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papiliotao · 8 months

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꒰ 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✩࿐

pairing: lyney x gn!reader

content: fluff, modern au, high school au, friends to (almost) lovers, mutual pining, theatre kids, lyney and the reader rehearse a kissing scene

summary: playing the role of his lover in a drama production is easier said than done, especially when you’re just beginning to realize the nature of your feelings for him.

a/n: i had no inspiration for a while but then lyney came along. i’m so normal about him. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading!

When you were told that you had to kiss your best friend for a school play, you were in shock and disbelief — not because you were repulsed by the thought of playing the part of a couple, but because you realized that you didn’t mind the idea of his lips pressed against yours.

You’re not quite sure when the feelings crept up on you, dawning in your heart like the hazes of peach and azure that dust the horizon at sunrise. It feels like it’s been an eternity since you started loving Lyney, but you’ve just never noticed that your adoration was beyond platonic.

However, after experiencing your epiphany, you’ve been wondering if he shares your rose-tinted sentiments. Slowly but surely, you observe that the lines between friendship and romance have become blurred, fusing together in a myriad of watercolour hues.

Every once in a while, Lyney will hold your hand for no reason, the softness of his skin akin to the caress of gilded threads of sunlight. There are also instances where he’ll hug you for just a little too long, clinging onto you as if he never wants to let go. And of course, you’ll never be able to forget the sentimental nights spent gazing up at murals of sparkling constellations dotting pristine navy skies, where you cuddle with your best friend in an attempt to stay warm.

In these instances, a simple question lingers in the short silences, an untold inquiry that neither of you care to utter in fear of shattering the status quo.

What are we?

So now, as you sit across from Lyney atop the velvety cushions of his living room couch, ready to rehearse very kiss that sent you spiraling into a bout of infatuated hysteria in the first place, your heart can’t help but race. The melody it sings is one that speaks of perplexing feelings and a hope for fairytale endings, and it only amplifies as you look into pale violet eyes that sparkle as iridescent petals flutter about in their depths.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Lyney whispers, smiling at you reassuringly. There’s something soothing about the expression on his face, embodying the serenity of a marine zephyr in the midst of a cruel summer.

“How can you be so calm when we’re about to practice a kiss?” you ask, voicing your thoughts out loud. “What if we’re not good enough?”

Truthfully, you’re a nervous wreck. Your fingers tremble, and your mind feels blank. You’ve always known that Lyney was born to be on stage, but you didn’t think he’d be so nonchalant in a situation like this. His disposition is completely composed, not a single spark of anxiety shining through his tranquil demeanour.

On the other hand, you’re constantly pondering the what ifs.

What if you mess the scene up? What if it turns out looking awkward? What if it’s so horrendous that it makes the audience uncomfortable.

However, in total contrast to you, Lyney simply chuckles, his voice ringing out in a clear and soothing fantasia.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you, keeping his gaze fixated on you. “I’m sure our chemistry will be absolutely perfect. After all, even Lynette has mistaken us for a couple.”

“She has?” you blurt out, both shocked and embarrassed that Lyney’s twin has had her misconceptions about your relationship. The two are practically telepathically linked, so the tall order of fooling Lynette would more or less be akin to deceiving the heavens above.

“She has,” Lyney confirms, a mischievous spark of violet electricity blazing through his irises, “and that’s why I’m certain we’ll be able to pull this off flawlessly.”

He gently laces his fingers around your hand, bringing it up to his chest.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m not nervous at all.” From beneath the soft fabric of Lyney’s clothes, you can feel a gentle thrumming, a beat that resounds at a tempo matching that of your very own heart. “You know, even the greatest of performers get stage fright sometimes.”

In a mystifying twist, you feel more comfortable now that Lyney has told you that you’re not alone in your anxiousness. Your relief defies all logic, but perhaps it’s the knowledge that your feelings aren’t entirely unreasonable that soothes your nerves.

“I see,” you whisper. “Well I’m sure you’ll do great. We’ll get through this together.”

Lyney nods.

“I’m just glad it’s you,” he says, pausing for a moment as if deep in thought. “Actually, ‘glad’ would be an understatement. ‘Beyond overjoyed’ is more accurate.”

Your breath hitches, and for a second, the world seems to still, suspended in a momentary utopia. But despite your giddiness and the euphoric feelings that arise in your heart, you shrug Lyney’s words off, trying your best not to get your hopes up. After all, if you expect too much, you might find yourself disappointed in the end.

“The feeling is mutual. Although maybe we should get to rehearsing now. I think I’m ready,” you tell him, pulling your hand out of his grasp in a light motion, clinging on to the last of his warmth as his skin grazes yours. It’s reminiscent of fading sunlight comforting you with the dazzling radiance of a dying crepuscule, lulling you into a daze as it causes shades of twilight to waltz in a dance of fantastical wonders.

“Your wish is my command,” Lyney responds playfully.

