#THEN GETTING THAT PAINTER FROM THE OTHER GUY AND GETTING HIS PORTRAIT MADE INSTEAD

[allmyandroids]

Raymond Reddington

Season 4 Episode 14 - The Architect

[realcatalina]

More mystery with portraits of Hasburgs

These two paintings are located in different museums, but are believed to be once a part. Currently they are labelled currently as Philip of Austria and Margaret of Austria, 1483, by Master of Legend of Magdalene.

And it's kind of a problem. Because at least the boy doesn't look like early work of this artist at all! Not even remotely close.

So other artists have been suggested instead, and for example the girl's has been most recently labelled as by Pierre Coustain.

Which doesn't make any sense either. Because while this was court artist in Burgundy, he specialized in making coat of arms and flags, sculptures etc. Like we can speculate on Pierre Coustain's involvement in these portraits(figures by Pieter van Coninxloo):

But only about the coats of arms. This guy wasn't portraitist.

...And you know me, I am nitpicker. I my motto is:

Never trust period label...because often times they are added centuries later.

So of course I checked the labels. On first glance, they seem as very genuine. This form of letters was around in 15 and 16th century.

...So I needed some help reading it, but luckily on wikipedia it was in description of paintings.

Girl's:

Gedaen Int Jaer ons here 1483 tsinen v en Jaerre/FAT LAN M.IIII.C.IIII.XX ET TROIS QUE LORS AUOIT TROIS ANS ET TROIS MOIS)

This was created in 1483 and she is 3 years and 3 months old.

(Very specific...oddly so.)

Gedaen Int Jaer ons here 1483 tsinen v en Jaerre / Fat Lan m. III c. IIII xx. z trois ou ve. an de son eage.

Once again it says year 1483, but that Philip is 3 or 5 years old.

Like how does nobody question this? You cannot be specific to month with girl, and not know how old the boy was!

Unless the label is not original at all! And likely not even done in 15th century. Because at those days, labels weren't really popular. They took off mainly in 16th century. And given the amount of mistakes I doubt Margaret nor Philip were even alive when this occured.

Because have they been, somebody would take greater care in getting it correct!

(And, If the text is from much later it is damn well-made.)

So if text is untrust-worthy, the dating of 1483 is also untrust-worthy, and then we cannot even be sure it is Philip or Margaret!

And though the boy doesn't fit Master of Legend's early work, he damn sure looks very alike to his late work! (1510-1527)

But then these kids cannot be royals from Netherlands. This is not its fashion from 16th century. We have portraits of Philip's kids raised in Netherlands, we know what they wore.

And while, yes the girl's hat looks bit like 1460-1470s male hats worn in netherlands, girls didn't wore this I checked. And given Netherlands were already back then northern capital of painters. It's very unlikely it wouldn't appear in art of that time from that country.

So possibly these are foreign royalty. But whom?

Well, artist started working around 1480/1490 and stopped about 1527. (Assuming we have correct artist.)

And the boy wears order of golden fleece around his neck. And clearly he is not adult. List of knights of Order of Golden fleece is on wikipedia and it includes when people got it and their birth year.

So finding people who got it before age of 15 in corrrect timeframe wasn't that hard.

Six candidates:

Philip of Austria (who it is currently identified as)

Henry VIII

Charles V

Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor

Louis II, King of Bohemia and Hungary

Philibert of Chalon

But at age of 14 and 13, Henry VIII and Philibert are simply too old...to be depicted here. And Louis II's sister was older than he. And we know what Charles and his sisters raised in Netherlands wore.

Thus if not Philip and Margaret, the only other valiable option is Ferdinand and Catherine of Austria.

(if the list of candidates was complete...)

And it just so happens that if you put correct dimensions to these(in cm), and put them in order of birth, they don't look so weird...

Potentially this might have once been full set of siblings.

Done firstly around 1507(first four)

and rest after 1515, when Ferdinand became the member of the order.

...And if we compare what the girl wears with spanish fashion, then at least in examples from 1490s similiar hats were popular(not as much raised, but we always see them on adults. Maybe then the raise is not so high, and traluscent veils of this kind even much later(those are with cofia de tranzado)...this shape of neckline, also very popular in Spain at least around turn of the century.

In my research into iberian fashion, i didn't go that much into fashion after 1505(not in debt) and it's not ideal that I point to examples about 20 years prior to when I think it might be.

But it is a possibility, and would explain the resemblence.

...

However then we have to assume 2 more possibilities.

A) the list of knights of order of fleece was not complete...and we're missing candidates...and then once again, where does the fashion point us?...Spain in case of girl...

B) But what if the boy and girl don't belong together?

What if they just had same background(popular in Burgundian/Netherlandish court from 1450? to about 1507)

and same dimensions(by chance, or they were later cut to make them same dimensions)?

(C)what if both options? L)ist wasn't complete and boy and girl don't belong together?

Well, the boys who got orders of golden fleeces as kids were usually royalty, with whom Hasburgs had friendly relationship.

Only other option already not covered, would be either Christian II of Denmark-but he was made member in 1519-so he is on the list, as adult...

or John, Prince of Asturias and Girona. He married Margaret of Austria, in 1497 and died that same year. And Joanna married Philip of Austria in 1496.

We know Margaret's portraits were created in early to mid 1490s, likely to be sent to Spain, and probably Philip's also.

But what if Spanish send reply? And Hasburgs send their own painter, to paint Spanish royal children? That would also explain resemblence to Joanna's children. Because boy would have to be her brother, and girl Joanna herself.

Again, the boy seems to be later work of the master, but it was a workshop. It is possible one of its member simply became more prominent later in workshop's lifetime and it happened to be him who was sent to paint the boy.

And i cannot get further than this. Dendrology would be helpful here.

However as these portraits have year upon them, the institutions who own them think they have the correct date already. We can only hope they decide to test it anyway.

[goblinselfshippr]

Here's uhhh unfinished fic chapter w the info taken out 👉👈 I tagged what I thought of, I can't think of anything else. Mostly just fluff

🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸

Though safety has been promised, when you live a life of empty promises and blatant lies as ⬛⬛⬛⬛ has, you start to wait. Wait for them to get bored with the peace. Wait for them to grow hungry again. Unfortunately, his anxiety starts up mine, and we’re huddled in the corner of his bed. He hasn’t dressed yet, but I’d made the effort to put on my underwear, at least.

“I could fight them off,” he says, but the shake in his voice says he’s unsure, ”I’ll keep them away from you as long as possible.” I stroke his messy brown curls, “No you won’t.” He pulls me a little tighter, nails digging in. I’d told him once that the feeling comforted me. But this time, I kiss his forehead, “Come on. I’ll do your hair.” He shakes his head, burrowing tighter in my chest. He groaned quietly, ”Oh, what does it matter? They only want to see you. I’m just a blubbering drunk to them.” True… no one had seen him since ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ cleaned him up. Except when he slipped up a couple times.

I lean down to his ear with a grin in my voice, “Who says it’s for them? You’re my husband, you know? Not theirs.” Still, he pouts. “We’re running out of time. Let me take care of you,” I pleaded softly. Slowly, he roused, and I tousled his hair with a grin, “Good boy.” He grumps a little, petulantly putting on his slacks and grabbing his dress shirt. He puts it on but doesn’t button it.

I grabbed my spray bottle and some other luxuries I’d begged him to get for his hair. I wrapped a towel around his neck and started spraying down his hair. Then I took the leave in I’d concocted for him and doused him in that, combing through with the long bristled brush. He sighed, relaxing a little as the thirty or so bristles massaged his scalp and guided the knots away. Occasionally I’d stop and press sweet affirmations to his ear with little kisses. Then I took the pomade and used my fingers to encourage his curls to spring up. They needed little guidance. They shimmered a little from the water and unset gel, and the tips were much thinner than his roots now, still left over from his previous life.

