#Painting lessons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muertarte · 2 years ago

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PARTIES: @honysuckl @muertarte @amonstrousdream

TIMING: Tonight

SUMMARY: Metzli and Leila have a painting lesson and Honey stops by for a routine hangout. She isn't pleased with the new addition to the group.

WARNINGS: Vague implications of Domestic Abuse (no detail)

Worth wasn’t an easy concept. The measure of it changed constantly, contradicting every type of currency, muddying the values of each so much that one never truly knew which one to use. It was up to each person to convert it all themself. Which usually led to buying themself time until they finally managed to plunge into debt so deep they forget the context of their spending. It was a long and arduous process that Metzli had long ago accepted was their fate. It was okay to not have worth. It was okay to pretend to. Especially when it came from Honey and Leila.

The two people who were willing to use their budget on them.

In return, they did their best impression of a brush. Committed paint to canvas, the images of which determined the wage they make so they could pay them the complement of not resigning themself back to Eloy’s teachings and way of life. Take every day and make it their own, keeping true to their silent promise that came with Eloy’s head tumbling to the ground. It was nice, really. For the first time, Metzli was doing as they pleased. Finding two remarkable people who made the symphonies swell strong enough to echo and grow in their chest. One of which was having a hard time getting the forest landscape she was painting just right, causing a chuckle to escape past the vampire’s lips.

“No, no. Leila, push the straight lines and pull the curves. Is okay. Is okay.” Metzli circled behind Leila and slipped their hand over hers, guiding her brush. “Like that, and then blot for leaves.” They nodded, sticking their tongue out in concentration without knowing. “Eso. There go. Better.” Looking back to their friend, Metzli softly bonked their head against hers and went back to their much more accurate rendition, smiling slightly. “Good time?”

The tree looked like a sad little blob on the canvas. It was mocking her, Leila had decided. She had never been exceptionally gifted at art. She had drawn little stick figures in the dirt as a child, and such artistry had never required much skill. What Metzli could do with paint and a brush was nothing short of magic. It was a rare gift that they possessed… and an incredibly common one that she lacked. Why did the tree look like that? She dragged the brush across the canvas again and frowned as it got even more blobby looking. She should really stick to sewing…

Leila almost felt embarrassed for Metzli to look at the painting- especially after seeing what masterpieces they could create. But there they were, chuckling (chuckling! It was a lovely sound, as sheepish as it made her feel) and guiding her hand so that the blobby, slightly rock-shaped tree transformed itself into a trunk… then branches… then a tree. Magic. Magic that turned a mess into a tree and a slightly defeated frown into the brightest of smiles.

“Push strait, pull curve… blotty leaves…” She repeated, trying to memorize words that she was still trying to put sensation to. The blotting, at least, she knew she could do… she thought she could do. Metzli seemed to believe she could, which was good enough for Leila. “Good time.” As terrible as she was at painting, she was delighting in watching them work and trying to follow their lead. It was all consuming- so much so, that when someone walked through the door, she hardly noticed. Leila was in her own little world of paint and Metzli, and all else had seemed to fade away.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Of course, there had been a fear of it, lurking in the dark of Honey’s mind. But that was supposed to be realized in the future. This night was meant to be tucked nicely into their routine. Despite always craving the thrill of oddities, she had grown fond of the repetition. Nights of wrestling and laughter, perhaps ending with slaughter when the formers spent their energies. Or the moments of quiet, of rest, of simply being together. Such a routine was interrupted by voices, though, the basic sound wasn’t out of the ordinary. There were plenty of times when Anita still lingered, at times even paired with the current female conquest. But Honey knew Anita’s voice. This wasn’t Anita. Nor did it seem like one of those many lovers—when had one spoken to Metzli and Metzli alone?