However, after only a few seconds, his features shift into a more serious expression. Although the same smile adorning his lips, it’s softer now, more sincere.

Is this all part of an act, or is it real?

Additionally, an unidentifiable emotion now glints in a display of diamond lights, illuminating the seas of amethyst contained within Lyney’s eyes. Locks of platinum hair, composed of starlight essence, frame his face in a way that makes him look undeniably handsome. Once again, your heart, which had just barely stilled, begins to beat in a frenzy.

You want nothing more than to freeze time, stay in this ephemeral moment, relish in the sensation of his breath gently tickling your skin and engrave the ethereal sight before you into archives stored deep within your memories. But unfortunately, it’s impossible to pause the scene before you. Reality, unlike the countless movies and videos you’ve watched to study your part, stops for no one.

And before you know it, the divide between your lips and Lyney’s is diminishing, the blank space fading at a pace that feels both far too rapid yet far too prolonged at the same time.

Closer.

And closer.

Until your lips meet in a clash of opalescent sparks, shedding light and embellishing the magical moment with an atmosphere worthy of any stage. The lilac butterflies that dance in the pit of your stomach prompt sensations of glee to arise within your heart.

His skin is soft and warm, and the feeling of his lips against yours is just so right. There’s no one else you’d rather kiss. There’s no one else you’ll ever long for. There’s no one in the world you’ll ever love more.

No matter how much you deny it, your relationship has crossed the line from platonic to romantic, gradually edging closer and closer to a thin border before finally falling over onto the other side. Your kiss with Lyney confirms everything. There’s far too much passion, far too much care and longing exchanged in a single act of affection.

Best friends don’t kiss each other like this.

At this point you’re certain the feeling is mutual. Now, all you have to do is wait until one of you inevitably confesses, and you’ll both be able to finally live happily ever after, basking in the splendor of true love.

thank you for reading <3 if you enjoyed this fic, i would really appreciate it if you could comment or reblog!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin lyney

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tanith-rhea · 1 year

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Only Pretending #5

Ok, here we go, @anti-bright-places, @the-bagel24, @regalbootie, @tundra1029, @thoroughly-confused, @lilsmeaux, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @alder-saan, @jelly-frogss, @enchantressb, @imean-its-just-me, @lvinhs, @iloveyall-18, @kimiinou, @jeweleegrey, thank you, people, so much, I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.6k Authors note: this one took me so long because I was debating causing trouble or playing safe. You can decide which one I chose.

You could kill Morticia then and there, but you didn’t, because it would be much nicer to see her choke on her own tongue at just how intimate you could be with Larissa… from a faking point of view.

She came out of the shower not much longer and you didn’t mention your brief encounter with her former roommate. You knew it would be better to warn her about Morticia’s possible suspicion, but it seemed to be nothing more than her trying to push your buttons instead of thinking you weren’t together.

“Are you almost done?” you asked when it was close to nine and she was still applying makeup.

She only looked at you with a mildly annoyed expression and you realized this was very important to her. Maybe you should have told her about the time restriction.

“I don’t mind you taking your time, it’s just that dinner will be served at nine.” You shrugged, trying to make it sound less important.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me!” she changed from annoyed to bewildered in an instant and you cringed from causing her to feel that way, “I still have to apply eyeliner and it takes me a century to get it right!” She put down her lipstick and leant her forehead on the tip of her fingers.

“I can do it! I used to do the girl’s makeup at uni all the time and I got quite good at it.” It was true, and while your heart was still slightly racing from her previous exasperation, you felt a little calmer knowing you could fix at least a bit of the situation.

Larissa eyed you sideways, her face sulky and quite adorable with her lips pressed firmly together before giving up.

“Okay, fine. Do it. But you should have told me sooner, you absolute-“ she cut herself suddenly.

You arched one eyebrow at her, picking up on the spot of colour rising on her neck, and approached to pick her eyeliner from her makeup organizer. “You absolute what?” you teased as she turned to face you. You sat at the vanity, diagonally to her.

“Forget it, I wasn’t going anywhere with it.” She only mumbled, lifting her chin for your hand to secure it.

You held her face firmly, but gently, with your thumb underneath her chin and index along her jaw. She smelt sweetly of roses, as she always did, and you leaned forward to look at her closely while painting the line close to her lashes.

It was so very difficult to concentrate, but your desire to please her and make her feel beautiful won over. You loved her deep blue irises, their outer lines darker as the border of a watercolour, and having the power to draw attention to them felt intoxicating. You were given the most beautiful canvas and told to make people see it.

“All done.” You whispered when it was over, absentmindedly caressing her cheek.

You smiled softly, contemplating your handiwork with pride. Larissa’s eyes were fixed on yours; she looked deep in thought for a moment, then snapped right back with several blinks and a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she sounded a bit hoarse, and you wondered if she would catch a cold from coming from the steamy bathroom into your colder bedroom. You made a note of lighting the fireplace once you got back from dinner so she would be warm at night.