It felt rewarding to be able to see his progress in his dark hair, thickened by the years of love and care. I saw it in his clothes too, the way he actually filled them now instead of how they used to hang off him like sheets on a ghost. He was always pretty, I’d thought. He had a portrait of himself stuffed in a closet somewhere in his massive, empty house from when he was 16. The painter had been kind enough to use references from before his ⬛⬛⬛. I’d stared at it for a while, how the golden band made his thick hair bend in and curled around it as if the very fibers of his body wanted to hide the shame and hurt that came with the weight of the crown. I wondered why he’d kept it safe- or if he even knew it was there. He certainly had had no issue destroying the other furniture in his house in his past life. I was too afraid to bring it up. Selfishly scared he���d destroy it too. Take the knife he slept with under the bed and slash through it.

Literally tearing himself apart.

I gently fluffed his drying curls and kissed his cheek. “You’re so pretty.” He grumbled a little at my comment, thinking of something to say that covered the reddening of his face. He decided on: “I’m a guy, you know?” I smiled, “And?” His grumbling continued as he searched for his jacket. I looked at my own clothes, going off of what ⬛⬛⬛⬛ wore. I grabbed my nice black dress with scalloped sleeves, and he stopped me. “Don’t wear that,” he groaned, almost exasperated. I looked up at him in shock, ”What? It looks nice! And we’ll match.” He gave me an easy smile, “We can’t both be in black, hun. We’ll look like a funeral procession.”

“Well what should I wear then?”

[disappointingyet]

Odd Man Out

Director Carol Reed Stars James Mason, Kathleen Ryan, Robert Newton UK 1947 Language English 1hr 56mins Black & white

IRA man on the run in one, long, very strange day and evening in Belfast

This is a much stranger film than I thought it was going to be. How? Maybe two-thirds of the way through what could be described as a man-on-the-run thriller, we get the arrival of the second-billed actor, Robert Newton, playing a hugely eccentric and obsessive painter of fevered, El Greco-ish portraits. He lives in a vast, seemingly semi-abandoned house with two other weird guys. At this point, the film started reminding me a lot more of After Hours than I would have expected. 

Or how about the fact that this is a British-made film from 1947 whose central character – one who seems to be treated as something like a religious martyr – is an Irish republican freedom fighter/terrorist, and the antagonist is an officer in the Royal Ulster Constabulary.  

Or that you’ve got a big star actor, but for important sections of the story, he’s slumped passed out in one of various hiding places.

There’s more, but that would go heavily into spoiler territory. 

The film starts during the final preparation of a heist. The man in charge is Johnny McQueen (James Mason), the leader of something referred to in the film as The Organisation but which I think we can understand as the IRA. This is to be McQueen’s return to action after escaping from prison and then laying low for six months. There’s scepticism from various characters about whether Johnny is ready for a mission, and he privately expresses some doubts about whether the armed struggle is the way forward, but he insists on leading the raid anyway. 

Of course, it goes wrong and Johnny is ends up wounded and alone on the streets of Belfast. Based on the idea of the film and what I remembered from having seen bits of it, I thought Odd Man Out would mostly follow McQueen as he tries to stay alive and free. Instead, we cut between that and the attempts to find him by the other members of organisation, by the RUC, later by the inhabitants of the big strange house, and (most importantly) by Kathleen (Kathleen Ryan), who is in love with him. 

Odd Man Out was directed by Carol Reed, who two years later would make what’s generally accepted as the greatest British film noir, The Third Man. This is recognisably the work of the same director plus cinematographer (Robert Krasker). It opens with a long aerial shot flying over Belfast and then for a few minutes, it looked older than it is and a bit stagey. But it doesn’t take long to reach full noir mode, with some great shots of alleyways plus inventive moments of Johnny’s hallucinations. 

This is not a lean, taut thriller. For instance, we get what felt to me a very long discussion between Kathleen and Father Tom (WG Fay), which broadly pits a noir existentialism versus the teachings of the church. And, as I mentioned, there’s all the stuff with Lukey (Newton), who arrives with enormous camera-hogging energy just at the point where you might anticipate the story coming to an end. But I think it is atmospheric enough, immersive enough, to keep the audience hooked. 

Maybe my biggest gripe is that this isn’t the best use of James Mason – I think he’s at his most effective when deploying his charm (whether acting for or against the forces of good) and we don’t get much of that here 

This is a film about Belfast, but not one made by people from Belfast. The director and the writers were English.* The cast is mostly a mixture of actors from southern Ireland and Brits, with the ones playing locals seemingly aiming for southern Irish accents too. The exceptions are a group of children who hang out on the pavements and who you can tell instantly actually did come from Belfast. 

I have a major weakness for movies that take place over a short space of time. I’m a big fan of film noir, and of James Mason. Which is to say, I was massively predisposed to like Odd Man Out, and I did enjoy it, but it is so much weirder than you might think.

*Minor spoiler: at one point Johnny is taken in by some English people, who eventually work out who he is and who treat him with some sympathy while expressing the idea that the politics of this place is none of their business. 

[sachermorte]

Like okay, 19th century painters, right? If you were gonna go back in time and get a portrait from someone the list is like this:

Renoir: MAYBE. He is a terrible draftsmen and actually the least technically skilled of the impressionists but sometimes he makes people look pretty. Other times he makes them look bruised. 50/50. Best not to go with him.

Manet: solid choice, edgy but not too edgy. Will use nice rich jewel tones. Put him on your list.

Monet: if you want an impressionist he's your guy. Pretty straightforwards. You will look good and there will be tons of sunlight.

Van Gogh: it'll be awesome but you might also be green and yellow. Literally. If you've always wanted to know what you'd look like with unnatural skin colors go for Van Gogh. Don't bother trying to pronounce his name just call him Vincent. Maybe give the poor guy some antidepressants. He's a delicate sad soul but desperately broke so tip him heavily. He will cry having made money on a painting. Also tell him to stop eating yellow paint. Definitely get a portrait from him.

Degas: you'll either be a ballerina or a prostitute. Maybe even both. Somehow there will be diagonal lines in your portrait. Consider it.

Moreau: are you a woman who wants to know what you look like through the eyes of a man who is literally terrified of women??? Then this guy is for you! You may be framed with sperm.

Klimt: like Moreau except with less misogyny and sperm and more gold. Good choice if you want to look like you could kill someone without ruining your #look. Happy to paint Jewish women. You will also be super comfy in his studio wearing big drape-y gown type things. Medium to high chance your portrait will be stolen by nazis. Go for it. You will look great.

Morisot: like a better Renoir. Seriously skip Renoir and have Morisot paint you instead. You will still look sweet and lovely. Consider it.

Gauguin: literally screw Gauguin. He was a pedophile. Your portrait might look nice but he's a gross jerk. If you want stupidly bright colors go get a portrait from Matisse or something at the turn of the century. You'll still have a high chance of being green but at least you don't have to go near a guy who left his wife and children to go prey on 14 year olds. Break his paintings over your knees and laugh at him.

Seurat: your face will be composed of thousands of tiny dots and you'll be used as some greater metaphor in an 80's teen movie and anyone who is colorblind will probably not get your portrait but optical illusions are always cool. Go for it.

Rossetti: ask yourself - do I have red hair? Do I want to sleep with Rossetti? If the answer is yes to both THEN get a Rossetti portrait done.

Cassatt: honestly a great choice for the people of tumblr, Cassatt is also really big on sprawling on couches as a general pose. She will do you a solid and you will laugh about how men usually screw up painting women.

