air, “…mmmmm…deliciously romantic, my sweet little lamb, a few terms of endearment are not uncalled for, as long as you don’t use them excessively…”

“Uh-huh,” she smiled, feeling exactly that sort of softness for him now.

“...and I do find I’m rather fond of that Scottish thing you’ve called me...”

“My...my jo,” she nearly whispered.

“Yes! My jo---I like that,” he exclaimed, “Quite more than I ever would have expected.” Hennessy flashed her wink and a toothy grin. “It’s back to work for me now, my jo---but I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

He turned his attention back to his task, so that Scarlett finally departed, certain that he would find her exactly as promised when the time came around.

_________________________________________________

She decided to forgo the exploration for the time being, knowing that she needed a good washing up instead---and rather wishing that later Hennessy might give her a tour of the place himself. Back in his bedroom, she picked up her discarded items and fully opened the French doors, drinking in the warmth of the sunshine and the gorgeous view of the sea from his balcony. I should sketch this some time, she mused, though in truth she wasn’t sure if this might turn out to be her only opportunity.

Scarlett’s change of clothes was simple and modest when compared to how she’d outfitted herself for their evening tryst. Still, she laid what she had out on the bottom of the bed; a gauzy, white peasant blouse, stonewashed denim clam diggers, and a white lace bra with matching knickers. Casual and comfortable, for she had actually expected she would be wearing them as she headed home with the morning light, or even sooner. While never having imagined the several ways that Hennessy would have her through the night.

Mmmmm. Hennessy. And the things he had already taught her. Nothing in her sheltered world had prepared her for the brazen craving that she felt at just the thought of him and the divine sins he had tutored her in. She was craving him even now, like an addict for a fix.

But it wasn’t just the physical leading her to feel this way. There was his astonishing duality. He could be brutally honest, caustic, selfish, and even cruel---yet he had been so gentle with her at the moments she had needed it the most, and he was brilliant, funny, and surprisingly kind when the spirit moved him. As when he had finally gotten around to taking her maidenhead, and in the aftermath. No matter what might transpire between them going forward, at least part of her heart would be forever his, from that alone.

Oh, Hennessy was supremely confident and self-possessed, but beneath the facade he showed the world, Scarlett sensed bitter self-contempt and secrets that he had resolved to hide even from himself. Deep and painful secrets, surely related to the mysterious scars he bore. Her unerring intuition and gentle empathy---gifts come down through the ages to her, courtesy of her ancient Selkie blood---made her ache to know why. And to provide some consolation, were he ever to allow her into his heart.

She closed her eyes and with the freshness of recent memory she pictured the sight of him looking out his balcony doors to the sea, marveling again at sheer physical beauty of his form, and then shivering as she had last evening as she recalled seeing those brutish marks for the first time. Certain that would be imprinted on her heart forever as well. The urge to capture that moment had her moving to grab her sketchbook and pencils from her bag even before she even made the conscious decision. It might be foolhardy, she told herself, and surely he would not be pleased---if her were to know. But Scarlett felt the strong need to do so nevertheless.

She took a seat on the tufted ottoman, and as was the way when she was deeply inspired, she set to work with ease, lightly penciling in an outline of Hennessy and then sketching the details of the French doors, balcony, and the night sky with the round, fat moon framed by storm clouds, and its watery reflection on the distant waves. Next she lovingly attended to his details; his stillness as he stood enrapt, the restrained tension in the straightness of his posture, the sculpted beauty of his broad shoulders and long, lean back. Once she was satisfied that the image held true as it could to her vision, she filled in the ladder of scars---blinking back a tear or two as she wondered again how such a travesty had come to be.

Pleased with her work, Scarlett tucked her supplies away, then rose and headed to the loo, intent on treating herself to a hot, soothing bath. Muscle aches from the vigor of the night’s workout had begun to announce themselves, and Hennessy’s tub was the irresistible remedy.

__________________________________________

While the tub filled, Scarlett had taken the time to pin up her hair, and then had rolled up one of the plush towels as a cushion for the back of her head once she leaned back against the far end. Hennessy’s bathtub was longer and deeper than any she’d ever used before---no surprise as it was just another element of a lifestyle dedicated to hedonism.

A small, shelved wire rack hung off the lip of the tub, holding body wash, shampoo, a loofa and a sea sponge. And no surprise once more, as Scarlett noted that in addition to body wash that echoed Hennessy’s sea-themed cologne, there were a couple of smaller bottles in decidedly feminine scents---reminding her that she wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, houseguest to enjoy the benefits of his inner sanctum. After sliding into the water, she wet the sponge and squeezed a generous amount of jasmine and orange blossom body wash onto it, creating a luxurious foam when she scrubbed her neck, shoulders, upper chest and arms. Next, she washed her legs all the way down to her insteps and toes, and then set the sponge aside and nestled back against the tub, closing her eyes and breathing slowly and deeply, letting the hot water work its magic.

Scarlett wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she opened her eyes, although the water remained comfortably warm. She has sensed that she was no longer alone, yet still felt surprised when she discovered Hennessy casually watching her only a step or two from the tub. “Ohhhh,” she inhaled, then rushed to add, “I hope this is alright.” Although he had already seen her every detail, somehow she felt vulnerable with only the slowly dissolving suds between her bare skin and his avid gaze.

“Of course it is, my sweet,” he assured her gregariously, “In fact, it’s...hmmm...simply perfect.”

The warmth of the water couldn’t keep her skin from from prickling with goosebumps of anticipation, for she knew from his look as well as his tone what he meant by ‘perfect’. “Done with those papers then, Professor?” she asked innocently.

He t’sk’d as he crouched beside the tub, shaking his head, “Not quite, no. But you see, I suddenly found myself rather distracted...” Hennessy reached to cup her jaw in his palm and ran his thumb along her bottom lip; instinctively she lowered her lashes and kissed it. “Now that’s my bonnie lass,” he drawled, slipping his thumb between her lips, “My wet and slippery water nymph...”

“Might...might you care to join me,” she asked after giving it a gentle suck, eager to move over to give him room.

He wore an air of mystery, amusement, inevitability. “I probably will---eventually. But there’s something I’d like to show you first.” He withdrew his hand and added, “A special treat because you’ve been such a good, good girl.”

Scarlett’s heart had begun to race a bit, as she wondered what sort of act could make him sound and look almost diabolical---although whatever it was, she couldn’t deny her curiosity, or her need to please him by obeying.”

“I know you didn’t mean to interrupt me, Scarlett, for there are things you’ve yet to learn about my nature. Now seems the ideal opportunity for that.” His knowing smile was both beautiful and wicked. “The fact is, darlin’, I could feel the water running as you drew the bath. It called to me like a veritable invitation,” he growled, lust shamelessly stamped upon his patrician features.

Though mystified by his statement, her cheeks burned with unrepentant desire to learn what lesson her was offering now. Scarlett watched him hold up his forefinger and then dip it up to the second knuckle in the bathwater. Immediately, ripples of concentric circles moved outward from it, as they would for a stone cast into a body of water. Hennessy’s eyes then captured hers as he barely stirred the water, and he was grinning as he waited for her response to what came next.

Scarlett gasped at the sudden sensation as a current of water strikingly warmer than the bath washed across her submerged torso. He mouth dropped open, “Oh...oh myyyy...”

Hennessy simply nodded, though his pupils had grown large enough to leave visible only a thin crescent of his sea blue irises.

The warmer water seemed to coalesce around her breasts until it felt like it was cupping them while slowly pulsing around them. Like the flex of strong, warm hands. Like his hands. And when tendrils of heated water began to stroke her nipples, drawing them to hard peaks, Scarlett gasped at the divine sensation, then exhaled a long, molten moan. “How? How is this possible,” she whispered, laying her head back against the rolled towel.

Hennessy laid his other forefinger across his lush lips, swift to command her, “Ssssssshhhhhh...don’t question it, love...just trust in me as you have all along.”

“I will...I do...” she nodded, gasping again when thick, heated tendrils kissed both of her insteps, then slowly began to twine up her legs. The water continued to caress her breasts, deliciously teasing her nipples so that it nearly felt she was being suckled. A small part of her brain warned that there was devilry in what her lover was doing---but need and desire overrode those cares, for Scarlett knew full well what was coming next.

Those tendrils had wrapped around her thighs, pulsing against her skin while their ends insinuated themselves between them. As much as she expected it, her eyes still flew open at the impossibility of them brushing up and down the length of her slit, while seeking her tender, secret flesh and then spreading her open and spoiling her with pleasure as strongly and as surely as though they were Hennessy’s talented fingers themselves. She groaned as she undulated beneath them, knowing what he intended for her.

Indeed, one of the columns of water thickened and became more dense as the other continued to stroke her clit, and then began to seek entry. Scarlett needed to see him, her lover and teacher, this mysterious creature who had captured her soul and now appeared to possess power over the element of water itself. The look of concentration on his face was mesmerizing, and when the thick, hot shaft of water finally slid inside her, he looked absolutely victorious.

The water was smooth and hot and driving so deeply into her that she keened again and again, and it wasn’t long until she was gripping white-knuckled onto the lip of the tub with both hands as she bucked her hips into his glorious onslaught. Hennessy had begun to moan quietly and when she managed to look at him again, a fine sheen of sweat stood upon his brow and above his lips. “Yessssss,” he hissed, “You’re my wicked little angel, aren’t you, love...made...made just for me...” He was panting hard, as though with effort to bring her to climax, “...a gift...a gift of the Sea...”

In that moment, that was exactly what Scarlett wanted to be; Hennessy’s in every way imaginable, belonging to him shamelessly. “Oh pleeeeeeeease...finish me, my jo,” she cried out, beyond all thought of sin, craving only what this spectacular devil willed for her, “Make...me...cum...cum for you...” Whatever spell he was working reached its peak, and Scarlett came hard in a glorious frenzy, until her body went limp and she nearly slid beneath the surface. As Hennessy grabbed her to keep her afloat, the heated tendrils dissolved, dispersing their warmth into the surrounding water and leaving behind only their effects upon her---waves and waves of diminishing after throes, eventually making her shake from the power of her release.