“It was nothing.” You smiled, getting up from the vanity and offering her a hand to get up as well.

She accepted, and soon you were leaving for the dinner, arm in arm through the high-ceiling corridor.

“Wednesday!” you greeted the girl excitedly as soon as you entered the foyer where she and her parents were, as well as her younger brother and an elderly woman you assumed was her grandmother.

The girl turned around to see you and Larissa descending the last steps of the stairs. She approached with her usual perfectly erect posture and rigid steps.

“Professor,” she greeted, nodding, “It is truly mitigating seeing you here.” She eyed from you to Larissa, stopping midway to arch a brow at your linked arms. “Principal Weems,” her look lingered more on your companion as if they were having their own private conversation, “Your presence is also appreciated.”

Larissa half-smiled at that, a hint of fondness in her eyes.

“I’m happy to be here, miss Addams.”

At that, Wednesday nodded curtly and went back to her parent’s company, as did you and Larissa.

“Oh, don’t you look precious together!” Morticia’s bassy voice welcomed you to the group and you tried to unclench your jaw and smile; you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Anything looks precious when Larissa is involved.” You gave her a sweet smile, finding it not so necessary to pretend when you looked at her.

“Oh, shush.” Her cheeks were colouring, and you felt immensely pleased with yourself.

“Larissa is quite the formidable woman,” Gomez agreed, smiling kindly at you, “You must be quite accomplished as well to catch her eye.”

You felt you could very easily like Gomez. Strangely, the fact that Larissa was infatuated with him in her youth didn’t feel threatening to you, not nearly as much as the intellectual tug-of-war she had with Morticia.

“I can’t begin to guess what she saw in me. But I’m tremendously lucky she did.” You squeezed her upper arm, seeking comfort from the nervousness you felt all of a sudden.

The woman you guessed was Wednesday’s grandmother then got up with a roll of her eyes. “If this is what you interrupted me for, I would much prefer to resume wrestling with the alligator in the cellar.”

“Mamma!” Morticia intercepted her, rounding her shoulders with an arm. “Don’t leave us so soon, we will dine now,” she reassured the woman, who only grumbled and went through an archway to what you saw was a dining room with a long mahogany table.

You followed Morticia and Gomez to the same room, Wednesday right behind you with her brother. The table was already set, and all family members took their usual spots with ease. The hosting couple were at the ends and Wednesday and her brother sat in front of each other closest to Gomez’s side while Mother Addams sat beside her grandson. You took a seat near Wednesday and Larissa took hers right beside you.

For the first half hour, everything was fine. Morticia was a gracious host and the hors d'oeuvre and appetizer were delicious if morbid-looking; their presentation resembled eyes, fingers and the like. The chef was skilful, you had to give them that, but taking a forkful of mushroom and walnut pate was somewhat unnerving when it looked like ears stuffed into a human brain.

When you started to feel confident in your skin, the conversation shifted from professional chit-chat to the prodding you were waiting, if not too excited, for.

“So, Larissa, I must admit I was very surprised when you arrived accompanied.” Morticia set her fork down, a smirk slowly forming on her mouth. “How come such miraculous news didn’t get to me?”

Miraculous? The nerve!

“Excuse me. Miraculous?” you smiled largely, unable to keep your eyes from squinting and your voice from dripping with ill-concealed venom.

Her fake stunned expression was award-worthy. “Oh, I just meant that Larissa can be very intense at times, and it takes a very rare, special kind of person to be able to… manage it.”

“We decided to keep our relationship private for these first few months,” Larissa stated, cutting you from responding to Morticia’s last comment. Clever woman.

“So you’re your boss’ little secret?” an amused voice joined in, Wednesday’s grandmother.

You were shocked beyond speech. Were they together to make your life hell? Was all this a plot? At your slack jaw, the old woman started again.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t mean it in a bad way. You just became much less boring than I thought you were.” She winked at you and took a bite of her salad. “You’re right in doing whatever you want and if forbidden love gets your juices flowing, go for it.”

You coughed at that. You weren’t eating anymore but suddenly the air seemed enough matter to choke on.

“Mamma!” Morticia chastised, sounding more amused than reprimanding.

“Forgive Grandma Addams,” Gomez asked you with kind worry, “She’s just very supportive and can come across differently than she wishes.”

“It’s fine… thank you…”

“You can call me grandmama, darling,” the curious woman said.

“Thank you, grandmama.” You smiled; a sense of incredulity and almost child-like happiness bubbled in your stomach at finally being taken seriously. She was an odd one, and her forwardness reminded you of Wednesday, if not her disposition for good humour when Wednesday’s leaned more on crudeness.

Was she joking when she mentioned the cellar? She must have been.

“Right, I believe we can call out the third course,” Morticia announced, and promptly it was brought.