Bouguereau: poor Bouguereau. Time has forgotten him and instead fallen in love with the rebellious impressionists. But in his day, HE was an ARTISTE of the ACADEMY!! He's got technical skill for days and you'll inevitably get a completed piece. You'll get a beautiful portrait it might just seem a little...polished. But hey, that's NOT a bad thing. Gotta respect his need to make money before he went wild with paint. Think about it.

William Merritt Chase: he's not a BAD painter it's just that sometimes he feels a bit like he could be someone else. There's a 40% chance you'll end up wearing a kimono. Maybe pass unless you want less drama than Whistler.

Egon Schiele: listen, no. Don't do it. There's like an 80% chance he will draw you masturbating with a creepy stare and yaoi hands.

Delacroix: sure he might be an orientalist painter and yes that's kind of awful but you gotta hand it to Delacroix: his "harem" women are all actually dressed in clothes and at least you know he can paint a skin color other than litebrite. Could meet a Jewish or Muslim sitter without having a total heart attack probably.

Millais: honestly get your portrait done by Millais solely for the purpose of pissing Charles Dickens off. Do you need any other reason? No.

Turner: he's a landscape artist ya walnut. The people he paints tend to be floating bodies in the water as a critique of slavery. Ask him to paint more social commentary. Maybe pass on as your portrait artist though.

Hiroshige: if you're not Japanese you're gonna be classed as a friggin weeaboo. Sorry those are the rules. But your portrait will be sweet.

Rosa Bonheur: ok like I really only remember her self portraits and cow paintings but she's a lesbian and if you wanna bond over hot ladies this is your woman. Who cares if she paints a cow instead? Not you! Do it.

Goya: pass unless you want to look dark and maybe slightly tortured. Ultimately you'll just be sad he's no Velasquez.

Ingres: the older Bouguereau basically. If you're super into neo-classicism or orientalist painting go for it. Otherwise skip it.

James Abbott McNeill Whistler: okay look - Whistler is a fantastic artist. He's amazing with colors and uses impressionist techniques without just cribbing off of Monet or something. All of his portraits are lovely, and you can't go wrong. Except there's like a 40% chance he'll never finish your portrait or will go broke painting it or will throw a tantrum at some point. He may or may not sleep with your wife. If he asks you if he can retouch a small thing in your house he will do it -- and then promptly continue to repaint everything and try and charge you for it all. If you yell at him he will later break into your house and paint giant gold fighting peacocks on your dining room wall, and then he'll tell you that without his additions to your decor you'd probably die forgotten but NOW people will remember you forever. Your normal interior decorator will see what Whistler has done to *HIS* room and then later be found lying curled up on the floor of his studio covered in gold leaf in the midst of a total breakdown. He will die three years later, never having recovered mentally. Also Whistler will go bankrupt and will paint you as a mean peacock if he owes you a lot of money. So you'll basically get a second portrait for free. Do it.

John Singer Sargent: honestly probably the best American Portrait artist of his era. You'll look amazing and he won't break into your house to paint peacocks or sleep with your wife. Get a Sargent portrait, you will not regret it.

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Lessons 1-5!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 5-6 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

So we obviously know that things would run a little differently with L!MC instead of a normal human MC, but just how differently do things go?

No Mammon, you are not allowed to babysit!

Unlike in canon, Mammon needs to be kept away from MC at the start. Why? He’s known this kid for less than a day, he’s gonna try and use them for scams.

Everyone else in the house? Well, they’re of... observing MC. This is a first, a half human kid just wandering around the house...

MC and Lucifer, despite their amicable meeting, were in this really awkward beginning stage where they didn’t really know what to do with each other.

“So...” MC resisted the urge to twiddle their thumbs as they followed their father through the halls of the House of Lamentation. This was their home for the next year. It was very grand... and also very creepy in some places. “Where’s my room?”

“Right here.” Lucifer stopped suddenly in front of a door in the hallway, nearly causing MC to crash into him. He opened up the door, the room was very very pink. “Asmodeus decorated, you can redecorate as you see fit.”

MC popped their head in and looked around, there were approximately a thousand pillows scattered around the bed. It was the perfect amount! The very pink colour scheme was... okay. Maybe they’d be able to switch some of it out for a nice blue.

“It’s nice! Thank you,” MC was about to say Lucifer, then father, then just shut their mouth. What were they supposed to call him? They had known each other for like... an hour. He seemed like the type to want to be called father, he was too posh to be ‘dad’ or ‘pops’, and calling their father by his first name seemed way too casual as well... Parental Figure..? Guardian? Sir..? Should they call him sir???

The fact that MC ended their sentence like they were going to continue it left the two in a very awkward silence. A+ job at conversation.

“Anyway,” Lucifer finally broke the silence. “If you need time to settle in, we can pick up the tour later.”

“N-no, it’s okay! I didn’t really bring anything so...” MC was in the middle of mentally cursing themselves out, they thought they had successfully avoided falling into the awkward middle schooler stereotype! “We can keep the tour going.”

“Alright then.” Lucifer turned and motioned for MC to follow. Wow... he was very... curt? Was that the right word to use? MC hoped this was as awkward for him as it was for them.

The next stop was the portrait staircase, Lucifer explained each one down to each minute detail, MC listened in rapt attention.

“We received that one from a painter from the sixth layer of the Devildom, it was quite a rare find.”

“How many layers are there?”

“Nine, we’re in the centre most layer. This is the most highly defended part of the Devildom.” Lucifer explained.

“Oh,” MC smiled. “Cool, so it’s like how Dante described it in the Divine Comedy?”

“Mostly, some changes have been made since that time.”

“Ah, okay.” MC nodded, a thought came to them which made them clear their throat to suppress a giggle. “May I ask a question that might bother you?”

Lucifer turned and raised an eyebrow at them. “You may ask one such question.”

“Why did Dante say you were frozen in an ice lake?”

Lucifer looked around, once he was sure that no one was listening, he turned back to MC, his voice was slightly lower when he answered. “I was ice skating with Lord Diavolo, I fell through the ice and into the lake right as Virgil and Dante arrived. Of course, Dante had to embellish or I’d smite him, if only he left out the ice part.”

To MC’s credit, they didn’t laugh, but they weren’t doing a very good job of hiding how hard it was to not burst into laughter. “Oh my... how upsetting...”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone but,” his lips quirked up into a smile. “No one would believe you if you said anything anyway.”

MC gasped, but the gasp ended up releasing the laugh they were holding in.

The half demon noticed some of the other portraits on the wall, each of the brothers had a portrait, there were two demons that MC didn’t recognize. So that was their family... they wondered if their picture might be on that wall one day...

“Who’s he?” MC pointed at the portrait between Mammon’s and Satan’s.

“That’s Leviathan, the third eldest, the Avatar of Envy, and the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy.”

‘Oooo, so he’s a military guy!’ MC thought to themselves. ‘And the third most powerful brother? Wow... he must be crazy scary...’

“What about him?” MC pointed at the seventh and final portrait.

It may have just been MC’s imagination, but they swore they saw Lucifer’s expression sour slightly.

“That’s Belphegor, the youngest and the Avatar of Sloth.” Lucifer explained. “He is currently in the human world as an exchange student.”

“Oh,” MC studied the portraits a bit more. “Cool! I hope he’s having a good time up there.”

“As do I.” Lucifer replied. “Now we should move on to the Underground-”

“LUCIFER!” Asmodeus cried. “MAMMON’S BEING STUPID AGAIN!”

Lucifer sighed and dragged a gloved hand down his face. “We’ll continue this tour later, MC. Feel free to explore some more, try not to break anything.”

“Because the things might be cursed?”

“That and the things are old and expensive.”

MC spends the rest of the day chilling in the house with Asmo, who peppers MC with ALL the questions.

They does their best to answer... but it’s clear Asmo was hoping for something a little more interesting.