Perhaps Metzli had finally found a conquest of their own! Perhaps they would even share. As Honey poked her head around the corner, that hopeful imagining was destroyed by reality. The scene felt too intimate for a simple one-night stand. She knew Metzli had the capacity for such grandeur for the little things. No, it was their eyes that suddenly had her on edge. That look was too familiar, too soft, too earnest, too everything. A look that should only be for someone special, not some stranger. But she wasn’t a stranger, was she? Honey had yet to see that face except for by her mind’s eyes. Formed by descriptors and adjectives she had been forced to listen to countless times, now finally made real. Leila.

Honey felt cold. One that sent her free-falling under its weight; one that had no interest in sharing her body. Threatening to carve out her insides until nothing was left. She grasped onto the closest other feeling. It was anger who came and burned it away. Turned her into a bubbling mass of spite, but it was better than the emptiness. She wanted to scream. Instead, she smacked away a ball of yarn Anita insisted was for decor and not actual use. Stupid, stupid things. Everything here was fucking stupid. She wanted to rip apart Leila’s stupid excuse for a painting. Grind it under her teeth into a paste. The temptation was strong as she stared at the canvas with intention. But, no. No! She would be mature about this. She was going home. “Ohoooo, no. Ye gonny no get up! Stay right fuckin’ there!” Her finger pointed accusingly at Metzli. “Just keep on havin’ yer damnt fun. Bye!” With that, she marched back to the door.

“Que bueno. Honey, you are here. Do you–” Before Metzli could invite their best friend to join, the energy changed completely. There was anger in her voice, in her whole body, and it collided with one of Anita’s pieces of decor. Their brows furrowed together, utterly perplexed by how quickly things took a turn. Metzli searched their mind, trying to decode what exactly they had done to incite such a sour mood from Honey.

Had they made plans? No, that couldn’t be it. Plans could never be forgotten, and they most certainly wouldn’t have told Leila she could come over had they made arrangements to spend time with Honey. Time was sacred, Metzli knew that better than anyone. “Honey, ¿que pasa? Why are you upset? Can fix. I can fix.” They all but begged as they trailed after Honey, terrified of the idea that they’d done something to hurt their friend. That’s not what friends did. That’s not what family did. Now that they had family to speak of, they took special care to make sure they did right by Honey.

“Why do you leave?” Metzli took a hold of her wrist, tugging back toward the room. “Why?”

Leila’s head snapped up as a voice that seethed with hurt broke the peaceful silence that had fallen over her and Metzli. Honey… A face was finally put to a name. She might have been excited to meet Metzli’s dearest friend, had it not been for the hurt she heard in the woman’s voice. She felt sick to her stomach. A nightmare in waking form.

Metzli was gone after Honey, practically begging the woman to let them fix something to keep her from walking away. And Leila say frozen. Trapped in the room as the voices got further away, all the while knowing that- at least on some level- she was the problem. After a moment or two, the mare crept towards the edge of the doorway, hovering in the space between as she waited and listened. There was a piece of her that was mad at this stranger for not listening to Metzli. But the stranger had known Metzli far longer than Leila had. Honey had every right to be upset… after all, Leila didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong much of anywhere.

The more she listened to Metzli plead with their friend, the more she wanted to disappear. I’m sorry, I’m leaving, enjoy your night. It wouldn’t have been enough. And then Metzli might think she was upset at them… it was all so complicated. She stayed in the doorway and waited. Maybe she would run. Just like she always had. Yes, running seemed like a good idea. Honey wouldn’t have to be bothered with her now.

There was a gratefulness for her lack of breath, because if not, Honey would be choking on the tension. It stuffed her ears instead: a loud silence that muffled everything else. Leaving her alone with that anger. She hated Leila—hated her softness that always made it easy for others to love. A softness she herself could never manage for long enough. Just as she failed to then. Some angry, hungry, rough thing. But the anger was all preemptive, racing right to the finish line before the gun was shot. It’s not like she hadn’t been on this path before. Love-filled eyes hardly had time to look at anything else. Anyone else. Especially not her. Fate had once graced her with brevity. Never staying in a place long enough to care when her friends pranced off to others. Or, well, never bonding enough so she could trick herself into not caring. But she had more than bonded with this one, forging their relationship into steel. At least, so she thought. Until she found herself once more at the start of the end.