As the evening went on, conversation flowed rather tamely. More dishes were brought, and you were amazed at the chef’s capability. By the end of it, the kids and their grandma had retired, and only you and Larissa remained with Gomez and Morticia.

“Maybe we could bring this to the study.” Morticia said, getting up and grabbing the bottle of whisky she’d produced half an hour earlier. “I think y/n would love to see the remnants of Wednesday’s childhood experiments. She seemed very interested when we mentioned it.”

You were interested, in fact. At one point in the evening, grandmama mentioned how Wednesday would plot increasingly creative ways to endanger family members. It was a family game, almost, but the girl was said to be very ingenious with her plans.

Following the couple, Gomez showed the collection of plant-based poisons and potions the girl used through the years with a weirdly proud countenance. You supposed it was fitting of such a family and found it quite endearing to witness.

“I’ll never forget the time she almost got my ear with that falling spear,” he said dreamily, “I really didn’t see that one coming. My brilliant storm cloud.”

“Didn’t it pierce your shoulder?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“Oh, no! I was in bed. We had to change the mattress though.”

Suddenly you were impressed by Wednesday’s tame behaviour at school; if this was her childhood, you admired her restraint.

“Enough about our child’s exploits, amore mio, you’ll bore the guests.” Morticia gestured for him to seat in the chair she leant on.

Larissa had sat in a loveseat, and you joined her as Gomez went for Morticia, who sat in his lap.

“I’m dying to know how you two ended up together.” She scrunched her nose at Larissa, a smirk playing on her mouth, and your annoyance was back in half a second.

“The usual…” Larissa looked at you and you linked your fingers on her lap, “Office romance.” Seemingly more confident, she looked back to Morticia with a squeeze on your hand.

“Oh, don’t be so boring, Rissa! I know there must have been more than just that to catch our eye. You always had a type.” She arched a brow, and you didn’t understand a thing in their conversation. While it seemed straightforward, Morticia’s tone and body language suggested things you didn’t comprehend. Did Larissa prefer a different type of aesthetic? Personality? Gender?

“People change,” Larissa said simply, almost icily, without breaking eye contact.

“You see, I don’t think they do to such a radical extent.” She only smiled.

“We can’t know what happens behind closed doors, cara mia.” Gomez laughed softly, trying to lighten things a bit, and you could hug him for it. He leant close to her a kissed her cheek in a gesture you found heart-warmingly sweet, and even disliking Morticia you felt happy for her to have someone who showed his appreciation and love so openly (that when it wasn’t too uncomfortably intimate, of course).

“You’re right, carino.” Her eyes went from his to pierce right into yours, “But I think I’ve seen enough.” She stood up and held her hand to him. “Come, my love, I miss having you on our bed,” ok you could have gone without that.

“Feel free to stay if you’d like,” Gomez said hurriedly, not taking his eyes off Morticia’s blazing gaze, “You can help yourselves to more whiskey or enjoy one of our reds back in the saloon, be our guest.” And with that, the pair scurried away hand in hand like excited teenagers.

Morticia was much more tolerable when occupied lusting for her husband, you decided.

Letting a breath out, you allowed yourself another glass and got up to pour it. Larissa was strangely still beside you and when you had your back to her while serving the drink, you heard her say:

“What did she see?”

You stopped pouring; your grip on the bottle suddenly white-knuckled. Her voice was low and dangerous, not towards you particularly, just sharp in a way you heard her use when trying to conceal her feelings. It was a good strategy because you had no idea what was going through her mind.

“She visited our bedroom earlier when you were in the shower.” You clarified, turning to look at her slowly, taking in her features. She had a very good poker face. Damn her mediator abilities.

“And what did she see?”

You sat beside her, offering her your glass. She took it and sipped it twice before you thought of some less uncomfortable way of recounting the exchange. You couldn’t; so the crude truth would have to do.

“She came to tell us dinner would be in a few moments-“ Larissa passed you the glass, taking pity on you, “Then she realized you were showering and that I had already, so I…” You took a big gulp; the liquid went down burning. “…I wouldn’t be- joining you.”

Larissa only nodded at that.

“And she used that to cause you discomfort?” Larissa said in a less unaffected tone that somewhat soothed the pain forming in the back of your neck, “Do you think she doesn’t believe in us?”

You took a moment to choose your words, then said, “At first I didn’t think she was suspicious, but she looked at me just now like she knew every bit of the entire story.”

You wanted to make it work, you wanted to help Larissa and you knew you looked entirely smitten with her because that was simply your new natural state. But Morticia was anything but not stupid and you had the feeling she could tell how this all went: you were foolishly in love with your boss who didn’t want a thing from you if not a favour and in the best of cases a friendship. You thought you were living the best possible case. Too bad what you truly wanted wasn’t possible.