“So, do you run the human world?”

“No. No I do not.”

Finally, Mammon escapes whatever punishment Lucifer’s got him caught up in and tried to get MC involved in something that’ll probably make them lose their money.

Mini HC! A demon’s wings, tail, or horns might pop out randomly if they aren’t paying attention! The demon doesn’t even need to be in their true demonic form for this to happen. It happens more often with younger demons like MC!

Mammon stops his little scheme when he notices that MC’s wings have popped out and left a few stray feathers lying about... he can hear the CHA CHING sound already.

Our favourite dummy tried to Mission Impossible his way into MC’s room but MC caught him trying to make off with some loose feathers after they came back with a dustpan to clean them up.

Eventually, it was dinner time, and Levi was still camped out in his room. Mammon got sent to get him out, and he decided to drag MC along with him.

“I don’t think we should bother him-”

“Sh! We gotta get him out of his stupid room or he’s gonna stay in there until the exchange year’s over.” Mammon snapped, stopping in front of Leviathan’s door.

“I still don’t think we should-”

Mammon rudely interrupted poor, aghast MC by slamming his fists against the door. “LEVI! GET UP! DINNER’S READY!”

The only response was someone increasing the volume on whatever show was playing behind the door. Wow, petty. MC suppressed a snort until they realized exactly what they were hearing.

Was that...

“Is that the Sailor Moon theme?” MC turned to Mammon and asked. The moment the question left their lips the pair heard someone practically bolt to the door. It swung open and hit Mammon right in the face.

“MOTHER FUCKER-”

“You!”

Ah, so this was the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. MC didn’t know that track pants and headphones were a part of the uniform.

“You like anime?!” Levi asked, MC slowly nodded.

“Y-yeah..?”

Quick as lightning, MC was pulled into the room, and Levi slammed the door shut, tragically, the door hit Mammon again.

“LEVI YOU ASS-”

Leviathan didn’t seem too interested in Mammon’s chorus of curse words and angry knocks, he was grabbing some figurines off shelves and showing some to MC.

“Do you know who this is?!”

“That’s White Blood Cell from Cells at Work. What about Mamm-”

“How about this!”

“Violet Evergarden from the show of the same name, now Levia-”

“Whose this?!”

“LEVIATHAN!” MC stomped their foot and pointed at the door. “Mammon said we need to go eat dinner.”

“Don’t interrupt me, human!” Levi hissed, MC rolled their eyes and snorted.

“Nice to meet you, by the way.” MC crossed their arms and let their wings appear and puff up behind them.

“...w-whu-WHAT?!”

“We have to go to-” MC was cut off yet again by Levi passing out. Wow... what a day...

Mammon was still pounding on the door, MC rolled their eyes and opened it.

“He passed out, can you carry him?”

Mammon was decidedly not careful with his dear little brother when he dragged him out of his room and into the dining room. When Levi finally woke up, he got an earful from Lucifer, and tried to kill Mammon.

Apparently money was owed that Mammon wasn’t about to pay.

So yeah, MC and Levi’s alliance did not stem from desperation, it stems from otaku-camaraderie.

MC and Levi planned their credit-card hostage situation over a fun evening of watching anime.

Mammon never knew what hit him...

“Okay Mammon, pay up or your credit card gets cut up.” MC playfully opened and closed the scissors before poising them to cut up the helpless credit card. Mammon let out a shriek and shook his head.

“NONONONONO- don’t do that!” Mammon put his hands up and let out a nervous laugh. “MC... wh-what’s with all the animosity..? We’re buddies, right?”

MC snorted and rolled their eyes. “Buddies don’t try and make money off each other’s feathers.”

“You heard them, Mammon.” Levi snickered. “Pay me back the money you owe me!”

“I don’t have the money right now!”

MC shook their head. “Pity... oh well, bye bye Goldie-”

“The money’s in my sock drawer- just please put the scissors down!”

They slowly lowered the scissors. “What do you think, Levi?”

“Hmmm... you have two minutes.” Levi said, Mammon took off in a sprint out of the kitchen.

“Nice job Agent L!” MC chirped, holding their hand out for a high five, Levi looked positively elated and gleefully hit his hand against MC’s.

“We did it! I’m finally going to have enough money to go to the live show! Couldn’t have done it without your help, Agent Near.”

“Wait- why am I Near?” MC asked. “You get to be L and I have to be Near?”

Levi crossed his arms and huffed. “Would you rather be Mellow?”

“No! I want to be Light! We agreed that I’d be Light!” MC hissed. Levi, literally hissed back.

Rude.

Anyway, Levi got paid, and everyone had a very entertaining breakfast. Well, Mammon didn’t have a very good time, but boo hoo he should have paid Levi back sooner.

I think MC felt legitimately bad for Mammon, all the insults and jabs being aimed at him made MC feel a little guilty...

MC took care to be extra sweet that day, and it made Mammon feel a bit better. You know what made both of them feel amazing?

Screwing with the dipshits that were talking crap about the two of them.

MC didn’t need super-hearing to notice that some of the demons at RAD found it to be peak comedy that Mammon got slapped with babysitting duty.

“...do you want to mess with them?”

“What?”

“Too late, I’m doing it with or without you.”

Mammon was totally in, obviously. A little magic to move some of the lesser demons’ things around and voila! They were all at each other’s throats and Mammon and MC got to enjoy a fun lunchtime show!

The Purgatory Hall crew got to meet MC too, of course!

“And this,” Lucifer gestured to MC. “Is the other human exchange student.”

MC popped up from behind one of the rows of desks and gave the three newcomers a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you!”

Simeon’s calm and serene expression dropped almost immediately as he quickly looked from Lucifer to MC. The latter just gave him an innocent smile and tilted their head.

“Is something the matter?” MC asked, through the corner of their eye they saw Lucifer smirk slightly.

“N...” Simeon snapped back to reality. “No, nothing’s the matter, it’s nice to meet you, MC.”

“You awful demons!” A much younger voice yapped. “You brought a human child down here?! Shame on you!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’m overwhelmed with guilt, put me out of my misery.”

“Oh!” MC gasped. “You’re the chihuahua!”

“Wh-what?!”

“What?” MC shook their head and shrugged. “What’s the matter with me being a kid? You look like you’re ten.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m well over-”

“Am I just going to go ignored?” The third and final stranger asked, a cheeky/very suspicious looking grin on his face.

“Right, you.” Lucifer sighed. “This is Solomon, another human exchange student.”

“It’s nice to finally meet the other... human exchange student.” Solomon offered a nod.

“Likewise.” MC pretended not to notice the pause before he said human.

The first bell that meant “haul your ass to next period because if the cleaning staff finds you skipping class you will be maimed” sounded. MC slung their bag over their shoulder and brushed past their fellow students.

“Have a nice rest of your day, everyone!” MC chirped as they and Lucifer headed off to their next class.

“What do you stand to gain by pretending you aren’t my child?” Lucifer asked.

MC snickered. “It’s funny! Didn’t you see their faces?”

Lucifer half smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps.”

—————

“That kid is Lucifer’s.” Solomon said the moment Lucifer and MC were out of earshot.

“Oh thank heavens someone else saw too... I thought I was going crazy...” Simeon sighed in relief.

“Hey! We’ll be late to class if you guys don’t hurry!” Luke called from down the hall.

Solomon chuckled under his breath. “This whole year just got way more interesting...”

A lot of MC’s time got devoted to getting to know their newly found family.

Satan was proving to be very... polite? Almost weirdly so? He’d address MC like he would address a formal acquaintance, not like one would address a family member... or even a roommate.

MC tried the delicate dance of trying to respect his boundaries and trying to get him to like them...