When her body finally relaxed, Scarlett opened her eyes to find him watching her closely again and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “I dare say you’re squeaky clean now, my sweet,” he observed, “And that was delicious, don’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly as words failed her for several breaths, while her rational mind insisted that she had to be dreaming everything that had happened since she’d initially laid her head back and closed her eyes. “No, you’re not dreaming, my jo,” he assured her. That expression coming from him was like a surprising, gentle caress. One that could only leave her covetous for more of the same. “I swear to you that what just happened is very, very real.”

Scarlett barely found her voice enough to ask, “But...how? How could that be?”

Hennessy pursed his fulsome lips and raised a single brow, “Explanations can wait for later.” A greedy expression now colored his dear, handsome face as he rose to stand---a look that echoed the way his loose track pants now tented across his erection. “But right now,” he told her while he pulled off his shirt and let drop his pants where he stood, “I’m going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

And though she had just been fully satisfied, Scarlett felt her nipples tighten in anticipation as he stepped into the water, while the gorgeous ache to have him fill her again...to have him take her mercilessly...had the muscles all throughout her pelvis reawaken with that sinfully luscious need.

tagging: @strangelock221b @ben-c-group-therapy @ben-locked @letterstosherlock @splunge4me2art @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @aeterna-auroral-avenger @humanbornarchangel @frowerssx-world @tsukuyomi011 @emilyinnj4real

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #romance #lust #smut #Scarlett Campbell.#OFC #OMC #not my OMC and used with permission #Scarlett's Professor #Professor Hennessy #Hennessy

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johannestevans · 4 years

Text

Letters from Ganymede: Tuesday 11th July, 1876

Ganymede Cavendish, a recent graduate from the Royal Academy of Arts, catches the eye of an anonymous benefactor.

Mr Smith will offer Mr Cavendish food and board, all the artistic supplies he might require, and space with which to work: they shall never meet, and Mr Cavendish will never know Mr Smith's true name. The only recompense he desires is that Mr Cavendish create beautiful art, and that he write his sponsor a letter each week, keeping his benefactor apprised of his progress.

Having always been lonely, but now feeling alone, Ganymede begins a slow descent into madness.

An extremely gay reinterpretation of Daddy Long Legs, with heavy inspiration from Dracula and the Picture of Dorian Gray.

Also on Ao3 and Wattpad.

Dear Mr Smith,

I should like first to offer my apologies for not having written to you sooner, for I know part of the circumstances of our agreement are that I write you each week I avail of your sponsorship, and certainly the week begins anew each Sunday, so I am overdue.

Of course, I must thank you again for your kindness: I am sure I quite embarrassed you with my initial response to your letter, gushing over as I did with praise for your charity and your person, no matter the extenuating terms, but even some weeks later I feel no less overcome by my gratitude, nor indeed my admiration of my benefactor, anonymous as he might be.

I had thought the journey would take but two days, but instead it took four: the first mischief that became the coach you sent to convey me was a sudden snap of one of the front wheels’ spokes, making the whole of the carriage tilt abruptly to one corner, spooking the horses. This was on a long, empty road some hours north of Birmingham, and once the driver, Mr Thornwell, had calmed the horses from their frenzy, I had to ride on to the nearest inn some forty minutes’ further on, that I might send someone back to assist him.

I confess, Mr Smith, I am extremely uncomfortable on a horse’s back, but Mr Thornwell disliked very strongly the idea that I should remain alone with the coach itself on such an isolated road, and luckily, when I arrived at the inn they had expected us, and readily sent a young man off with another wheel to assist Mr Thornwell forth.

By the time all this business had been completed, of course, five or six hours had passed, and we had lost the warmth of the day and would, in some hours, lose its heat as well: although summer yet gives us some bountiful sun, Mr Thornwell reluctantly advised that we should stay the night in the inn rather than merely lunching there, as had been the original intention, and we took a room together.

He is a very interesting gentleman, Samuel Thornwell – I was so very enthusiastic in rushing about to pack my things into his coach that I kept stumbling on the uneven step outside my previous lodgings, and he insisted – most gallantly – upon assisting me in packing all of it away, and was very quick indeed with a joke. I don’t know that you have ever met him, Mr Smith, for he had informed me his services had been requisitioned by letter alone by a gentleman bearing your name, and that he had no previous knowledge of you, but that payment had been given up-front.

In this case, perhaps I ought describe him to you – Mr Thornwell is a handsome fellow, a little below six feet in height, and although he looks at a glance to be quite the square and serious sort (his beard is certainly quite serious, and kept as keenly in check as I would only imagine the beard of a groundskeeper in command of neat hedges), he smiles very freely, and was quick with all manner of joke and pun as we packed away my things.

On the first night we spent together, I had been quite focused upon some sketches of the cities and towns and landscapes through which we had passed, and sat upon the floor of the inn and worked like a demon with my chalks, focused most fervently upon my work that I should recreate all the sights I had seen before they dripped out of my head like so much overflowing water. Undeterred by the acute concentration with which I devoted myself to my work, Mr Thornwell spoke very freely, with a great manner of charm and gregarious spirit, to our hosts in the inn, and when they went away, he spoke for my benefit, although I said very little in response to many of his anecdotes, and merely laughed and smiled along with them.

Mr Thornwell informed me that he was in possession of a wife and three children, of whom he was very proud indeed, and that in his free time he and his eldest son, Sam, spent a good deal of time focused upon philately, which he informed me is the study – and often, the collection – of postage stamps. It seemed to me at the time to be quite a queer hobby, but Mr Thornwell spoke very well on it, and with a great deal of enthusiasm about the different varieties of postage stamps and their designs, and he said a good deal of the enjoyment in receiving letters themselves was in the postage affixed. Strange indeed, but there is naught that creates such light in the world as another man’s unfamiliar passions.

On the second night, in this inn we had not intended to stay at, I was not quite so plagued by a need to note down every sight I had taken in that day, and once I had penned a few sketches of the fields I had observed on our way, we sat together beside the hearth in the inn.

“I must apologise for my laconism last night,” I said, sipping at my ale and looking at my companion, the handsome planes of his face lit by the glow of light beside us. The only light in the room came from the fire, with the rest of the candles dimmed, and I leaned in toward it, for the night was rather cool. “I have only a little while to really capture the details I want in scenes before they begin to fade from my recollection, and I saw a good deal of beauty in our journey, and wished very much to sketch it down.”

“Oh, I took no offence in it,” he said mildly, with a wave of one hand. “You are of an artistic temperament, I can see, and your art is quite important to you, no doubt.”

“Oh, yes, yes, quite.”

“Is that the reason,” he asked, suddenly curious, “that you are travelling so far north? Heatherton is so small a village it is not even upon maps – when we reach the last inn on our journey, we are to ask directions from our host there, that I might ferry you further on.”

I had not known this, and was quiet for a moment, gazing into the fire. I was quite curious about Heatherton, for in your initial correspondence it was communicated to me as but a modest settlement overlooking a bay, and I was excited indeed to see it, as I am to see any new place of mystery. I am not, Mr Smith, well-travelled – until now, I have never left London.

Misinterpreting my silence, Mr Thornwell said swiftly, “Please, I did not mean to pry into your affairs – merely that this is an errand quite odd, and quite unlike any I have pursued heretofore. I ought have kept my questions to myself.”

“Oh, please, Mr Thornwell, you have caused no offence,” I assured him softly. “John Smith – the gentleman from whom you received the request for your services – is my benefactor. I have just completed a course of schooling in the arts at the Royal Academy, and Mr Smith, having observed the exhibition of my work in the years I have been a student, wrote to me some weeks ago and offered to sponsor me in further artistic pursuit.

“He suggested that I should take my place at his home in Heatherton that I might be free to concentrate upon my work without the distraction of the city’s bustle – and has offered, most graciously, this sponsorship and space to work, although we have never been acquainted before now.”

Mr Thornwell observed me with fascination, his lips pursed loosely together, his brow furrowed very deeply, that several lines appeared in the surface of his forehead. “Indeed?” he asked, leaning toward me. “Is he very rich, this Mr Smith?”

“I suppose,” I said, although the question offset me, for I have long been taught it is impolite to discuss such matters. “Certainly, it strikes me that he is very kind, and evidently, a great supporter of the arts. My tutors informed me that the Academy has received donations previously from Mr Smith, and knew him to be quite devoted to his support of the arts in all their forms.”

“Hm,” Mr Thornwell said. “And he sponsors individual artists, also?”

“If he has done so before, it has not been another member of the Royal Academy,” I said quietly, with a delicate shrug of my shoulders. “But his donations to the institution go back over a decade – I have no doubt in his support.”

“For how long will you stay in Heatherton?”

“Oh, a year, perhaps two. My medium is sculpture, and I work in marble – it is my intention to sculpt a representation of the Titaness Euryphaessa, the wife of Hyperion, with her three children in orbit of her: Helios, Selene, and Eos.”

My companion looked at me somewhat blankly for a moment, and then said, with perhaps manufactured brightness, “You are a Michelangelo, then?”

I flushed with embarrassment, feeling the heat burn in my blushing cheeks, for it was a painfully lofty association – though I know that it is true that many people might not know another sculptor in existence. “Not hardly,” I said hurriedly. “I could never hope to match such skill in any mode of art, but like him, I do sculpt in marble.”

“It must be very expensive, stone like that,” he said, with a low whistle. “He won’t make you quarry it yourself, I hope? I mean not to impugn your strengths, Mr Cavendish, but you hardly seem fit for such work as that.”