Unexpectedly, Larissa got up in a swift and gracious move, went to the globe bar and took an expensive swig. She didn’t say anything, her shoulders were tight even with the amount of alcohol the four of you had consumed and the healthy quantity she just downed. Without looking at you or gesturing, she just left, walking back to your room.

You followed not too closely behind her. You wanted to give her space. Maybe she was mad at you, maybe she was disappointed, maybe she was just tired of your constant insufficiency (in being all in on the plan, in being completely honest with her, in acting rather than indulging your wants and needs – even if she wasn’t aware of the latter).

When you arrived, Larissa was changing into her nightgown, a cream-coloured long, sleeveless, silky dress that accentuated her hips and exposed her clavicles, shoulders and neck. If you weren’t so anxious you might have fainted.

You started a fire, sure that she would be cold if that was all she would sleep in. You heard her settling underneath the covers and when the fire was good enough to grow on its own you left for the bathroom to change into your much warmer, comfortable pyjamas.

You got into bed as well, feeling tense and strange and so different than you thought you would while pacing around in your quarters at Nevermore. You didn’t have time to fret and feel insecure and weird like you thought you would, you were too busy worried about Larissa for that. Why was she so silent? Did she officially hate you? Were you going home tomorrow never to talk about this again and barely look into each other’s faces forever? You spent the better part of an hour pondering the scenarios.

You were so engrossed in imagining all the terrible things that could result from this that you almost didn’t notice the soft shaking beside you. Was that a little whimper?

You quickly sat on your side of the bed, safely away by almost a foot and a half, and examined her silhouette outlined but the firelight. She was quietly sobbing once every twenty or thirty seconds, shoulders tight together. Whether it was from the cold or the exertion of being silent you thought you could manage to decipher.

“Larissa… I’m awake.” You whispered, giving one uncovered shoulder the lightest touch you could. She stilled. “Do you want to talk about it?” After a moment, she shook her head no.

Not knowing what to do, you found her hand tucked close to her neck and nudged her to sit as well. She did, silently looking at the mattress between you. In this angle, you were both facing the fire. You could see bright trails under her eyes going to the left, one small pool of brightness at the side of her nose where the few tears gathered. She still had her updo, so you moved closer and started taking away her clips and letting her soft locks fall beside her face, onto the spotless skin of her shoulders, hiding her milk-white back.

“I’m sorry if tomorrow it’s all ended.” You whispered finally, after watching her not speak for almost a minute.

She looked at you slowly, for the first time in what felt like aeons but were only two hours at best. She gave you the smallest smile and said, “Why is it so unbelievable?”

It took you two seconds too many to understand what she meant, and in the next, you were shaking your head and controlling your mouth not to say too much while you just hugged her chanting “No, no, no, it’s not unbelievable at all,” in a low voice you prayed soothed her in any way.

You pressed your lips to her temple for so long that you ended up just leaning against her, your nose on her hairline catching the faint smell of orange flowers.

“I swear to you, you are one of the most deserving people I know. You are greatly respected and admired by everyone who works with you and studies at your school. You are kind, loving, intelligent, relentless and every single bit of you is deserving of love and of finding someone that will appreciate the entirety of you unconditionally.”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you could not keep from muttering it all against her skin, couldn’t keep from caressing her cheek and running a hand up and down her arm. You loved her too much to let her believe there was no one out there who would commit themselves to her and love her as deeply and madly as she deserved. Maybe it wasn’t you, but there was someone, and you needed to make sure she knew that.

While you talked, Larissa let herself melt into you. You hugged her close and let her rest her head on your shoulder. She was sobbing a bit more than before, small sounds muffled against your fuzzy jumper. She felt so warm and soft and real that you almost let yourself believe you could have this. Have her; be hers. It was the alcohol, most likely. You were the worst handsy drunk, even if you didn’t feel drunk at all anymore.

You parted slightly, not sure if she would like to go back to sleep, and when Larissa noticed your movement, she lifted her head from you and suddenly her face was so much closer than you expected.

She had such beautiful eyes; you could never tire of looking at them. They were a bit red and puffy but also glowing, you could see the dance of shadows the fire created behind you in her eyes, her pupils blown from the dark. Your gaze drifted to her mouth for a split second, however quickly you couldn’t mask it, she saw, you were face to face. When she did the same to yours but lingered there, it was too easy to lean in.

Her lips were soft. Softer than you’d imagined, but then she was always more than you could ever muster in your naïve and foolish brain. Her hand came to your face and carefully held you in place. You opened your lips but didn’t dare ask her for anything more. Whatever she wanted from you was hers to take. She pressed more firmly against you, so tenderly you could not understand how she managed to be both at the same time. How could she make you feel so much with just a press of her lips? Your chest hurt and all your bones felt cold, and you wanted the pain so much, but you didn’t know if this was what she wanted or if you just happened to be there when she needed human connection.

With a pang in your heart, you separated the smallest fraction. She made a small sound at your absence, and you forbade your brain from reading too much into it.