Once the glasses incident happened everything kinda caved. MC had been quite rudely shunned by Satan and they were quite done trying to be his friend! Hmph!

...hmph :(

At least Beel was nice... despite MC being a little intimidated by his size and resting bitch face, MC soon found out that Beel was a massive cinnamon roll.

In return for all the snacks Beel shared with MC, they introduced him to at least five human world cooking shows.

“MC, why is the music so dramatic? They’re just revealing the cooking supplies.”

“It’s a reality TV thing... everything is 10 times more dramatic than it needs to be. The music’s doing its job though, I’m very impressed by that pie dish.”

Overall, MC’s first week at RAD was pretty decent! Until... well... until Friday.

MC could only hide their demonic side for so long...

“That’s them?”

MC slowed their steps and turned to look for the source of the voice.

“Yep.” A second voice confirmed. “Human kid, like I said.”

Ugh... of all the times to have needed to stay late after school... the hallway MC was in was completely empty and they had no clue where anyone they actually knew was-

“Boo.”

MC whirled around to see the two gossiping demons standing right behind them. They instinctively took a few steps back before the taller of the two demons grabbed them by the wrist and yanked them forward.

“Geez, are all humans this tiny?” The taller one asked as he slowly lifted MC off the ground. MC fixed him with the nastiest glare possible, he tried to scowl back, but ended up looking away and laughing to the shorter demon. “Look at them, barely enough for a snack, no wonder Beel hasn’t eaten them yet.”

Turning to the shorter demon, MC gave them a similar glare. “Put me down.”

“Tsk, quiet.” The taller demon snapped, he turned back to the shorter demon. “So if we just nab them now, how much do you think someone’ll take for their soul?”

“I-uh...” the shorter demon couldn’t pry their gaze away from MC’s as they tried to sputter a response. “I don’t think we should...”

“Why not? The exchange program’s still in its trial phase anyway, we kill this human and they’ll just bring in another one.”

The way he was speaking about them made MC’s skin crawl. How dare he? How dare he talk about them like they were just common trash? Who did this... person think he was?

An old familiar feeling bubbled beneath the surface. It had always been there, the intense, sometimes overwhelming desire to let the whole world know that they were better. The feeling coiled its way up MC’s spine and wormed its way into their head where it settled.

“You can’t be spoken to like that.”

Every single time this feeling had flared up, MC had done their best to suppress it. They didn’t know what would happen if they gave in, and frankly, they didn’t want to know.

“Let them know you’re not to be trifled with.”

The burning desire to crush the two demons like ants was almost impossible to ignore. MC felt their hands twitch and sparks snap between their fingertips.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” MC growled. “Put. Me. Down.”

“Human,” the taller demon turned back and cooed, his mocking tone made MC want to rip his throat out. “I said be quiet.”

His grip on MC’s wrist tightened until a sickening crack echoed through the empty hallway.

Bile immediately rose in MC’s throat as they let out an earsplitting scream. Their wrist seared in pain and their heart began to race hammer against their ribcage.

The desire to give in only grew and became harder to control, MC could feel themselves slipping. The feeling only had one simple question to ask, one that MC knew the answer to.

“Are you going to let them get away with that?”

Their face morphed into a cheek splitting grin despite the pain, their head tilted to the left as they stared down the two demons.

“No.”

Horns twisted and burst out of their skull as they dug their rapidly sharpening nails into the demon’s arm. Their teeth grew and sharpened while formerly hidden fangs burst through their upper gums. The agonizing pain of their bones growing, snapping, and shifting in and out of place as their demonic form took hold for the first time numbed as MC revelled in their new power.

Through the reflection in the taller demon’s horrified stare, MC could see their pupils stretch into almost catlike slits. He dropped them onto the floor while he and the shorter demon backed up. MC’s impossibly wide smile only grew as they watched the realization dawn upon the lesser demon as he stitched together what he had just done. The human he had decided to bother wasn’t quite so human after all.

“Oh?” MC cooed as their wings split through their back and unfurled behind them. “Where do you think you two are going? We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

—————

Lucifer was jolted from his conversation by a sharp blast of blue light and the sound of screams from a nearby hallway. He instinctively rolled his eyes.

“Lord Diavolo, pardon me but I need to go deal with a disturbance in the halls.” Lucifer said, Diavolo sighed mournfully on the other end of the call.

“Alright, if you must, but make sure to come over later! There are events that need to be scheduled.”

Lucifer knew full well that Diavolo was making half of the school events up as an excuse for basic social interaction. Oh well, it wasn’t the time to think on his prince’s social woes, he had a problem to solve.

How many times did he have to tell some of those idiotic students to take their petty squabbles outside?

Lucifer made his way over to where the fight was happening, he wasn’t walking with particular urgency, a fight on school property wasn’t too unusual, until a massive shockwave spilled through the hallways and slammed into him.

The Avatar of Pride felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, that was his magical signature... wasn’t it? No, it was just different enough...

“Dammit.” Lucifer doubled his pace, when he reached the end of the hallway, the sight was just what he feared.

MC stood straight in the middle of the hallway with their back to him, two other demons were lying in crumpled heaps on the ground, one was next to an incredibly dented row of lockers while the other was lying next to an almost completely broken drinking fountain.

Lucifer’s own true form was out in a flash as MC turned to look at him. their eyes glowing a shining blue. Their lips curled into a snarl as they let out an otherworldly growl.

“Go away.”

“MC, calm yourself down.” Lucifer said slowly as he approached them. “Return to your normal form.”

The half demon bowed their head slightly and took a few steps back as he stepped closer. Lucifer almost patted himself on the back for such a show of authority, until MC paused and looked up defiantly. The glow in their eyes doubled as any sense of fear left them completely.

“I said, GO AWAY!”

They lunged at him, which he easily sidestepped, only for MC to quickly turn and latch their claws into his arm.

The child packed a surprising amount of force into their strikes, but he was able to block and redirect almost every single one. If this were any normal fight, Lucifer would have just swatted them away and have been done with it, but this wasn’t any ordinary opponent.

MC was his child, the exchange student, and going through their first transformation. They weren’t exactly rational or directly responsible for any of their actions at that moment.

During a first transformation the demon is almost completely relying on base instincts to function, they’ll go completely ballistic for a while, trying to tear through anything in their way until they run out of energy and pass out. Which is why during a demon’s first transformation usually happened much earlier in their lives under the watchful eyes of parents or guardians.

It was clear to anyone with even casual knowledge of demons that MC had fully given themselves over to their pride and wouldn’t stop trying to prove their superiority until they passed out.

Even though Lucifer was blocking and avoiding most of the blows, MC had managed to get in a few good scratches.

They snapped at Lucifer’s right hand, narrowly missing it and aimed their elbow at his jaw. Almost casually batting the hit away, he hissed in frustration.

“Damn it... MC, control yourself!”

MC snarled and sloppily lunged forward, only for Lucifer to use his wings to bat them to the side. They slid across the floor, their glasses falling off and skidding away from them. MC lay still for a few moments, their chest rising and falling rapidly.

Lucifer stood in place, waiting for any sudden movement. For a few moments, the hallway was quiet, save for the massive gulps of air MC was taking and the occasional groan of pain from one of the demons on the floor. MC slowly sat up and blinked a few times, then looked from side to side.

Something important dawned on Lucifer, he didn’t know just how blind MC was without their glasses.

MC’s rapid breathing began to slow as they continued to squint and search the area around them for their glasses. Lucifer almost audibly sighed in relief as the blue glow in his child’s eyes began to dull.

“MC.” Lucifer allowed his demon form to disappear as he slowly moved towards them, making sure MC could hear him approaching.

The half demon stopped scanning the area for their glasses and looked up at him, they awkwardly covered a yawn with their hand as their wings sleepily fluttered behind them. It would have been much cuter if MC wasn’t spattered with blood.