I laughed, and shook my head. “I do not believe he plans to put me to such labour as that, Mr Thornwell, no. He shall provide me a workspace and materials, room and board, and a small stipend as recompense for my work, as though he is not already giving me enough.”

“All that,” said Mr Thornwell wonderingly, “for one sculpture? That is all the recompense your Mr Smith demands?”

“Well, I shall produce other works of art, in my placement here,” I said, feeling quite embarrassed for reasons I did not – and still do not know – how to put into words. “I shall paint, I expect, but being a finer sculptor than I am a painter, I shall no doubt create smaller sculptures, too – there are beautiful things to be wrought in clay or wood, as well as marble.” Mr Thornwell did not seem convinced, and thus I added, almost blurted out, “And, of course, Mr Smith asks that I should send him correspondence.”

Mr Thornwell regarded me in bafflement. “Correspondence?” he repeated.

“I am to write to Mr Smith once a week, informing him of my progress, and to tell him of my moods and my experiences in the week having passed. He will never reply to me, he informs me, but it is important to him I should write to him, that he knows I am taking seriously the terms of his sponsorship.”

“Rich and lonely,” said Mr Thornwell – pray, Mr Smith, do forgive him – and I gasped.

“Mr Thornwell,” I chided him. “It is not so uncommon that a young man should send his sponsor reports upon his progress.”

“Perhaps,” said he, “but queer indeed that he should not reply to them. You say you have never met him?”

“Never – and Mr Smith said in his first letter to me that I likely never shall. He is not an artist himself, he said to me: he appreciates artists.”

My hand, at this moment, slipped to my jacket pocket, and lingered over the point where your letter to me was folded therein: I hope it will not embarrass you, Mr Smith, to note that I have read that particular line of your letter to me (Mr Cavendish, I am no artist, nor am I a poet, nor anything else. I have never and will never create anything, except love and enthusiasm for the artist, that heavenly being that serves as our modern Creator.) some thousand times since I first received it.

“You are young,” said Mr Thornwell musingly, “and quite beautiful. Being young you have sufficient energy to take on even the most exhausting projects; being beautiful, you understand beauty, and are thus well-poised to create it.”

I was silent, for this praise embarrassed me, and seeing this, Mr Thornwell took pity on me, and we retired to bed.

The next day, being as the weather was milder, the sun hidden behind thick cloud, he invited me to sit at the front of the cab with him – although I was no longer enclosed by the walls of the coach, sitting very close beside Mr Thornwell, I was able to benefit from his warmth, and our conversation kept me quite occupied as he travelled on.

We came to the inn where he had been advised we should be able to take direction to the village of Heatherton. The previous two inns, the Duck and Feather and the Coach and Horses had been venerable old pubs, very warm within and quite homey: this establishment, the Stone Post, was colder, and our hosts there were not nearly so sociable. I did not hear the name of our hostess, but that she was the sister of our host, but I knew his name to be Jude, and he never gave me his surname.

He and his sister surprised me, when first I saw them, because they almost seemed to be statues brought to life: both Jude and his sister were pale as white marble, with exaggerated emphasis in the shapes of their features. Each had heavily lidded eyes, carefully crafted lips, fine bone structure, and they moved as though some invisible conductor was coaching them through the ballet of their life, silent and effortlessly graceful.

I did not see Jude or his sister smile once: they were each possessed of a silent, frowning stare that made one take pause. Jude is, I would estimate, of the same age as me, somewhere about the region of twenty-five, and his sister somewhat younger, but he did not speak to me as much of a peer.

He scarcely spoke at all.

Leading me up the stair, he brought me to the room I was to take lodging in that night, a very large room that even then seemed quite cold, and I suggested that myself and Mr Thornwell might share a room together rather than being given separate lodgings, for it looked very cold indeed, and Jude gave me such a strange look that I felt very wrong for asking, and then fell silent.

Dinner was a quiet affair, and I tossed and turned the night through in the cold room, but when I went out into the corridor I saw no evidence of Mr Thornwell or our two hosts, and there were no other guests at the Stone Post that I knew of, and I quickly retired back to bed, for the corridor was even cooler than my bedroom. It occurred to me that it was quite strange that the only owners of the establishment should be two people so very young and seemingly so opposed to human contact, and as I turned this thought over in my mind, the most lurid of theatres playing out in my mind, as so often happens – of them perhaps being tragically orphaned, or something similar.

I slept, then.

In the morning, I was very sorry to hear that Mr Thornwell had been taken ill, suddenly caught with a fever, and as Jude’s sister attended him, Jude said to me, with a sort of quiet, grim determination, that he would take the coach forth to Heatherton in his stead.

I objected, of course, for I was worried indeed that my new friend should be so ill, and begged that I should be able to sit with him or even just check in on him, but the Stone Post siblings were vehement I shouldn’t go anywhere near him, lest I suffer the same fever he was afflicted with.

I quite forgot myself, so distracted was I as we came out to the coach, the horses already having been hitched in place, that I nearly climbed up to sit before the cab with Jude – never has a man looked at me so severely, and I felt almost as if Jude had struck me a blow with his eyes alone. They are such a funny colour, Mr Smith, a sort of brown that is so light as to be very near to gold, and they invoked in me a feeling most uncanny.

It was some hours travel to Heatherton in the coach from the Stone Post, as I’m sure you know, and yet despite how keen I was to look out of the window and make a note of the journey, particularly with how overcome with concern I was for Mr Thornwell’s good health, I fell fast asleep. I could not say how it slipped over me, for it caught me by certain surprise, but I suppose that exhaustion does these things to a man, no matter his pressing concerns.

When I woke, bleary eyed and disoriented, still in a somnolent haze, Jude was standing silently at the cab’s open door beside me, staring up at me. My luggage had already been packed away inside.

“You are very kind,” I said as I noted that my travelling chest and boxes of materials had already disappeared from the back of the coach, and Jude followed my gaze, looking, impassively, to the coach’s trunk, where all my things had been neatly tied before we had set out.

“Wasn’t me,” Jude said, and climbed back into the cab, taking up the horse’s reins. Before I could so much as say another word, he was riding off, and I was left in the yard of the house, alone, with my coat very loose about my shoulders and my carrying case held limply in my hand.

Left alone in the front yard of the house in Heatherton, I looked about at the stone walls, the half-open stable empty of horse or goat, the shed piled high with firewood. The house itself surprised me in its size – I confess, Mr Smith, when you had offered me lodgings, I expected somewhere quite modest, perhaps with a wider space to make into my studio, but it seemed to me to be almost like a manor. It was some storeys higher even than some of the buildings I worked in at the Royal Academy, and very wide indeed – the orphanage in which I grew up was quite a small one, and I have never really had cause to visit anyone else’s home.

The door was ajar, a key in the lock, and I took it loosely from its keyhole, stepping into the house proper, and closing the door behind me, putting the key in my pocket.

The lamps within were already lit where needed, although a fair bit of daylight was still coming in through the windows, and waiting for me upon the end table in the hall, where there was a case waiting for some calling cards – and the idea itself quite delighted me, for I have never been called on before – was a note.

Dear Mr Cavendish,

Your luggage has been placed in your bedroom, which is south-facing on the third floor, that you might have a pleasant view of the bay below. Mr Smith has advised us that this would likely be your preference, but that if you desire, you ought select any of the other bedrooms which brings you the most pleasure.

The supplies and equipment you have brought with you have been placed in your studio, which is also on the southside of the building, and can be accessed from the ground or first floor.

Other locations of note ought be the master bath, which is on the third floor, in the room adjoining the master bedroom; the library, which is on the second floor; and the dining room, which is on the ground floor, in the second door ahead of you on your right.

Mr Smith has advised that you are to explore and make use of the house at your leisure, and that while you reside here, you are to consider yourself its master.

Dinner will be served at seven o’clock this evening in the dining room; you might take what you please from the kitchen and its pantry that adjoins it.

Welcome to Mnemosyne’s Rest.

There was no signature upon the note, though I presume it was from the house’s staff – which, again, surprised me, for I had no idea I would have staff attending to me, and I confess, the idea made me quite giddy and uncertain. Perhaps you will think me very foolish, Mr Smith, but I have really only ever read about households with servants in novels, or heard about them in conversation, and it never really occurred to me that I should ever avail of such services.

When my father died, I was left a small apartment in London, which I inherited upon reaching my age of majority, and I have lived there alone throughout my education at the Royal Academy. In the orphanage, all we boys slept in one room together, ordinarily between ten and twelve of us, and I confess, it was a great relief when I became a man and was able to live alone, without so many breathing mouths creating such a racket all around me, and yet—

Perhaps you will think this very strange indeed, Mr Smith, I do not know, but I have always found the idea of living with servants, when one is a fellow without family or attachment, to be one as comforting as it is mysterious – surely, it would be a balm to any lonely man, to know that there are others living in the house in which he rests?

Perhaps I am a fool, I do not know. No one has ever told me so – but then, perhaps I am so foolish everyone I have ever met has thought it quite obvious, and not thought it worth saying.

I hope I do not bore you.

I know in your letter you requested that I should treat these letters as a diary to you, or perhaps as a confessional, and pour fourth my soul, but I have never kept a diary before, and I am not a Catholic, and to be very honest indeed with you, Mr Smith, I do not know that I am in possession of a soul at all. They seem to be allocated to the most interesting of people, and I am no such thing.

Once more, I must thank you for your kindness – I was a man quite uncertain of my bearings, when my graduation from the academy loomed, uncertain as to where next I should go, and you have given me not only your sponsorship or your kindness, but a sense of purpose I might not have gotten, otherwise.

And— Pray, Mr Smith, do forgive me if I overstep my bounds, or if I speak too freely, or if every letter I pen to you is quite a lot of nonsense. I have never written to anybody before, and but for schooling exercises as a youth, the practice is one quite foreign to me. Perhaps I thought thank you for this addition to my experience of the world, as well?