“I’m sorry… are you sure this is-“ and she was onto you in an instant, fervently, fingers slipping through your hair and desperately asking permission to deepen your kiss. You were only human and gave in too easily.

Tomorrow you would deal with the consequences.

Chapter Six

#larissa weems x reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #female reader #teacher!reader #normie!reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #wlw kiss #fake/pretend relationship #angst #mistakes are made #or not

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teethingpains · 3 months

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Aesthetic Tag Game

Tagged by: @complicitsacrilege- thank you! this was fun ^_^

Put a colour (wine red), an animal (domestic rat), a place (Scotland), food (ramen), a character (Armand), a gemstone (Lapis lazuli or garnet), a season (autumn), a hobby (watercolour painting), and a plant (Irises) that represent you.

#ask game #aesthetic ask game #gen talks

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yourtypicalfangirl23 · 5 months

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To Be Loved

I want to be loved. And not the kind that’s- A white picket fence crumbling before a storm. A storm so violent, Angry, Sad, And Alone. Not the kind of love thats- Gold, shimmery and oh so bright, So, so, so bright Until it blinds you, And transforms into something completely different, Slips away from your wrists. I want to be loved. A love that- When you think about them, Your eyes are a waterfall, Where between the watercolour blur of your tears, Stars and galaxies flicker before your irises, A love that- Maps your veins, Roses in tangled roots, Warmth of the sun to red and blue branches, A love that- Treacherous winds that shake the plates of the Earth, Cannot stop the trees from reaching out, From softly comforting the shifting soils with gentle leaves, I want to be loved.

#poetry #literature #deep thoughts #depressing poem #poems on tumblr

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sad-drake-lyrics · 7 months

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❀ Watercolour Irises ❀ ¡Notice!

hi friends, it pains me greatly to make this announcement, but i was not able to get the new chapter done by the due date (today). there is work done on it, but due to a multitude of factors (struggles with my disability, intensive amount of work needed to be done on other projects, etc.) it's just not ready. furthermore, i am quite burnt out from said extenuating circumstances, and i am not sure when i will have the chapter completed. it could be within a few weeks; it could be quite longer. i cannot in good faith give an exact timeline; and perhaps it was a mistake to assign myself the monthly deadline to begin with, knowing the chaos of my life. all i can really add is that, believe me, i am just as devastated as anyone looking forward to the chapter (i lowkey feel like a failure, like i missed a deadline at school lol) - and also that however long it takes, the story is not dead or abandoned in any form. i love writing it and have absolutely no intent of giving up on it. i know you'll just have to take me at my word there, but it is what it is. hope to see you again soon, under happier circumstances. xoghost

#my fic #my fanfiction #my writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #obamitsu #watercolour irises #ficlife

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fisshontoast · 2 years

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ID: a cartoon styled watercolour painting of a person with antlers, deer ears and very pale skin. They have navy hair that just reaches their chin and large eyes with a black sclera and gold irises, with no pupils. They have very small round eyebrows and are looking to the left with a neutral expression. Their blush is painted with a brown. They have no visible nose. They are wearing a high collared red shirt with gold trimming and gold ruffles coming down from the neck. The gold in their eyes as well as on their shirt is painted with acrylic. /end ID

My new OC drawn in rebelle 5 my beloved andjfnjnff,, the watercolours r so much fun

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#my art #art #artists on tumblr #oc art #oc #oc:osian #for anyone wondering yes this is digital

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viewscraftroom · 9 months

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Tumblr ate the first attempt of this post so let’s try again. This time with feeling

I have acquired the can of Citadel Munitorium Varnish I ordered and irl events have come and gone so let’s get back to Ingrid’s faceup

My GOD the difference decent sealant makes to a face up is stark! Picks up pastels and watercolour pencils like a dream, and I don’t have to worry about them being dabbed off or dirtying the face.

There was a lot of learning happening throughout this process. Gotta practice being less heavy handed with black pencil when working on the eyes. Thinner acrylic paint lays flatter on a doll and doesn’t make the face up look chunky (my pet peeve). A shame I didn’t learn this before I painted the eyes to enhance the colours, oh whale.

Here she is with some gloss varnish on her lips and irises. Not perfect but definitely my best work yet! I’m so happy with how her casteless brand came out. We’re coming to the home stretch with this project and I’m so excited to see it all come together in the end

#artists on tumblr #ooak doll #custom dolls #face up #dragon age origins #wip #ingrid brosca #ocs

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mybeingthere · 2 years

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Elizabeth Blackadder (1931 - 1921 , UK)- Celebrated artist admired for her paintings of flowers and the first woman to be elected to both the Royal and Royal Scottish academies, a long interesting article by Charles Darwent, which gives great insights in her seemingly dated art.