So lost to that end, Honey hardly noticed Metzli’s pleas. Part of her suspected it was a trick of the mind again—more sweet imaginings. But the hand that gripped her was too solid to ever come from her thoughts. She was surprised. Almost hopeful. People hardly ran after her. But in that hope came confusion. A storm of messy thoughts more chaotic than her premature grief. What the hell did Metzli want? “Go back to her.” Just as her anger burned, so too did her hope. It became a hungry thing. Eating away all reason until she was just one thought. One wondering. Who would be chosen? “Or make her leave.”

Shock seared into Metzli’s chest, cold and sharp. Had Honey actually given them an ultimatum? Their grip tightened around Honey’s wrist out of panic, their head full of thoughts that filled their tongue just as quickly, but nothing came out. Muffled and dry squeaks met the air, and it was all Metzli could do to not run. They couldn’t make that kind of decision. They wanted both.

“Why?” Something finally scratched through from thought, to speech. Honey was passionate, but it never became a blade pointed at the vampire. “You save me. Y-y-you gave freedom.” Metzli fell to their knees, the weight of their thoughts too heavy to keep standing. “Why take it back?” They whispered, tears threatening to fall. “I love you, so why take it?!” The words weren’t meant to be a shout, in fact, they weren’t meant to be said at all. Metzli had never said those words before.

Having never experienced love, it was a hard statement to make. But they had now, because of Honey. They loved her. In all the books they read, wasn’t love supposed to be able to spread? Isn’t that why it was so beautiful? Each type was different, but all around still so powerful. “I want both. I want you and her. I w-want choices!” Metzli choked out the final part, pulling Honey’s hand to their forehead with a fragile composure. “Please, mariposa.” They whispered their final plea, a nickname only used in their head before, slipping. “We grow family. Please. Both. I love you. Always have. Not stop. Ever.”

Leila felt like an intruder, darkening a doorway she never should have been in. Some part of her was used to seeing the things that should be left hidden. It was what had kept her alive for so many years. But this was different. This wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a make-believe situation that a stranger would wake up from. This was real. She was listening from another room to a nightmare in the making right there, in the waking world. Metzli’s best friend giving them an ultimatum, Metzli pleading for both of them.

She felt her feet dragging her back, back, further into the room, further from the door. That old instinct pleading with her to run, her body itching to leave when things got bad. And yet, her heart wanted to stay there in the middle of a rapidly unfolding mess. Her chest felt tight- if she were something more alive, she might have said she couldn’t breathe. But it wasn’t that… she knew what the sensation was. Leila had tasted it in thousands of nightmares. Guilt.

She bumped into an easel- she hadn’t meant to, but the quiet hissed “Shit-” rolled out of her mouth in instinct. The painting wobbled. Her ugly little attempt at art, aided by Metzli’s hand. Leila lurched to steady the canvas, some inane desire to protect art that she was certain the woman on the other side of the wall would like to see thrown out the window taking over. She took it with her. The canvas accompanied her into the shadowiest corner the mare could find, and while it stayed real, she slowly melted away into the dark until she was nothing more than a faint outline and a pair of sad red eyes that were fixed on a smudged little tree on a messy landscape.

The hope did not find that feast it seeked. It collided into a familiar wall, left to starve once more on the other side. Alone in that emptiness. Perhaps in another time, Metzli’s distress would have overcome Honey’s own. Perhaps her voice would have grown low and soothing like a summer’s creek. But all the emotions, both in herself and surrounding, made her heart roar into white waters. “Am no takin’!” She spat back, her confusion adding to that whirlwind. Her love made her mad, it was too strong to simply be forfeited. “Want you to take! To keep it! Please!” Such a love was laid bare at Metzli’s feet, vulnerable and starving, yet they hesitated. No, they took their damn time! A confliction caused by a woman they had hardly known for a blink. It was maddening, that someone who had just stepped into Metzli’s life was already of equal footing to her. How much longer until the woman surpassed? Everyone picked the softer ones. Her biting nature was too indiscriminate, always biting too much.