I have not yet conducted my exploration of Mnemosyne’s Rest – oh, what a name, Mr Smith, I wonder if it was you that named it? – for as soon as I came into my bedroom, the south-facing one – and you were correct in your estimations, Mr Smith, the wide windows create such a beautiful view of the bay below, with its grey-and-white cut waters, and its view of the cliffs, and its picturesque, dark-sanded beaches, and I should never want any bedroom other than this one – I sat down at my desk to pen this missive to you, that you should not think I was ignoring my obligations to you.

Thank you.

Once this letter is finished, and I have let the ink to dry, I shall send it off to you post-haste – and perhaps this evening, I shall pen another letter to the Stone Post, asking for news of Mr Thornwell’s condition… Ah. But that is a thought for later.

Yours with gratitude overflowing,

Ganymede Cavendish

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving me a tip or subscribing to my Patreon. You can also buy my books on Smashwords.

#as defined by dictionary #gothic horror #daddy long legs #letters from ganymede #original fiction

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rokutouxei · 4 years

Text

you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 2800 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn’t get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 3

Neither of you talk about it.

Not the week after, not two weeks. Not an entire month after.

Time passes by, unaffected.

Vincent keeps his promise and does not say a word of your conversation with him to Theo; every single detail he’d unraveled for you seared under your eyelids but also blown away in the wind at that cliff overlooking the streets of Paris. Sebastian doesn’t ask questions about your recent interest in the van Gogh history books. And even if you and Theo spend the same amount of time one another, no one makes a mention of the noticeable tension between the both of you.

Not even Theo.

Of course, work does not stop even if one is facing an emotional crisis. Or maybe it’s because one is facing an emotional crisis that work does not stop. After the exhibit, there is the process of selling the paintings that patrons were interested in. Then, there was, of course, inevitably, the dreaming, the preparation of yet another exhibit in the future. There were days of figuring out what strategies to apply to avoid the Academie; days of watching over the artists; days of talking with other dealers; days of going to patrons.

Aside from the silence, most of everything was the same.

That was the hardest part.

There is one street in the entirety of Paris that Theo does not have the heart to walk down.

Because he knows that if he does, his traitorous mind will remind him what it was like, living in that apartment on 8 Cité Pigalle. The walls filled with Vincent’s paintings. The view from the window, the one he’d sat across from and sketched and painted and studied. The dreams of an exhibit before it was shot to the ground.

To no one in particular, but also to her in particular, Theo asks: why hadn’t you left? Why are you still here? Doesn’t the sight of these streets bring you back to that time, doesn’t it hurt? Why have you come to haunt me like an old ghost, wandering the hallways?

What do you get from still living where the memory of us still lingers?

What do you want out of me?

Arthur usually jokes that rage is the emotion that best suits Theo’s countenance, the wrinkled forehead, the snarl. And maybe it is. But Theo does not have the strength to let it show now, even when it is all that his heart throws at him—an insatiable, irrational fury. It’s a fire that burns so strongly, so quickly, consuming him.

Burning him out.

Quickly running out of fuel, disappearing into nothingness, replaced by a heavy exhaustion.

Theo feels the weight of two lives heavy on his shoulders.

You feel like you’re holding a knife to your heart, but you know that in the end, you will be better off having done this to yourself than letting the confusion, the ignorance, leave you festering on the inside. So on days where you have little to do, where Theo goes alone to work, you sneak into Sebastian’s little secret library to read.

At first you convince yourself that you are only doing this solely for the knowledge of it, but deep inside you know what you are doing—a bookmark to the index item of her name, jumping only to pages that are relevant to her. And at first, you wanted to know what what she was like so you could make yourself similar to her, copy what he’d liked, what he’d loved, so that you’ll be someone a little better for him. And at first, you scanned the pages with your eyes prickly with tears only out of spite, reading every bit of their story filled with hurt and the want to outshine it.

But before you can even notice, it becomes different.

You learn about their letters. You don’t have a copy of them—and somehow you are thankful for that—but you know about them, and you can surmise what they have, knowing Theo now. You learn about moving to Paris, uprooting herself to keep her husband’s feet on the ground of his dreams. You learn of a domestic life, of making someone into something new, something better. You learn of promises and candlelit scribblings of adoration.

You think of dreams.

Dreams so different, and yet so familiar.

About a little home, overlooking a beautiful city, a babe in warm arms.

Slowly, with each passing day, every week spent hiding away from the rest of the mansion, dipped in a history that does not belong you... it shifts; the anger sizzles into relief; the jealousy turns into joy. Instead, there is only awe, there is only respect—the realization that there is no need to compete with someone who is not fighting a battle with you. It is not up to her, after all: it is up to Theo. In between these pages you get to know of a woman who shared her whole heart with him, carried his dream up in her arms.

Like you are trying to do.

You are afraid, sure, of course, but—

You have faith in Theo.

You have faith in what Theo has left with Jo.

Recognizing what love looks like is a balm on the still-tender burns of your heart.

In the following weeks, Theo throws himself into work with a fervor you had never seen from him before.

Just a month after the initial exhibit had closed, he is already closing in on another venue, this time to feature Vincent’s works in its very center. You ask when he started preparing this, and he says in his spare time, which he already does not have much of—you feel a little slighted that he’d left you out of the build-up for the work, but you’re already carrying enough weight in your chest, so you decide to let it go.

Until it becomes undeniable that there is too much work being done in too little time. Like Theo was purposefully avoiding something, someone—you, maybe, you think, in a moment of weakness. At your most vulnerable when you ask him what’s wrong, he only answers, “This is the only reason I turned. There’s nothing wrong,” and you feel small.

But the truth is, a swirling storm of what-ifs hangs over Theo’s suddenly too-cold room in the mansion. He tries not to spend as little time as possible inside it. His heart shakes, a small twig so near breaking as the gale whips around in between the spaces where the touch of your skin doesn’t meet his, across the bed that seems like miles too wide. You’d asked one of the many questions that were inevitably going to come, and he’d thrown out barbs at you. He could reach with his pinky to touch the curve of your elbow, but…

He doesn’t.

Theo wonders how many of the things he’s decided to do had inevitably turned out to be bad decisions. Letting his brother meet Gauguin. Chasing after the murderer. Getting killed in the process, blinded by his own rage.

Leaving her behind.

What if he’d stayed?

What would he have not lost in the process? What new things would he have gained?

Would these have been able to fill the void left behind by his brother’s untimely death, the one he tried to overcome with seething bloodlust?

Would the tender blue eyes of the little boy who looked like a perfect match of him and his beloved have made staying… a little more worth it?

Theo doesn’t sleep.

A lesser vampire body is an extraordinarily sturdy thing, but it still needs its sleep. That first night after the exhibit’s opening runs into a week of Theo depriving his body of rest; he’s poring through paperwork, answering correspondences, whatever he can do to fill the spaces of time he would have once loved to spend next to you, warm in bed.

Floating in a pool of exhaustion, Theo’s mind begins to float. It is this exact state that allows him to stop thinking of the worst of things. To stop remembering that he is, in fact, the worst of all things.

So he doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Theo drives himself to exhaustion so he doesn’t hear his heart clamoring please go away, when you tell him good morning, tell him have a good day, tell him I love you.

He forces his mind to stay quiet.

The both of you had split up today for work, and while Theo is negotiating with another dealer, you sit across Monsieur Cedric in his lavish home, having brought over another one of his requested paintings. You’re chatting over tea and cake, talking about the latest news about the Academie.

“Monsieur Theodore is becoming a known name around these parts. It’ll be sooner rather than later that the Academie will try to get their hands on him. And you too, mademoiselle.”

More like now rather than later, but you decide to spare Cedric the gory details. “We will be very careful. Thank you for your concern.”

“Your will to endorse these artists and also assist Theodore is so charming, mademoiselle. I wish the both of you the very best.”

You chuckle, saying “It’s something he deserves, doesn’t he?” before putting your teacup to your lips, smiling softly against the rim, thinking of another woman who is also fighting a battle, perhaps harder and longer than yours, for Theo.

It still stings, but you feel no need to hold it against him anymore.

You don’t want to push him, to hurry him, not when you know that the process is long, and agonizing. The most you can do is stand by him, have faith, and make him feel that—

That it’s okay.

You miss him already. You hope he feels better soon.

Oh, the things one does when loving a man like that.

Whatever had changed between the two of you since the exhibit does not feel as heavy as it did two months ago. You’ve gone back to sleeping in his room, soothing him when he wakes up shaking, from nightmares, or simply when he cannot fall asleep. You still feel that wall, something impenetrable that’s preventing you from getting through to Theo entirely, but it does not feel as opaque or as solid as it did back then. At the very least, you can now hold him in your arms without feeling the nagging sensation that it was wrong.

Theo, oppositely, feels very heavy, cold. Like it was the middle of winter, in a snowstorm, and all he has is a thin coat. Stormclouds hang over the abandoned town of his heart, where not even a single candle lights up the curtain of the night.

Here, Theo thinks. Theo thinks too much, really. Lets himself get consumed by the unending cycles of what if and if only I and I should have. He walks the deserted alleyways filled with memories of a life he doesn’t own anymore—a life he no longer deserves. Maybe a life he never deserved in the first place. In real life he doesn’t have the courage to return to it, but in bed, unable to sleep, he comes back to that Paris apartment he rented with the woman he loved. Touches the floors, the walls, with his hands. Wishes he knew what they would have meant to him, back then.

One day, in-between appointments with patrons, the two of you head out to your favorite café to have some lunch. The waitress already knows the both of you, and as you throw a smile, she winks, already knowing what to bring you. But while you’re animated and excited for your usual meal, you find Theo staring off into space, out into the distance, like he’s chasing after the shadow of someone he thought he knew.