"In 1994, the year that Damien Hirst made his first vitrined sheep, Away from the Flock, pickled in formaldehyde, the artist Elizabeth Blackadder, who has died aged 89, finished a work called Still Life With Cats. The cats were painted in oil on canvas, joining many others in Blackadder’s oeuvre, alongside arum lilies, Japanese fans and tins of sweets.

Mere difference of age does not explain the gap between Blackadder’s art and Hirst’s. Painters of her own generation – Bridget Riley was born in the same year, 1931 – worked in a style that was insistently modern. This was not Blackadder’s way. When she and her husband, the artist John Houston, visited New York in 1969 on the way to paint the Wyoming landscape, they made trips to the Museum of Modern Art to see Picasso and Matisse, not Pollock and Warhol. Modern art institutions returned the compliment: there are only half a dozen or so Blackadders in the Tate, all but one of them lithographs, few ever on show and none more recent than 1963. The British Council Collection holds only two Blackadders, the Arts Council’s none at all. And yet, there is more to the story than meets the eye.

At first glance, a painting such as Iris Oncocylus (1996), in the collection of the National Gallery of Scotland, is not so much unapologetically outdated as defiantly so. Where Georgia O’Keeffe defeminised flower-painting by making oils of lilies that looked like vulvas, Blackadder’s watercolour irises might have been painted by an unusually adept aunt. A second look shows something more complex. Blackadder’s eye is not so much meticulous as engineered: this is botanical painting rather than flower painting. The disposition of her flowers on the paper is just that, a disposition rather than an arrangement.

In an untypically expansive moment, Blackadder hazarded that “the space between flowers [in her work] is as important as the flowers themselves”, adding that her pictures invented themselves as they went along. The two-dimensional sculpturalism of her irises owes more to Matisse than it does to, say, the flower painter Mary Butler. If Blackadder’s flowers are representational, the voids they create are abstract.

Daughter of Thomas and Violet Blackadder, she came from a family of Falkirk engineers. Her father’s factory in the town, Blackadder Brothers’ Garrison Foundry and Engine Works, had been built by Thomas’s own grandfather in 1851. Elizabeth was born in its shadow, in a sandstone villa at 6 Weir Street.

In later life, she refused to talk about her art. If forced to do so, she spoke in the kind of commonsensical terms that would have had conceptualists such as Hirst in tears – “I paint the centre of my flowers black,” Blackadder might say, adding, in a rare confessional burst, “Well, a kind of bluey-black.” She did, however, admit to having had an early teacher. “My father was an engineer, but he drew a lot, mostly boats,” she recalled in a BBC interview to mark her 80th birthday. “From a young age, he helped me to draw.” Blackadder’s father died when she was 10.

Another childhood influence was also familial. During wartime German bombing of Clydebank, Falkirk being on the bombers’ flight path, the young Elizabeth was dispatched by her mother to her grandmother’s house on Holy Loch. “I got sent out as a gardener for all [her] friends,” Blackadder would wryly recall. By her teens, she knew the Linnaean names of all the local wildflowers, and had pressed most in an album. This dual inheritance was to appear in her work as an artist.

After leaving Falkirk high school, she joined the new joint fine-and-applied arts course at Edinburgh University in September 1949, where the Byzantinist David Talbot Rice was her tutor. Blackadder found herself exposed to the Byzantine obsession with pattern, a taste at once formal and decorative. Another discovery was the Italian primitives, particularly Piero della Francesca. In her final year, spent at the Edinburgh College of Art, she met Houston, a fellow student. When Blackadder won a travel scholarship with her first-class degree, the pair set off for Italy. They were married in Edinburgh the following year, 1956, a partnership that was to last until Houston’s death in 2008.

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redvelvet103 · 2 months

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Been awhile since I've actually spoken here via not re logging but um

I do art, and I wanted to share a WIP with you lot, it's an A2 watercolour painting

She's gonna be surrounded by some cool abstract stuff and some irises. Hoping it'll end up decent, and hoping I'll remember to update with more progress and eventually the finished product

#random shit by red #art #watercolour #watercolour art #painting #im actually really proud of this

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interprehendere · 3 months

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“Regulus,” her mother didn't sound angry. But that didn't stop her apologies from beginning to spill from her lips, only to be stopped by a hand gently settling on her shoulder and her steps to move behind her. The man who had exited the room and stood in the hallways before her was a tall man. Not overly slight as she was, but still skinny. His face was rather handsome. Or at least it had the remnants of what once was a handsome man. He was far too pale and the irises of his eyes seemed to leak into the whites like watercolour paints on too wet paper. His cheeks were beginning to sink in and his dark hair seemed to struggle to hold shape even if she could see the mousse he used from where she stood. “This is—” “Tom,” the man cut her mother off and crouched before her. His smell overwhelmed her senses for a moment, resembling burnt flesh, but something deeper. Like something had been burned away from his person a long time ago and the smell was all that remained of it.