Lucifer slowly offered his hand, which MC eyed suspiciously. “Come on, let’s go.”

MC blinked a few times, then yawned again and awkwardly accepted his hand. “Mmph... m’tired...”

“That’s good,” Lucifer said quietly. “Everything’s okay.”

MC half nodded and awkwardly stumbled as they tried to find their footing. Lucifer tried to help steady them, but it proved ineffective as MC collapsed into his arms. Sighing, he picked them up and began to walk back to the House of Lamentation.

Just before leaving the school, Lucifer passed by Simeon and Solomon, who looked from MC, who had curled their wings around themselves and was sleeping soundly, to Lucifer, who had a few scratch marks on his face and whose hair was a complete mess.

“Ah, you two, one of you do me a favour.” Lucifer said as he brushed past them. “One of you go to the biology hallway and pick up MC’s glasses.”

Simeon and Solomon nodded and mumbled out an affirmation as Lucifer left the school with MC. Hmph, it seemed MC was right, their confused/shocked faces were quite funny.

MC woke up the next morning with the worst muscle pain they had ever and hopefully would ever feel. On the bright side, their wrist wasn’t broken anymore :D

They had literally built their true form. Their skeleton just stretched and rearranged itself, horns grew out from their cranium, their wings broke through their back and a new set of fangs decided to break through their gums... and then all of that new stuff was gone as MC lay in bed in their normal form like a deflated beach ball.

Not wanting to seem like a wimp, MC dragged themselves to breakfast, and everyone was all: “MC, go back to bed, you can’t do anything when you’re like this.”

“Quiet, I’m fine.”

“MC, if you’re fine, then give Beel a high five, make sure it makes the slap sound.”

“Alright then, Beel, come here.”

Beel didn’t exactly think to take MC’s shorter stature into account when holding up his hand for a high five. He’s tall, okay?

MC then proceeded to grit their teeth and try not to scream as they lifted their arm to weakly hit their hand against Beel’s.

“It made the noise..!”

“No it didn’t, I didn’t hear it.”

“Fatherrrr!”

“Couldn’t hear it, go back upstairs.”

When MC trudged upstairs, Asmo practically squealed and pointed out that MC had called Lucifer father for the first time. It’s a shame no one took a picture of happy/surprised Lucifer.

Side note: after the whole event calmed down, Lucifer was crazy proud that his kid kicked the asses of two grown demons.

Funnily enough, this incident is what kickstarted MC and Luke’s friendship! Luke heard MC got into a fight and brought over get-well cookies! Sure... Beel, Mammon and Levi stole most of the cookies but they were still good!

At school on Monday... hooooooo boy... the two demons that tried to kill MC had lived to tell the tale thanks to MC getting distracted by Lucifer, and now the entire student body knew NOT to fuck with MC.

A few weeks into the exchange year, things had settled into a somewhat normal routine... until one really shitty night in particular.

MC was curled up in bed, their new comforter and sheets were a pain to put in, but they suited MC’s taste much better than the pink that had been there previously. Sighing in contentment, MC felt themselves drifting off to sleep-

Mother fucker who was texting at the ungodly hour of 10:30 pm on a Sunday? ‘Twas the lord’s day and the lord of the house stated that everyone needed to get their asses to bed at a reasonable hour.

MC picked up their phone and put on their glasses. After being blinded by the light of the phone for a brief moment, MC read the text.

Not-Rich Uncle Pennybags 💰🕶: Oi! MC! U want a snack?

Not-Rich Uncle Pennybags💰🕶: I’m in the kitchen! Get down here!

After debating whether or not to throw Mammon to the wolves and rat him out, MC decided that they did in fact want a snack and hopped out of bed to go to the kitchen.

“Hey kiddo!” Mammon said through a mouthful of something in a container, a loose note hung limply from a piece of tape that was stuck on the Tupperware. “Next time, hurry it up, got it? Ya can’t keep me waitin’ like this!”

“Mm...” MC grumbled, rubbing their eyes and looking around the kitchen. “What are you eating?”

“Custard!” Mammon smiled brightly. “Ya gotta try this!”

Oooo, custard! MC grabbed a spoon and practically skipped over to try some. Right before they were about to try a bit of the heavenly deliciousness, MC paused and finally caught a glimpse of what the note said.

‘Property of Beelzebub, you eat it, you die.’

Uh oh-

———————

Okay, the next few bits of this WILL come out in order, I promise! Kinda... not really... eh... but it matters not! I hope you all enjoyed this! I didn’t leave you with a cliffhanger this time considering Lessons 5-6 are already out ^_^

So uh- wanna fight the demons that tried to hurt MC? I’m bringing the pitchforks, who’s driving?

[thesmokingguns]

Picnic in the Park

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Word Count: 2128

Fluff

Request Summary: “Axl rose meets a girl threw slash who is his childhood friend whos also an amazing painter and just is infatuated with how pretty she is and he just follows her around like a puppy.Tan skin brown hair that goes to lower back brown eyes, wears alot of cute sun dresses and is very kind”

A/N: I am catching up on requests. So if you have requested anything in the past week or so thag oiece should be coming out soon. Thanks everyone for reading

Tag list: @ayablackwood @agroupiewhore @thenobodies-inc @littlemisscare-all

Your mind was a mixture of light and dark, complimentary colors, and images burned into your mind that you wanted to paint later. If there wasn’t a brush in your hand you were taking notes with a pencil, sketching the world around it through eyes that only you saw it from. You captured everyday life like the older woman with the mesh bag she had filled with fruit or the man with his red beard, a few weeks unkept, napping in the alley to get a break from the heat. You took these people, characters of the world and had them live forever on the canvas you painted on.

Art was your passion. You loved walking around Hollywood with a set of watercolors or a notebook to sketch in and take in the lives of others. There was some sort of poetic feeling of taking a stranger from the street and importilizing them as a character in your art. You created a narrative for them that they may not be living. It was cathartic and you’d spend hours of your day people watching until you finally found the right subject.

Sketching out a bump on someone's nose that might have come from a childhood accident or from their Freshman year of college when they drunkenly fell down the front steps of the dorm, you created their unknown life story as you placed each line of their face into place. If you didn’t infuse their story into the piece it was just some colorful person without any meaning. But you wanted to give the viewer of your art a full piece. They should be able to look at your picture and understand the life that the subject lived; your art created that life.

It was crazy to think that a few years before you were in school thinking about becoming an English teacher.It was a chance meeting at a grocery store when you ran into your old friend Saul’s mother. When you had been kids the pair of you had been so close and secretly your mothers had both had fingers crossed for a wedding that never happened. The pair of you split apart the summer after senior year to set out of a life you each wanted. His mother had invited you over for dinner, which she also invited her son to, thrusting the pair of you back into each other's lives.

Oddly enough, it was like time hadn’t passed between you. The easiness of your friendship coming back without even trying and soon the pair of you were hanging out on almost a daily basis. With your schedule up helped manage his house, buying groceries, doing some cleaning, and running a few errands he never remembered. In return you had a few rooms to yourself. Slash had wanted to make sure you had time for your art as well as a space for it.

Dressing in a white floral pattern sundress you grabbed your bag that contained your art supplies. You wanted to get to the park early and set up a blanket you could spend the day sketching and painting on. You planned to soak up the sun in your skin and use the good lighting to get some new work to sell for the craft fair this weekend. As you turned to grab the picnic foods you had made the night before you saw Axl sitting at the counter. His green eyes looked up, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, Y/N. Slash just left. I’m going to leave in a minute. I was just finishing up some lyrics.” he was always over and you thought that he was lonely in his role as lead singer. Even though Axl put on this tough guy imagine and had a reputation it was like he needed to work for that because he thought that was what rock stars were supposed to do. Whenever he was around you he seemed lost, always making extra conversation or taking the time to go walk to the coffee cafe with you and wait in line, even if he didn't want anything.