(The Theo from the old life.)

You reach out across the table, gently placing your hand over his. The warmth of your touch brings him back to the present, his usually-sharp eyes taking time to adjust from their glazed state. He looks at you like something in him hurts. You squeeze his hand so gently that he has to squeeze yours back for yours to tighten.

“I’m here,” you say, even though you don’t know if it’s the right thing to say. Nothing has felt the right thing to say, but you feel like something will break if you don’t speak to him. “I’m here for you, if you have something you want to talk about. I told you we’d carry things together, right?”

Theo feels the flicker of fear die out. The clouds in his mind part to give way to sunlight.

And his mind is still ringing, still saying, how much did you lose then? How much did you take for granted? How much did you throw away? But his heart, his heart is banging at his chest and saying: but what are you risking losing now? What are you unconsciously letting go, by going back?

Theo knows what to listen to.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles silently, he should contact Monsieur Desrosiers one more time.

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger keeps a diary.

Well, she had kept one, before her marriage with Theo, but then in the whirlwind of it, had left it unwritten, sitting on a shelf in their house in Paris. When she’d moved back to the Netherlands together with the little baby that was not quite a baby yet when Theo had gone away, she resumed writing in her diary.

Theo had a way with his words, one that Jo could not compete with, but he had taught her their importance, even if a lot of times he spent a little too much time figuring out what to say, instead of actually saying them. Jo treasured every single word he had granted her, keeping all his letters.

Two months ago, she had returned to Paris to visit a dear friend, when she had heard about the exhibit being held by—coincidentally—a man named Theodore van Gogh. Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly when she’d heard the name, even if she knew that it could not have been her Theo. No, her Theo was under the ground, next to his brother in Auvers-sur-Oise, where they dream of rye fields. Still, his name alone left her longing, and she could not resist the opportunity to visit, bringing with her their little Vincent.

She’d been working not only for herself and her little Vincent, but also for Theo, the past few years—keeping Vincent’s paintings, their letters, trying to continue what he had done even if she did not know entirely what she was doing. Grasping for straws, trying to walk down a path she knew she should reach the end of. And yes, the streets of Paris still speak to her, still make her shiver because they seem so empty, not without him, but when she went to that exhibit, she saw the paintings and—remembered Theo.

Felt like he was still around, watching her.

And oh, Theo, he had taught her to see, taught her to live—taught her much about life, so much so that she felt like she had, for most of her life, gone through life with her eyes half-closed. She wonders if he knows, how much he had given her, had left her; how much she ought to thank him for, how grateful she is. He had taught her the greatest bliss but also the greatest pain, the hollowness of having lived past what one knows is the best part of their lives—but he hadn’t left her, not entirely: he had left her Little Vincent, her treasure, her joy, with Theo’s blue eyes, his kindness, his sharp mind.

Time washes away the heartache of having been torn open, and instead, leaves in its wake the cool of growth, the same way a toppled plant still reaches up to the light. And sitting in that exhibit, in a gallery of paintings that were so similar to that which Theo felt so important to let grow, that he found so much potential in, Jo felt the where the wounds of her heartache had already healed.

She is okay now, and she still carries Theo with her everywhere.

And oh, she wants to send a part of his heart back there.

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger picks up the folded piece of paper with contact details she’d found from someone else, and, taking up parchment, follows Theo’s lead, holding his words to her heart, and begins to write under the morning light.

---

bongerdiaries [.] org was a wonderful resource for jo’s diaries that i pretty... much had to copy paste from just because of her wonderful voice in writing that i wanted to keep intact. please go give it a read if it so interests you!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikevam #ikevam theo #atelier heart #you are still the sun that shines for me

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franeridart · 4 years

Text

Anon said: How are those doodles?? Your "doodles" are a million times better than any of my finished drawings (i love them btw they are so f*cking cute!!!!)

AHHHH THANK YOU!!!! They really are doodles though haha

Anon said: What are your OCs' names?? They are so cool I'm in love with them ♡♡

If you’re talking about the four in the latest original art post I made, then they’re Chris (with the undercut), Josh (with the long hair), Max (with the scarf) and Leo (with the eyepatch)!! I’m so so happy you like them, they’re old enough to be part of me by now so seeing them liked is always such a warm feeling!!

Anon said: Do you take prompts/suggestions? Sorry I don’t know your policy but would you consider drawing Bokuro ft jealous!Bo? I’ve always headcanoned that Kuroo is really popular with both boys and girls because of his confidence and effortless charm; whether he’s oblivious to this attention despite his intelligence or aware of it yet ignoring it is anyone’s guess~ I always look forward to your art and recently got into Haikyuu!! And damn, I do ship Kuroken too but you have me addicted to Bokuro now *_* || Aah finally got the FAQ open (blame mobile tumblr for being a bitch), and yup my last ask is def a suggestion and I hope you’ll consider using it~ Somewhat unrelated, do you regularly add stuff to your red bubble? I love your Kiribaku art but I’m a huge fan of Momo (&Todomomo) and Kuroo (&Bokuro), is there any chance you have something in the works with them up for sale soon? Thanks

GOSH thank you so much for liking my old hq stuff enough to ask for more!! I’m not sure if I’ll get back to drawing bokuro soon, honestly? So I can’t promise that if I’ll go through with the suggestion it’ll be soon, but I’ll definitely keep it in mind for when the mood strikes!! And about the shop, I add to it whenever I feel there’s enough stuff piled up to? Though I plan to start adding more often than that from now on - I don’t really have anything for momo and kuroo to add on rb that isn’t already there, but as soon as I’ll have more of either of them I’ll remember to put them up! Thank you so so much for the interest in buying from me!!

Anon said: Ok but that Kirishima art was absolutely amazing

THANK YOU!!!!!

Anon said: Hi! First I really really love your art and I make this little muffed scream every time I see your stuff pop up on me feed. You’re amazing!! Second, can I ask how you do shadows? I can never make them look right or lay across my character correctly. Yours always look so amazing

Thank you!!!!!! I actually used to have that same problem with shadows? However much I kept track of where the lightsource was and the shapes I was working with it always looked wrong, somehow - the way I fixed it was by adding more shadows, actually. If you’ll pick any of my colored pieces you’ll see I don’t really put down lights all that often, which means the base color ends up being my light color too, and everything else is just shadows getting darker the further I go from where the light hits the object I’m shading - generally, I use a soft tool like a brush or a marker to very roughly put down where I want the shadows to go, and then using the same tool I smudge and darken it till it looks right to me. I can’t really explain it any better than this? But I have a small tutorial for how I do this in my art tips tag, if you wanna give it a look!

Anon said: I come back to look at your art almost every day, especially when I’m feeling down; so I’d just like to thank you for posting your beautiful art for all of us to experience. On behalf of all of your followers, Thank you! :,)))

Anon you’re gonna make me cryyyyy!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; thank you so so much, both for this ask and for liking my stuff to begin with! <3

Anon said: Your anatomy is so so so so good! And don’t even get me started on your colours! Perfection

GOSH I still have a long long way to go, but thank you so much for thinking so!!! It makes all the effort feel worth it! ( TT^TT)<3

Anon said: I love everything about ur art! from the sketches to the full colored pieces, it's the highlight of my week whenever you post! I was actually wondering where you get the ideas for clothes! I always see the variety and was wondering if you came up with them or are they from somewhere ^v^ keep up the amazing work!!

It’s a mixture of both, actually! I like to look at clothing, both irl (on people I see, or stuff in the shops I visit, or even pics and movies and tv shows!) and drawn too - in anime and illustrations and manga and cartoons! I look at them and try to remember how they’re made, and then when I draw I think about it all and come up with my own by mixing stuff I liked from all those things - unless I see a piece of clothing that’d work just right as it is on a character, in which case I just draw it either as best as I can from memory or, if I have it, using a ref! It’s one of the things I find the most fun when drawing, I’m glad to hear you like what I come up with!! Thank you so much!!!

Anon said: Thoughts on KiriTodo? Because I. Am. Hooked.

I like it!! I don’t actively ship it, since my only actual ship for Kirishima is kiribaku, but I like the look of him with todo, aesthetically, and their friendship is highly entertaining to me, which means their potential relationship in a romantic setting is too - and, as we’ve seen with my very random dip into the non-existent kirijiro fandom, that’s more than enough for me to decide maybe I’ll wanna go and draw for them, one of these days haha

Anon said: Haven't seen KiriSero or KamiSero Fusions yet! Got some ideas for those? (Filling out the Bakusquad pentagon XD)

I really never got around to drawing those, did I! That’s actually surprising, hadn’t you pointed that out I’d have never realized - I’m not doing fusions anymore right now, but maybe I could make an exception for these two............ if the inspiration strikes, why not!

Anon said: Did you see the newer bnha episodes?! Miritama made it feel like a shoujo... (In a good way)

THIS IS SO OLD OH GOD sorry I didn’t get around to answering this sooner!!! The miritama relationship is really wonderful, isn’t it? They make me cry so much, soft warm boys, so in love............. TT’’’TT <3<3<3

Anon said: This whole year has been a trainwreck for me and your blog was one of the few things that stayed constant, so thank you for being my favorite spot on the internet. Hope you keep drawing and I love your art so much!

AH, THANK YOU! I really really hope I’ll keep on drawing too!!! I’ll do my best 💪💪

Anon said: Some days I’ll just sit in bed at 2 am and be like “I need a hug” and then I read ur blog and it’s like a safe mental hug. So thanks for that.