Chapter 2 is up finally. I've been slowing and taking my time with these chapters 😭

#regulus black #sirius black #tom riddle #atyd marauders #trans regulus

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onggi · 9 months

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Entendre

It’s summer. Nemr tries resolutely not to think of what that means, of who they’ve both lost, and fails. Every filtering beam of sunlight catching the flickering dust in the air is another reminder of a time when he ran away.

He’s not running away now. Ever lies in the flowering grass beside him, fingers curled into the sprouting undergrowth like they might float away if they let go for even a moment. Their wings, a soft smudge of watercolour, are pillowed against the green of the bright glade. Nemr’s own fingers twitch at his side, aching to stroke along the downy feathers at the base of their wings. He’s never touched them before — back when they were Winter, touch was something they repelled. They’re brighter now, speaking in touch as much as words; a fingertip brushing the crook of an elbow, a knee pressed up against a thigh. Still, he’s not foolish enough to try.

Ever’s hair is intertwined with the wildflowers and grass, splayed out like roots. They’re grounded in a way that Nemr never really felt he was, even before everything fell. The sun kisses their face like an old friend, their eyelashes glistening at the touch, and their eyes are peacefully shut. If it weren’t for the blissful smile on their face, Nemr could almost believe they were sleeping — waiting to be kissed, waiting to be awoken. But they’re not, and he shakes the thought off with an ease that only comes with practice.

“Do you miss it?” he says eventually, cheek pillowed in one palm.

Ever sighs deeply. “There’s nothing to miss.” The smile on their face is unchallenged, undisturbed. Nemr wishes he could say the same.

He lies down beside them, painfully aware of the space between them. They’re lying head to head. Their wings are too large for them to lie side by side, but Nemr can feel his scalp prickling with the awareness of them just centimetres away. He doesn’t close his eyes and lets the sun scorch its afterimage into his irises.

“It was good,” they murmur. “Big city. Lots of potion makers to compete with, but also to learn from.”

They both know that they’re not talking about the city right now. Nemr knows, at least, and the weight to Ever’s words is more than they would ordinarily use for such light conversation. And the Seasons were always competing, dragging each other down as much as they pulled each other up, but there’s no way that Ever could remember that.

He barely remembers what he wrote in that letter. It was too difficult a time for him to hold onto more than fleeting thoughts, paralysed by the fear of his past catching up to him. Now, he wishes he knew how much they knew. He wishes he could understand.

“It was fun, though,” Ever continues. There’s a light airiness to their tone like a mellow breeze rippling through a valley, soft yet sure.

Was it? Nemr thinks of Fielfre, of the constant examinations and evaluations. He thinks of the companionship and also the loneliness, of his lost past and uncertain future. Back then, he had tried to seem so sure of himself no matter the cost. Back then, no one had dared to peer beneath the surface. Even with Winter — Ever? — he maintained as much of a façade as he could, trembling beneath the weight of it even as they glided through pleasantries with the ease of a dancer skating across the ice. They always seemed so effortless, like nothing could ever hold them down. Those wings could take them anywhere.

What changed? What made them chase the song of the Lethe, abandoning their past life? If anything, Nemr would have expected that of himself. Weak, alone, and longing for nothingness, he had crawled into Juwon’s arms and found brief respite from his own thoughts. Winter, on the other hand, had been so strong. Impenetrable, unshakable.

They still are. In a different way, a way that speaks of a gentle touch and slow sureness. You can blow the dandelion seeds away into the wind, but the plant stands still.

He squeezes his eyes shut, unable to stomach the sight of the peaceful day much longer. Birdsong curls its way into his ears, settling there like a reminder of what he can never have. Freedom from the past, freedom from his feelings, freedom from Winter. Even now, a blank canvas upon which paint blooms anew, Winter has him in their grasp.

Ever, his mind supplies. It’s Ever now. It will always be Winter and it will always be Ever. No matter what he does, he’s always pulled back into their orbit, time after time. Year after year. They’re trapped in this tango, this dancing mania — or at least Nemr is, completely at the mercy of Ever’s twirling skirts.

But there’s something so forgiving about it, as though he’s incapable of making a mistake for himself when he’s being led by the hand on some prewritten path. Everything he does comes back to one answer, somehow calming in its predictability, even when the details change with every iteration. The icy colleague becomes the suntouched friend, the cold sharp wit softening into bubbling laughter. It’s as much of an adventure for him as it is for them, venturing forth into whatever awaits them: as much as it feels like they couldn’t be surprised by anything, he knows logically that they’re just a person. They’re not omniscient.

And yet, despite how he tries to convince himself that he’s the one protecting them now, he finds that it may be the other way around after all.

The image of Fielfre in all its decadent glory flashes against his mind’s eye. A ball comes to mind, one where he danced arm in arm with Winter, exchanging barbs and trailing off unfinished sentences like they had countless tomorrows to make up for that night. They had been resplendent then, a statuesque sculpture of a person.

Was it fun? “Yes,” Nemr whispers back. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

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