“I’m heading out for a day in the park.” you told him, moving the wax paper covered sandwiches into a small wicker basket, along with some fruit and cheese, some water, and a bottle of wine. You could feel his eyes on you, “I’m over packing and have more than enough if you want to come with me?” you let your eyes flutter up from packing the basket to look at him. “I’ll leave you alone to write because I’m just going to spend the time working on some new portraits.” It was important to you that you set up expectations. There was no need for him to feel like he was going there to entertain you or vice versa.

“I’d love to go. You don’t mind?” he asked as you finished packing up the wicker basket. You shook your head no, letting him pick up the food you had just packaged and leading you outside, “What park did you want to go to? I can drive us there.” you told him what you were thinking, getting comfortable in the convertible.

When you had moved in with Slash you had forged fast friendships with his bandmates. Even though you weren’t at every show and didn't always go backstage you had gotten close to them in different ways. On Wednesday nights you hosted a dinner party where you made them all come by so you had an excuse to cook for them. When someone had a ripped piece of clothing at a show you’d quietly take out your sewing kit, stitching patches in jeans and repairing favorite band shirts. You liked being around them all because of how animated everyone was; they were so easy to draw. You had a whole sketchbook of black and white images from the band. Your favorite subjects were Slash and Axl, mainly because they were the two you were around the most and had the most flexibility when it came to moods.

Axl had grown close to you, drawn into the caring nature you had. It was hard for him to understand that someone would do things for him without expecting anything in return. The first time that you had been out drinking with them and insisted Axl came home with you so you knew he was safe he had thought was a come on. When you helped him drink water and gave him aspirin before tucking him into bed he was shocked. Even more shocking was waking up to find his clothes washed and folded on the guest room chair and you carrying in a breakfast tray of freshly made foods. That’s just how you showed you cared about your friends. Being the mother of the group and taking care of them helped you feel like you were contributing as a friend.

Spreading out the blanket under the Weeping Willow tree. You motioned for Axl to sit as you toed off your sandals and moved to sit down. Digging through your bag you set out your sketch pad and pencils. You could see Axl out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to know what to do. You pulled him down to the blanket, settling him so he could rest his back against the tree. You pulled off his shoes and socks and handed him his notebook as you went about unpacking your picnic so he could pick at food if he wanted to.

With him settled in the shade you laid down, belly first in the sun. Picking up your pencil you scanned the park until you found an older man feeding the pigeons. Your eyes followed his movements for a few minutes before you started your sketch. The feeling of the warm sun on the back of your thighs as you twirled the pencil in your hand, capturing all the features of the man.

As you drew you could feel Axl’s eyes on you. At first it was just light glances every few minutes and then it turned to heavy long looks where his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the way his stares made you blush, chalking up the pinkness in your cheeks as just sun exposure.

A hand slid over your calf, over the back of your thighs before going over your dress and laying on the flat of your back. You turned your face upward looking at Axl watching you. His eyes flickering from your art up to your face. There was a pause, curiosity and interest in what he was going to do next. Your heart is beating in your chest even though your body is frozen, wondering what he was up to.

“Do you want to take a break and eat? You’ve been working for a couple hours.” Looking past him you saw the sun had changed position in the sky and time had gotten away from you. Sitting up you handed out sandwiches, positioning yourself comfortably besides him in the shade of the tree.

Axl had been following you for most of the spring and now into summer. He's around all the time and often comes along for days like this. But you liked having him around. You thought that he needed the quiet comfortable silence between the pair of you; so much of his life was filled with noise.

“Y/N, do you like this?” He asked, peeling off the crust to his sandwich. The action seemed to be more of a need to keep his hands busy instead of a dislike for the bed.

“Do I like this? Picnics in the park?” You didn’t know exactly what he meant. Axl sometimes seemed to talk in riddles not wanting to fully play all of his cards.

“Being with me.” He didn’t look up to meet your eyes at this, almost embarrassed to be talking about it. You weren’t like Axl. There was no need to talk in riddles or have him guessing how you felt.

“Of course I like having you around, Axl. It’s nice to be able to spend time with someone I like.” He looked up, almost surprised that someone would like to be around him. “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months and it’s nice to get to know you more and find more reasons to like you.” You didn’t feel nervous telling him this. It actually felt like a relief to get it off your chest.

He put down his sandwich, wiping crumbs off on his shirt and looking at his hands to make sure that they were clean. Before you could figure out what he was going to do he had a hand in your hair, tugging you closer to him in a soft kiss. For months you had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him on one of your lazy afternoons together and now it was happening.

Instead of letting him pull away and think about what he had just done you slid onto his lap, letting your hands wrap around him. His free hand was on your back holding you close as the pair of you made out like teenagers under the shade of the willow tree.

Finally, the pair of you pulled away, swollen plush lips and wild curious eyes watching each other. This new change between the pair of you sparkling like wonder between the pair of you. Axl was playing with a piece of your hair, wrapping the brown lock around his finger like he had been wanting to do for months.

“Does this mean we can finally start dating?” You asked, watching the way he smirked at this question. “Because I don’t know how many more times you can just casually show up without Slash catching on. And I don’t know how many more picnics I can plan without touching you.” You admitted, his lips were on your chin and up your jaw.

“Mhhh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long and now I can have you all to myself.” His voice whispered huskily to you kissing your earlobe. He pulled away to look at you again. “You have to tell Slash.” He said, making you laugh as you rolled your eyes. If that’s what it would take to have Axl you didn’t mind telling your best friend about the relationship.

“You take care of me and I’ll take care of everything else, babe.” You promised, meaning it. This was everything that you had wanted for months and now you were getting it. The man that you had started falling for was yours. It had only taken months worth of picnics to get him.

[lidoshka]

The heir

There are so many things Maitimo wants to learn, some for the sake of his house and family and some others “just because.”

[And wow! this time there were quite a few suggestions, so be patient with me, I’m going to try and divide into two categories:]

The first category is about everything Nelyafinwe considers he might need for his future as the heir of his father and grandson of the King –things that are fun to do but that also have a practical use –like Calligraphy (he practices his strokes on the desk at the back), writing (he corresponds with a bunch people – mostly Findekano but also some not-so-secret letters between him and his uncle Nolofinwe), reading subjects like History and Diplomacy and Economy and Dominion of Living Things (governance?), Linguistics and Culture of other Societies – basically he had to read the entirety of Tirion’s library— and when the scholars from the Noldor failed to provide him with all the information he needed, Nelyafinwe probably had to become a self-taught scholar (kinda like his dad in that way).

He also plays strategy games with Finwe (they send each other message birds with the next movement…almost like instant messaging!) and trains with weapons (he prefers the sword to the lance, but he keeps practicing with both in case a member *Gil* of his family *Galad* ever chooses to wield that sort of weapon).

He also has a tendency to..ehem… piss people off upset and manipulate people… it’s almost an art by this point considering Nelyo gathers tidbits of information like squirrels gather nuts for winter (all those scrolls on the back? They are letters containing possible blackmailing information!)

But then there are the other types of hobbies. These hobbies are things he really enjoys doing but probably has little to no time to work on (If he had more leisure time, he’d probably become really skilled at them, but as it is, it’s just a pastime), these include everything that has been relegated to a corner of his room: glass-making, jewelry making and instrument playing (he started playing at the same time as Makalaure, only Kano continued and Nelyo didn’t), pottery (he made a lot of pieces a long time ago, and now he just keeps a few vases as mementos), painting (while he’s not a master painter, his calligraphy skills have given him the ability to draw really fluid lines – he’s currently working on a portrait for his grandfather!) he also likes dancing, but he’d never admit he has won dancing tournaments (the trophies are hidden behind the history books!), and sometimes he gets inside the kitchen to do some baking (if you ask nicely, you might get a piece of cake!)