That’s!!!!!!!!!! so sweet oh my god!!!!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; I’m so glad my stuff can make you feel warm like that, anon!! <3<3

Anon said: So it says you don't do requests in your faq does that include commissions as well

Not right now!! Maybe sometime at the beginning of next month, ✨Stay Tuned✨

Anon said: Hellooo hope you are having a good day. It's always so fun to scroll through your blogs and enjoy your art 💕💕 Idk if it's a little weird to ask but I also love your old aokaga art and I was wondering if you had any interest left in that fandom or would ever consider drawing for it again? xx

Gods, I really don’t know? It’s been so long since I’ve last engaged with anything related to knb........ I still do love the ship though, so, maybe? I really have no clue, I might though!! Thank you so much for liking even such old things from me!!!!

#fran answers #................i'm deeply ashamed of how long it took me to answer some of these #in my defense i was taking an unplanned break #but also it shouldn't have been unplanned so #i'm very sorry about leaving you all hanging so long orz #let's try to not have that happen again any time soon

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 27

“Gimli!” Straight out of the gate your head turned finding Sean there already waiting at the car from his own spot on the plane way up in the front sending him out much sooner than the pair of you. Warmly he wrapped you in a hug and nodded to Joe behind you who grinned doing the same while people who had cameras stole the chance to take pictures if the star and his mostly unknown friends. Only, most of the staff here had at least an idea of who you were having seen you in ample press pictures with the rest of the wider known cast. “Fly alright? You look a bit beat.”

Shaking your head you replied, “Flight was good. Glad to be back, nothing but rain back in New York past few days.” Sean smirked making you giggle, “It’s different here. Little drizzles, that was buckets and my feet are sore from having to walk after the subway flooded twice. 37 blocks, both ways.”

“Ow,” he chuckled smoothing his hand over your back saying, “I’m guessing you don’t have a car.”

“Nope, and everything on my block is no parking, other than a garage three streets over that is twelve bucks a day. No thank you.”

He chuckled again easing his arm around your back to kiss the top of your head asking, “No Richard this time?”

“He had some auditions. But he’s pretty happy with his walk on bits he did get last year.”

“No doubt he’ll miss you terribly.”

You smirked up at him saying, “Well we’re doing Holidays again in England, got asked to go to Oxford for a story they’re writing on recent alumni.”

Sean, “Oh that’s good.”

Joe nodded, “One of the few from the Arts division chosen, most are academics, scientists and a couple musicians that got hired by exclusive orchestras.”

“Mainly a hopeful bit for mine, what I could do I think. Guesses on how my next premier will go.”

Sean smiled, “Do we get invited?”

Smiling back at him you said, “I did have the chance to name the closest 20 on these films to come see it, if you can. At least for the one in London, the premier in America I had to leave a spot for Jennifer Lopez, she’s been asking about it. No doubt Jennifer Garner and Colin Farrell will want in on the fun after sneaking from their film sets to mine a few times.”

In a hum he replied, “Well I look forward to it.” Turning his head to your father who eyed the familiar driver huffing to calm himself after his late arrival.

Shaking his head he approached saying, “I am so sorry. Some bozo thought he could park on the bridge halfway here and it is just crawling.”

“It’s okay,” you three said and you added, “We knew you wouldn’t be late unless there was some foolishness about. If it helps my driver in Canada got deterred by a moose.” Causing his smile to creep out and his hand to extend claiming your bag to carry back to the car waiting for you he put in the trunk along with the others. “Thank you.”

Already with their keys most of the cast had let themselves into their usual rooms in the shared cottages on the compound and while you were unloading your bags Ian came up behind you saying, “Now you absolutely have to tell me what this delightful film is going to be about.”

Without turning you started to giggle and hoisted your duffel bag to your shoulder, “How big is the press for this? Everyone keeps asking me about it.”

Ian smiled saying, “Merely because my Dear, you have neglected to share just what the film is about. Suspense is everything.”

Sean, “I haven’t gotten an answer yet either.” Hoisting his bag out.

“That is because it sort of sounds ridiculous when I describe the film.”

Ian simply replied, “Try me.”

You sighed saying, “I am a ballet dancing Selki in a traveling show. There’s an obsessed Inspector who’s a monster hunter who thinks I’m a succubus. Tons of murders and Rich is in it too, an injured former dancer, rescues me and it turns out he’s a fish monster.”

Where you expected laughter a glimmer of something flashed in his eyes close to both intrigue and adoration and Ian replied, “Wow,”

Sean, “I love fantasy films, and you mix murder mysteries and I am in heaven.”

Ian, “My Dear, that sounds fantastic.”

Sean, “All the better she’s added us to the lists for the London premier.”

Ian’s smile grew, “I shall dust off my best suit for it. I cannot wait. I can never resist a good fantasy. Even that film where the children find fairies in their garden can’t resist watching it every time it plays.”

Sean said as you thanked the driver again who closed the trunk readying to head off again nodding his head to you in return, “No worries, we won’t spoil it for the others.” Flashing you a wink on his way to his cottage.

Up to yours your father unlocked for you both Ian joined you as you asked, “How big is the press?”

At your worry he said, “Just as it should be, though for an international film it has quite the reach, both the UK and States are talking about it and even Liv on her vacation in France heard about it there. Is it in English?”

“Mostly, yes, but I have a bit in Russian and Richard speaks some French with a French accent. I believe there is an Italian opera singer who’s a mermaid. They said it will have subtitles for those parts depending on the country it is shown in.”

“Do not worry about the press, you have performed admirably to promote this film without even going on a talk show building a hype that others are whispering about it far beyond what they had planned no doubt. Not to mention the fact you missed one big budget premier to finish filming it.”

“Still feel terrible about that. I thought my part would be smaller and they wouldn’t need me. I was his fourth love interest for heaven’s sake, his films it’s always a blip and you’re gone. Only filmed a week.”

“Very well done for a week alone. I could not have told that it was on such a small schedule by the look of it. Any more stops planned?”

“There’s two more films premiering in December. Then I do have some press lined up through Europe in January, producers lined everything up for me.”

Ian sat down on the bed beside you saying through a pat of his hand on your thigh, “This is your first time leading a cast in a big budget film. You will adjust to it.”

“Not a very big budget film compared to this, and it’s a lot like Sleeping Beauty,” His eyes looked over your face, “Aurora has arguably the least time of all the Disney Princesses in a film centered around her.”

“It still counts. The new year is not far off, just let it brew up some more and see how it settles. For now however, Peter called and he is on his way, now if you were guessing on who is up to something it would be him.” Making you smirk again standing as he did to help your dad order something to eat from the nearby takeout places.

Familiar confusion on which cottage to go to was broken by the trio of delivery guys who split up taking what was ordered to those waiting outside their cabins with cash in hand. While unloading your bag of trays Peter arrived finally at the door he knocked on once it opened and you replied, “Dining room.” When he came into view you smirked seeing the director now almost half of what he used to weigh, “Every time I see you a chunk of you is gone. Keep it up and you’ll be invisible.”

He chuckled moving closer with arms extended to hug you tightly, “I missed you Gimli, and, I have wonderful news.” His eyes shifted to the newspaper on the table and he said pulling a binder from the bag resting at his hip, “I see you have heard part of the news.”

“Yes, King Kong, well done. I know you’ve been wanting it for a long while now.”

“Yes, now, this is a bit of a scuffle, however, I would love for you to be our double for Ann Darrow.”

“Really?” You asked with a grin turning to fetch the juice from the fridge you bought on the way here while your father brought glasses out for you both and a spare for Peter. “Is it too physical for Naomi?”

Peter let out a sigh drawing your eye from the glass you were pouring, “Partly, though the main reason is, there’s going to be wire work and we need to flail her about while Kong juggles her from hand to hand in a Trex fight.”

Joe, “Whoa.”

Peter chuckled, “Yes, there will be dinosaurs in this and a good chunk of the time on Skull Island Ann will be very physical, running, sliding down hills, being thrown about in fields and in green screen studios. I need someone with endurance.”

Smirking at him you replied, “More like you need a rag doll.”

Peter chuckled out, “In not so graceful terms, yes. I need someone who can have the muscle control to be flailed about but not be violently whipping themselves around to hurt themselves and those they work with. Which is why I would also like to ask you Joe if you would join as well. In the wire work when she is flailed you would be a great height to hold the harness she is dangling from to act as the hand holding her while we have another double from these films also who will catch her when you toss her back and forth. Andy will be performing in a cg suit playing Kong camera wise but you have the height needed to give her someone big to work against in her bits when she’s alone with Kong instead of just another tennis ball on a stick.”

Joe nodded feeling more secure on your safety with that plan on using him and another as your bases, “Sounds good. My schedule is open.”

Peter looked to you inches from begging and you grinned saying, “You really think I would turn down King Kong? Come on.”

Making him laugh and open the binder saying as he flipped through it. “Now, we’ve been compiling information on New York from the Depression Era, cars, clothes, dialog coaches and of course information on films and live shows what to expect from that and I think we have a good idea where to start. We were hoping to have your ideas on things, especially the outfits for Ann. Not to mention, Vaudeville shows for Ann.”

Through the following week the use of your time in New York and the feel for it and studies on the history of the city for several projects had you the perfect one to help. One mock up in particular in a sketch board had you saying, “You’re missing two buildings.”

The artist said, “No, the maps have that marked as a garden.”

“Well now, but there was a fire in ‘37 that ruined them. Had to tear them down, and it wasn’t till WWII was over that they built this garden.” From your notepad you passed them a sketch you had made the night before with a note of the book you knew to have a photograph of the buildings that was tacked up and later that day the images were confirmed and the sketch for that one was replaced with the proper buildings.

From fabrics, shoes, hair and makeup every detail was scrutinized along with possible choreography for the Vaudeville and live musical shows the film could hint to. Down to the final feather with just the detail scrutiny you combed through everything supplied to you the next two months had his producers more confident with what mock ups and changes he had brought to confirm that they were right in giving him room to film and produce it all in New Zealand.