As it certainly did then. It ate away at Metzli until they grew almost too weak to stand. She was so hungry. Too hungry. The sight made Honey the same—her feet swayed under the weight of her emotions. Her guilt almost won against her hunger; her hand almost reached out to Metzli in a sweet embrace. Almost. Until the mention of family. The thing she yearned for most of all suddenly dangled in front of her. But only to taunt. Like always it never stayed—it was never right. “Family? This is no family,” she hissed. Her voice felt like bile that struggled to breach, only to erupt into a vicious mess, “How dare- you got no idea- gonny no speak a’ family!” No. Family was full, blind devotion. A love so full you had no room for anyone else—so beautiful you had no care for anyone else. You could bite all you wanted and there was always room for seconds. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t this! She could have lunged at Metzli for daring to suggest otherwise. Her teeth grinned and popped against each other with that wanting.

Honey was right. She was right a lot of the time. It was the reason why Metzli trusted her so easily in the first place. Well, it took some convincing, but after all the teachings Eloy gave, they learned never to give something so precious to anyone else but him. Honey, though, was different. Metzli could see that from the start. Her precarious way of speech that always built itself on a foundation of honesty, was something the vampire had never seen. Honey backed the the saying ‘the truth will set you free’ and took Metzli’s hand without hesitation. She was the reason they were standing in their own house, in a new town, thousands of miles away from the place that held them prisoner their whole life. Everything they knew, everything they were, was because of Honey. She’d taught them everything and given them the tools to finally be a person. Someone that could finally live.

And as always, as Metzli so quickly learned to accept, Honey spoke the truth and Honey was very often right. She was right, especially in that moment. Metzli had no idea what family was. How could they? No one had ever wanted them in the first place. No one, except for Honey. Somewhere in the depths of Metzli’s heart, they knew she was just angry and scared, but it hurt all the same. Even as her words bit at them with hopeless abandon, they still loved her. They still wanted to change what they didn’t know. They still wanted to be a family. If someone didn’t know, the pursuit of knowledge and experience could be earned. Metzli could only hope that Honey would turn around and let them. Eventually, not then. They knew it wouldn’t happen until she was given time. They couldn’t force it, as much as they wanted to.

“I know. I know I-I-I not know anything about family! You are right! You are my first, Honey. Not know anything until you save me.” Metzli got to their feet and raked a hand through their curls, looking desperately at Honey. “Want me to take? I take then! I take you and her. I take. You are hurt. I will fix and I will show you love when you let me.” They stepped closer, tears streaming down their cheeks, seeing Honey on the brink of something. Whatever happened, they wouldn’t let her go. She could run, but they’d match her speed until she realized she wasn’t abandoned, that she didn’t have to push anything away but her fear. Abandonment made people claw viciously until they reached some sort of purchase, even if it was to their own detriment. Metzli wasn’t emotionally intelligent most of the time, but they were observant enough to know that. “Go be mad. Go breathe. I will come to you when you are ready. I promise. Hold that to old ways.”

Leila could hear it all from her corner of dark and shadow. She knew she had no place in the conversation, and yet she was the silent third party. The spoken of other. The hurt in Honey’s voice ate at her, and even without seeing the woman’s face, she could see the hurt that Leila had caused her. Honey had saved Metzli and given them a home with her. She had earned Metzli’s trust over time and struggle. Who was Leila? Who was she to just walk in and get trust? She hadn’t felt sick in so long- what cause did an already dead body have to feel such things- but the world spun around and around the mare as she listened to voices plead and yell, but was no longer to make out the content.