There wasn’t much to your days on set. Blips in the background once again granting you ample time to delve more into the history of the Depression era to add even more details. David was there to play Faramir leaving to recover Osgiliath with you in the crowds. Days later you were in a forest as an Elf atop Misty to escort Arwen off to the Grey Havens.

Days of combing through their collected footage for the small musical shows were fully delved into with sketches and possible choreography drafted out by you and one of the movement coaches on the trilogy until the actual choreographer would be arriving the following year to work with the cast and extras. Plays from the era were gathered as well and compiled with the best to send off to the lead male interest for his role as a playwright. All the while Sean Austin between his own scenes directed a short film entitled The Long and Short of It. And the final bit you hid in the back of was flashbacks containing Boromir, Faramir and Denethor, including the day Denethor ordered his son to Rivendell.

Dedicated didn’t come close and as the Weta crew tasked to begin on the Kong wardrobe, props and models they absolutely cherished having your help in all of this. Each fully realizing how you had just bled out all this knowledge you had from the era, including tidbits you had learned from Mrs Henderson while you lived down the hall from one another. All the flaws and beauty of the time conquering such terrible times just exuded from the sketches and printouts you gave as references easing their path into setting the stage.

When it came to the boat however you were lost and let your father take control as he’d been on ships like the one from the film and knew docks and that aspect better than you. Down to comments or lines on navigation or the weather how it works around the center of an ocean. The island however was still a huge mystery and while you built the world Andy continued to build up his own investigation into apes and their whole world including having planned a trip to observe actual gorillas outside of a zoo setting. All the same you soaked up all you could while nursing your wounded pride at not being big enough to have earned a chance to audition for King Kong at all.

…

“Sorry,” Howard’s eyes shifted to you with a smirk from your bashful detraction of your hand. After mornings of working with WETA you found your afternoons here working with him again in scoring and the oh so sad song for Gollum and his back story.

Peter however chuckled from his seat where he was scribbling a few notes on things to tweak in the footage playing to the demo score for this scene you were tweaking, both of which Howard rolled back. “You know you have free reign for tips here, Dear.”

In a huff you said, “Sorry, just feel like no time has skipped since the sound board at Texas.”

Peter asked, “Soundboard? You worked on scoring in Texas?”

“Not just on it I was Howard for them when they drove off the other guy.”

Peter, “What? They made you score the film?” Almost sounding ready to pummel the director and management in charge of adding to your weight of the first starring role you had fully explaining why you were so relieved to be back here from those sets.

“Well it just started with us needing some music to dance to, as they have us a metronome to rehearse with while the original guy started his war with the director. So it was some violin and piano, no biggie. Nice and simple, then the role had singing as part of it as well as the dancing but the original songs he promised were nothing but titles so that was a Gaelic, French, Russian and English one, some lullabies, some with a bit operatic in it. Then by the time it gets to the end scene he wants a love song for the big finale so Rich helps me out with that on his cello and then they hear the demos and how I just blended the film perfectly, and then I end up scoring it too.”

Howard sighed then asked, “Please tell me it didn’t have to do with us naming you as part of the crew for the past one.”

“Not entirely, no, I studied at Oxford, and Juilliard. Performed on Broadway, won a Tony for that. And then I got the first film as my first role and got to work with you. So I must be an expert.” A moment you sighed and smoothed a hand over your face, “Sometimes I wish my grandparents didn’t brag so much about me.”

The pair chuckled and Peter asked, “I almost hate to ask about Daredevil.”

“Oh,” you said with a sarcastic chuckle, “I loved the Selkie film, I was exhausted beyond belief but at least I had my family and Rich out there to help with the scoring and choir to go with the orchestra. No, no, Daredevil, is no longer Daredevil,” that had their brows arching up in confusion, “It’s now Daredevil and Elektra, two films dwindling my role in the first to nothing. So instead of letting me keep my nap time the Director decides I can play a stewardess too! So I got that my cafe blip, a second of a glance in a party scene and I was wrapped. Got to meet Colin Farrell but other than that, Daredevil was a dud and I have never met anyone like that Director before. Almost tore my leg muscle by his telling the wire guy and not me he was changing the moves while I was mid freaking air! Another guy had his collar bone fractured! You don’t do that to stunt people to ‘make it cooler’ by adding a wall slam mid fight!”

Peter, “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m glad it’s over. And I highly doubt I will work with marvel again if he’s at the helm. If ever. But it was fine, but hectic, but fine. Glad to be back here to see what you’ve been hiding behind your lenses.”

Peter smirked and Howard asked, “If I can ask, how do you think you did? Scoring?”

Softly you sighed, “Well, if they don’t touch anything I did past a few trimming of edges, and I do mean edges, there was this bird that just kept dangling into the set scenes on side shots. Cuz they just had some scenery shots out in Russia and Switzerland, and then we did the rest on sets in Texas, so it should be easy to finish it off. If they don’t touch anything else then it should be pristine. I think it’s amazing, it’s not a multi million dollar budget thing, but I think I did good. Film is on my shoulders if it isn’t seems like, so fingers crossed my family and Rich weren’t lying at how they loved it. But the producers are getting a glimpse and I should hear back from them soon before they finish off prepping to green light the theater tours and release.”

Howard, “I am certain it will be wonderful, you have a great ear and natural sense for this. Are they at least paying you for it?”

You nodded, “400 grand after renegotiations of my contract. Grandparents lawyers talked them up to that much somehow.”

Peter, “You are more than worth it.”

Unable to help it a grin eased across your lips and you said, “I’m gonna have 400 grand. I could buy a house!”

The guys chuckled at your excited giggle and glance back to the screen and Howard said, “Ah, yes, we are muffling the majesty of Gollum muttering.” Easing a knob a bit to the left to lower the music just a tad to not clash with Andy’s raspy voice in a whisper battle.

September into October was the layout for the trip to New Zealand and with a few calls of plans laid in stone you received the all clear from the upper guys on your Selkie film that they green lit it and were planning theaters now for the January release date hoping to hit the market when there would be a lull for fantasy and thriller films in the packed year with ample to entertain the public hastening things along. About a Boy answered your role with a check and as Enough had left theaters and gone to disk and vhs you got that money too. With a promise of three more film checks to come not just helping to pay off the rest of next years rent and grant you more savings to dip into for travels and possible roles and events that might pop up in your ever changing life.

Home again to your chilly apartment you went, while your Dad went south to get some more months on the ranch before the flight to England for the Holidays again. First he had tried to wiggle out to give you time alone but Richard had already called him and tried to plan a surprise for you in means of an exploration trip of a new spot from his childhood he’d yet to show off to you he knew you both would love to see this time of year booked solid the year prior. Catching up with some old friends from school you kept yourself busy with a movie trip for two films you’d yet to see before heading to some museums and the remodeled aquarium simply falling back into an easy pattern to your days on your own. An odd thing to have missed, just these solitary lazy days where you were free to do as you willed yourself to before heading home to get some sleep. Found rabbit ears had helped you to get a few static to clear channels to browse through after you had finished sorting through all your backed up junk mail, as anything important was sent ahead by your landlord to where you were staying through the year.

Lee however in his usual fashion swooped back in post trip to Canada to go and spoil your peaceful solitude flying back to share his trip with an irritated plop onto the bed after you had let him inside. Apparently just a day before the table reads he joined the rest of the cast groaning at the loss of the lead female in the show only meaning auditions would have to be held again while the others hey had lined up as back ups were already booked on other gigs. Puppy dog eyes ensued and what you thought might be a longer vacation for yourself was being threatened by his hazel eyed self close to pouting and begging if he had to so this role could not be lost and his best friend could work with him on it possibly rooming together as well.

Though thankfully for you jet lag kicked in post take out stop and went to his apartment downstairs to get some well needed sleep with a promise to be back up in the morning for the flight out to California for the premier of The Ring. Excited to share his own news Richard took up most of your night spilling all on how he had prepped for his latest role before regrettably apologizing for keeping you up so late at his own yawn warning him of the time. Giggled off the remorse faded and with a few moments of a grin he readied for bed as you laid out and tried to get some sleep before the flight with a promise to call you after you had seen the film to spill on how it all went.

“Where the hell,” watching the luggage drop onto the turning rack you muttered not seeing your bag after Lee had hurried around the conveyer to grab his own he had missed thanks to a group of Hockey players diving between you. Shaking that off you got back to scouring for your bag only to turn your head seeing Lee with your bag and his in his hands, “Hey.”

Chuckling your way once he’d blown his hair away from his eyes he said, “It was tucked under mine.”

“Aww, well it gets lonely I guess.” Making him chuckle and tilt his head as you shouldered your bag.

“Let’s see if we can find a cab.”

A few steps later you said, “Thanks, for coming with me.”

“Hey, I promised I would.”

“Just, I know you’ve been trying to research for your new show.”

That had his grin split out and he said, “Speaking of which, I hear they are having to look for a new female lead.”

“Lee,”

“Oh come on you would be perfect, and we get to act together. You get to be my sister who talks to inanimate objects making me reconsider everything I stand for.”

“Seriously, first the Selkie then that, I might get a reputation.”

“For having an incredible imagination, yes.” His glance out to the line of taxi’s had his head swiveling until you heard your name being called.

“Miss Pear! Oh, over here!” A grin spread across your lips seeing the familiar taxi driver you’d gotten the last time you had come to town to visit Lee. His hand reached out to swat the hand away of another driver trying to hold up a sign for his own cab, “Stop it, I know her, you leech.”

Lee glanced at you and you said, “I’ve ridden with him before.” Crossing the walkway you approached him saying, “Morning Aarush.”

His smile split wider, “You remembered my name!”

“How could I forget? You were so kind to me.”

Chuckling to himself he led you to the back to open his trunk, muttering, “A celebrity knows my name.” You smirked and he hurried to close the trunk and hurry to his seat to take you to your hotel. A signature from you and Lee on the back of the Polaroid you pulled from your bag hid him just about glowing taking your tip and hurrying off promising to call his family about the celebrity couple he had picked up from the airport.