The corner grew darker and darker, as if the shadows piled on top of one another so much that no light could ever exist there. The painting stood out from the darkness, a canvas smeared with paint. It seemed like an entirely different time rather than just a few moments later. Time became nothing, and so did the mare. She was just darkness in a corner, listening as voices begged and pleaded and hissed…

“Aye! Ye no ken nothin’.” But what could they have known of it? Metzli’s only examples were bruises and cuts and absent hearts. Of course they hesitated. “Right… right. How could y- just a bairn taught by mean hands.” Honey was expecting too much from them. She shouldn’t be expecting at all! Her family would find her soon. There was no need to be upset… so why was she? Why did she have to be so fucking impatient!? All she needed to do was wait. Play her cards right and eventually get a full house. Simple! She will have her family. And Metzli will have Leila. It will be fine... Despite the logic, it did nothing to dissuade her feelings.

“...Better take. I take, you take.” Honey huffed. She wanted to rip something apart. Or, someone apart. The more Metzli talked—those sweet words she felt foolish to believe yet believe she did—the more she couldn’t bear to consider the notion for them. Nor could she consider it for Leila, but because she couldn’t find that little temptress. That left just herself. So, Honey’s nails pressed into her arm, sharp and eager, until streaks of ink leaked out. There was some satisfaction in that pop of pressure. But not enough—it was rarely enough. It only weakened her anger to allow room for her woe. Reduced to a child who missed her family. Her eyes joined her arm in its leaking. Those tears she had cried many times before.

Despite Metzli’s own tears like water to the seeds of her guilt, a part of Honey enjoyed that they were there. That they were for her. It was just the two of them, and nothing else. Made into one being of multiple souls. Until she was told to go. Go? No! She wanted to keep biting—to devour them whole. Be that one being forever. But, Metzli must surely know that too. That look on their face, she had seen it before. They didn’t want it—they couldn’t handle it. Right. They were not family. “Fine,” her voice was too sharp and quick. She didn’t care. “Will go be mad.” Away in seclusion so that rising storm could bite no one but herself. She turned to leave. Well, not fully. She hesitated at the door. Though they were not family, her love did not falter. “... Promise I will be back.” Not that night. Or the next. But, yes, eventually, for she could not stay away for long. In the present, though, she was gone.

As much as it made their heart bend and contort under the weight of Honey’s ire, Metzli’s eyes remained soft and tearful. She yearned for her home, and while they could never understand what it must’ve been like to have such a tight-knit unit, Metzli liked to think they at least understood desire. They’d always wanted to feel, to experience what it was like to want and be wanted in return. Honey had had that, and she was looking for it. Maybe, Metzli thought, they’d never be good enough to be a suitable replacement, but they could give Honey the complement of not giving up. And they wouldn’t. They would take and wait for her promise to be fulfilled, for her return.

“Am…am—” Metzli returned to their bedroom, unable to find Leila as they scanned the area they were painting in. Right. Alone. The realization should’ve hit them like a tidal wave, but instead, Metzli felt nothing. In spite of this, tears streamed down their face as they settled into their couch and stared at the wall. They hardly noticed the out of place painting, somehow sticking to the wall and taking away from the cohesive and balanced decor they’d worked so hard to put together. All they could do was stare and wait. The promise would be completed eventually. Metzli just needed to be patient. It would be okay. Love had a way of winning, of persisting above all else.

Leila hardly noticed when the voices stopped, when everything went quiet out in the hallway. It wasn’t until Metzli’s voice cracked through the silence in the bedroom like thunder that the snapped back to, out of her mess of thoughts. She watched them look around- for her she realized. There was a lump in her throat as she watched tears stream down their face. The painting in her hands clattered unceremoniously to the floor as the mare pushed herself back to her feet and back out of the shadows that she’d let herself be swallowed up by.

“I’m still here-” Her voice cracked while she forced her face to stay as steady as possible. She felt terrible- about Metzli, about Honey, about it all. And she had hid, the coward that she was. She hid. It wasn’t her fight, but she shouldn’t have- she shouldn’t have… Leila would kick herself for it later. For that moment, she would simply walk over to Metzli, past the abandoned paints and brushes and canvases, and pull them into the tightest hug she could.

#wickedswriting #bloody ink #writings #painting lessons #metzli and honey #metzli and leila #domestic abuse tw

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