Exhaling sharply your held grin deflated and you rubbed your cheek making Lee chuckle and hum out, “I think you made his year.”

“Oh come on Casanova, let’s get to our room so I can eat something before we get shuttled around again.”

Inside the doors of the not so luxurious but oh so expensive hotel you had been booked into by the production team he answered on the way to the desk, “Do you have press for this?”

“No, there’s another interview at the after party for another magazine but other than that I’m not huge in this. Besides the other teens are bigger names than I am. They have been doing all the rounds on shows and such.”

Once at the front desk the man eyed Lee and then you smiling as he recognized your face clearly from the portfolio of actors coming to stay here for the premier. “Miss Pear, we were not certain when to expect you. There are storms blocking travel from a couple of actors flying from England so a number have been delayed.”

“Well it’s all clear from New York.”

“Wonderful,” he said with a grin and assembled your card keys and said, “All the information for room service and the tv is all up in your room, simply take the elevator on the left up to the fifth floor.”

You nodded saying, “Thank you.” Stepping aside with a glance to the front door seeing Naomi Watts entering with her boyfriend Leif, after a huff in lowering her bag onto a cart brought over for her she smiled and waved your way gaining a wave in return as you passed into the hall out of her sight. Lee hit the button and you came to a stop beside him, “I think I want a burger.”

“Burger sounds really good right now.” In a glance down at you he smirked adding, “You remember Tracie Tohms?”

“Ya, she was in a few of my classes.”

“She’s on the show. You’d get to play best friends.”

“You are shameless.”

“Oh come on, at least come out and look at my rental there. Say hi, come see the Niagra set with me.”

One glance at your phone and your math said that Richard was still in his last audition and could be home afterwards to hear about the film and possibly Lee’s offer. Knowing which room you were in the burgers were rushed up to the room and at the table you listened to the cartoon film playing on the tv between muttered bits of conversation on what your part was in this horror flick mainly to let him know how terrified he would be to sleep in the bed beside yours tonight. A notion you giggled away saying you were chilling but not out to throttle him in his sleep, brushed teeth however followed easing the dishes on the cart outside the door joining others from fellow actors wishing to snack before the evening ahead.

Back in your indigo short sleeved velvet dress and black tights you secured your black booties tied with the decorative indigo laces. Just a moment Lee lingered in the doorway admiring your look as you fluffed out your hair in the mirror aimed at the beds once on your feet confirming in the dimmer room that your makeup was suitable under bright and dim lighting. Turned around you grinned looking over the tall date you had smoothing his hand anxiously over his navy tie to go with his charcoal suit. “Look at you trying to steal my thunder,” That had him chuckle and glance to the door at the knock from your assigned aid to get you all into the right cars and you grabbed your clutch.

At your side he went down and with his hand on your back he took notice of Liev and Naomi’s curious murmurs and inspection of your unknown date you had brought with you. To the cars the line of actors went and all in a row each of the cars emptied onto the carpet with more smiles spreading at noticing you had arrived before gazes shifted to Lee who was clearly not how you described your Mate. All the same with his hand still on your back he walked with you trying to not seem so bewildered towards what was going on around him.

Amber was the first one you reached and into a hug she tugged you then pulled back, “You look amazing,” you muttered into her hair.

“Thank you, so do you,” she said when she pulled back again and looked to Lee, smiling again shifting her fingers against the purple skirt of her dress, “And you would be?”

“Lee, Lee Pace.” He answered with a flinch of a grin.

“We went to Julliard together, my best friend.” You said bumping your hip into his making him chuckle at his absurdly skyrocketing nerves.

That widened her smile, “Well welcome, welcome. Let’s introduce you to the guys,” she said reaching out for your hands to show you both to the group of teens from the film greeting you fondly and Lee as well once Amber shared who he was.

Naomi came next in their interviews with Liev at her side, both in black, “There you are, you brought your friend today?” She asked in a brief hug.

“Yes, Rich isn’t the best without a cushion for horror films,”

Making Liev chuckle then lowly mutter, “Aren’t we all in need of a cushion.”

“This is Lee, best friend from Julliard.”

Liev hummed out, “Drama, dance or music?”

Lee, “Drama.”

Naomi, “Ooh, have you been in anything we might have seen?”

Lee nodded, “Yes, I had a part on Law and Order: SVU, and I have a film coming out soon.”

Liev teased, “Let me guess, something with sports?”

Lee chuckled and shook his head causing Liev’s brow to tick up, “Burlesque dancer, actually.”

Naomi’s brows shot up and you bit the inside of your lip not to laugh, “Do they have male burlesque dancers in the States?” Asking her boyfriend who was smirking.

“Only Tranny’s and Drag Queens, brave choice.” He rumbled back to Lee.

Lee, “I was lucky to get it, and Jaqi helped me with the dances and movement a great deal. Owe a lot of it to her really.”

“Could have paid me back with those thigh high boots if your feet weren’t so damn big.” Making Lee chuckle and rub a hand over the back of his neck as Liev chuckled knowing the difficulties of playing a transsexual from one of his prior roles.

Naomi smirked looking to you asking, “Any new roles coming up?”

“Other than playing your stunt double,” making her lips part, “Not really, congrats by the way, Ann Darrow, is a phenomenal character to land.”

“Yes,” she said, “They did confirm I was cast the lead. I met Peter, he’s quite, intense on his vision, right?”

“Um, I wouldn’t say intense, determined, might be closer. Did he say something?”

“Well no, just, I got this amazing audition for this part I have been dying to hear is close to production.”

“Oh?” the guys around you caught your flinch of a betrayed expression you masked at Lee’s poke to your back in her excited glance upwards in search of the right words.

“I can’t say much about it but I know you’ve been here, so many jobs to pick from and you just want to do them all, but with oceans in between it just isn’t possible.”

Lee grinned stopping you from speaking in a squeeze of his arm around your back pulling you into his side, “Exactly, Jaqi’s a bit torn on accepting a show we’d work together on. Bit last minute back up in Canada.”

Naomi, “You should just take it! I know how much you said you loved Canada.” Her name got called and she grinned saying, “See you inside.” And led Liev off who nodded to your forced nod.

Under your breath when you were alone you whispered, “Intense on his vision?”

“Look, I know you love Peter, but hey you have to look at the golden lining.”

“Which would be?”

“She drops out they audition again, right?”

“Great, so I can be skipped over twice.”

“Oh stop,” he said turning you at your name being called for your round at pictures and a few questions on the way inside. Under his arm again he hummed by your ear on the way inside, “You got Gimli, don’t forget that. Peter has been showing you off,”

“That doesn’t-,”

“And, if the role is empty close enough they will be desperate.”

“Thanks,” you replied sarcastically.

“You know what I mean. You will blow the big boys out of the water.”

Inside up closer than you had sat before, your seats were claimed and with his hand fixed in yours Lee settled down only to loop his arms around yours within just the first production logos for his nerves. The difference from your opening scenes just talking with Amber to your asylum scene had his jaw dropping and leaning in when Naomi’s character left you heard him whisper, “Good gracious woman,” behind your lifted hand you giggled making Naomi and Amber a few seats over having caught that giggle too. Tiny jumps and squirms closer to your side echoed of reactions around the audience until your hand covered your mouth to not make a shriek like others when Martin’s character was turned and revealed to have a warped face. On your other side Martin chuckled patting your other hand to comfort himself after his own hard flinch unsettled by the expression as Amber had for hers earlier.

The party after had him nearly fixed by your side choosing not to schmooze and catch up with you until his interview turn came up and he sighed freeing the seat beside you for a short time at least if he had his way. Another sip for you was halted by a flinch at Liev’s voice by your side, “She wants to work with you, you do know that?” That had your eyes on him fully, “Because it’s not avoiding working with you again, she loves working with you. Perhaps even better on less terrifying terms this time around. It truly is a project she’s talked about for decades.”

“Oh no, guessed it’d have to be big, must be, to pass on King Kong.”

That had his grin creeping wider, “Exactly.”

In his glance over to her distant laugh had Lee saying, “It’s Peter’s dream film,” making Liev look at him again, “Waited for decades to get to film it, he doesn’t mean to be intense, just wants it to all fit his dream picture, from what I hear.”

Liev smirked at you saying, “I know you like him, worked with him before, you talked about him like it, it was something like magic what he pulled out of his hat, that’s why she wanted to give his film a chance to get a hint of that magic. You don’t find that often, if at all. She’s taking all the options in stride, and maybe she can line it all up how you are able to. I just didn’t want you to think it might be you she would be avoiding by possibly choosing against it.”

“No I get that, really, it would be great to work with her on something. I don’t know, guess I’ve never been on the other side, seeing someone choose against a project like I have before.”

“No,” he chuckled out, “It is new, and often there’s no explanation afterwards. Been there.” You pointed subtly and his eyes shifted to her again with brows raised and he grinned seeing her grin and nod over making him chuckle out, “Being paged, see you later.”

Lee chuckled to himself when he was out of earshot and murmured to you, “Peter does more than magic and so do you. Stars’ll line up, and I will bet you on that.”

You smirked at him, “And just what do you have on you to bet right now besides your dad’s borrowed tie?”

Deepening his grin, “Ouch, I may be penniless but I have my perks.” That had you giggling and shaking your head to his chuckles only to turn it seeing the first of the interviewers approaching the pair of you he noticed was not like the other actors in a steady loop around the room, more preferably stationary to encourage a more proper interview with a good writing surface. Of course with smiles to welcome each fully once they had tired of the others.

Pt 28

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea , @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455, @xxbyimm (Hobbit x oc)

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #Liev Schreiber x Naomi Watts #The Ring Premier #Time Alone #Lee Pace x Reader OC

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