Currently he’s working on some bedtime story for his younger brothers instead of taking notes about public expenditure and warfare, but hey, no one is perfect!

;)

Oh, and do you see those books under the desk at the back? Those are his favorite novels – that’s his guilty pleasure: he's actually a sucker for good romance & adventure novels— and he can’t wait to read the next installment of his fav romance series!

+

Ah! So that’s it! I can’t believe I was able to finish this series before the end of the year!

Thank you all who proposed a hobby for Maedhros! You all had such great ideas that we almost ran out of space! In no particular order:

@thatfeanorian- calligraphy | Nelyasun – historian/writer and diplomacy/sociology| @foxindarkness – linguistics and calligraphy | @captainadwen - swordplay or books | @illeteratetolkienfan – a self-taught scholar | Fishandskygirl- pissing off people/manipulation

@thatfeanorian- pottery | @mavariel – pottery too | @bluephoenix06 – leisure writing | @arofili – painting and cooking | @Cookieninjaelf – reading | @captainadwen- a sucker for good romance & adventure novels and jewel smiting | @prettylunacy – writer/storyteller and baking | EttaDaring – dancing and music!

And thanks to everyone else who made a comment on this series, you guys rock!

Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ

[teawaffles]

It Happened One Night: Chapter 2

The country house Mycroft had introduced them to was a little smaller than the nobles’ mansions they’d been to thus far, but it was an elegant villa, one which exuded a sense of history.

Its exterior was built in the Gothic style, with stone foundations. Planted in the vast gardens was a sea of flora in exquisite colour schemes, delighting the eye of any onlooker. [1]

Of course, the interior didn’t disappoint either: it was richly decorated, with intricately crafted furniture in every room; and hanging from the walls were portraits of the mansion’s owners, as well as landscapes painted by renowned artists. As Sherlock and company were here as guests, they were restricted in the number of rooms allowed for use, but the sheer number of luxury items that greeted them was still far greater than what any ordinary person could ever hope to obtain.

Their lives had literally been turned around.

Turned around…… and yet.

“——Booored……”

In the room he had picked himself, Sherlock looked out the window, gazing at the tranquil garden flooded with gentle sunlight.

It had been three days since they’d moved in, and Sherlock had already grown weary of this lavish lifestyle.

He only took care of the plants in the garden insomuch that they wouldn’t wither, but otherwise he had no interest in the flowers themselves. Moreover, he had already tired of gazing upon the decorations and furniture and paintings in the house. The underground wine cellar aroused some interest, but as an invited guest, helping himself to the liquor as he pleased was evidently a breach of etiquette.

In the end, there wasn’t much to do in this mansion.

As John had suggested, requests from clients were reaching him by mail in the meantime, but they had all been simple cases, solvable just by reading the letters. Couldn’t one difficult case come in sometime? Sherlock sighed heavily as he wrote down the solutions in his replies.

His boredom was plain as day. John, who was seated across him, spoke up in a soft voice.

“Sherlock. We just got tangled up in a big incident a while back, so isn’t it a good thing to take a break for once?”

“Y’know, John, just one day of rest is enough for me. If I don’t get the right level of stimulation, my brain will get all mouldy.”

“What an absurd……”

Just then, the door opened.

“Sherlock, John-kun, I’ve made some tea.”

Miss Hudson walked in bearing a silver tray. On top of it were some nicely baked biscuits, and black tea in teacups with simple designs. As they’d been given permission to use the kitchens, she had been devoting her spare time to baking.

“Thank you, Miss Hudson.”

“Thanks—”

The two of them each took a biscuit from the tray on the table, and munched on it.

“How is it? I’m quite proud of them myself,” she asked.

John nodded in satisfaction.

“It’s very delicious. Right, Sherlock?”

“Oh, it’s good, yeah,” he replied, deadpan.

Miss Hudson shook her head sadly.

“……Well now. If you’re this bored, why don’t you head down to one of the nearby villages? Seeing as there’s such fine weather too.”

Sherlock sent his gaze out the window yet again.

“That’s true……. And if an interesting case pops up, it would be just my luck.”

“Don’t say something so troubling — we’ve worked hard for this peace and quiet.”

John was familiar with Sherlock’s character, but this level of addiction to his work was nothing short of astounding. Miss Hudson, clearly worried by the detective’s words, placed a hand on John’s shoulder.

“John-kun, with Sherlock in this state, I’m worried he’ll get up to no good. Just in case, could you tag along with him?”

“Certainly; leave it to me. It’ll also be a perfect opportunity to get some exercise.”

“What’re you both taking me for……?” Sherlock grumbled — he’d been half-joking, and was surprised to find his words being taken seriously.

Then, with Miss Hudson taking care of the house, the two men set off.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

The Cotswolds was a region 200 kilometres west of London, renowned for its rustic charm, with its rolling hills carpeted in verdant grass.

From where they were, they could see flocks of white sheep and tiny villages dotting the vast green landscape. The village buildings were constructed from limestone: in the northeast of the Cotswolds, it was the colour of honey; in the central region, it was golden-yellow; in the southwest, it turned white instead.

Walking along a path which cut through some pastures, Sherlock and John arrived at the village nearest to the mansion.

A small stream meandered through the village, and built along it was a series of stone houses. It looked right out of a picture book.

Their hearts healed by the idyllic scene before them, the two men headed to the centre of the village, in a bid to find some boredom-busting information. There, they found a two-storey inn. When he noticed that a section of the first floor had been converted into a pub, Sherlock broke into a grin.

“Oi, John. Let’s have a pint to pass the time.”

John shot him a dubious look.

“Sherlock. Drinking during the day isn’t something I approve of.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a vacation anyway — why not let loose for a bit?”

“And who was it who said he’d had enough of resting just now……?”

This was a fine example of what it meant to do an about-turn.

But it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had done something on a whim. John reluctantly followed him into the inn.

As expected for a country pub in the daytime, there were only a handful of customers seated quietly inside — it was nothing like the bustle of the city. At the counter was a tall man, who looked like he was running the business alone.

The two men sat at the bar. Sherlock ordered beer, while John chose some light snacks. As their orders were served up, Sherlock took a swig, then directed a question to the owner.

“Hey. Isn’t there anything interesting going on around here?”

At this vague question, the pub owner rubbed his chin.

“Anything interesting, huh. Well there is, but it’s a family matter. Are you two tourists?”

John spoke up. “No, it’s complicated…… For various reasons, we’re staying in the residence of a nearby landowner for the time being.”

“Hmm, so you’re a close friend of this noble?”

“That’s not it either…… This man here is the detective Sherlock Holmes, and I’m his assistant.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of you. So you’re that Holmes. Must’ve been tough comin’ all the way out here.”

It seemed he had little interest in celebrities: hearing Sherlock’s name didn’t stir up much of a reaction.

Sherlock stared into his beer glass.

“By the way, you said something just now about a ‘family matter’?”

It seemed he had remembered what the owner said earlier, about there being something interesting. Then, the owner’s voice turned slightly cheery.

“Actually, my daughter’s in London now, and she’s getting married. She’s bringing her fiancé here the evening after tomorrow. I’ve met him just once before, but he’s a solid chap. I was kinda worried she’d get on with some weird fellow, so I’m relieved.”

“Congratulations — you must be proud.”

At John’s words, the owner rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Thanks. I’m also planning a wedding celebration that night, with some friends from the nearby villages.”

Sherlock hummed in reply. It wasn’t clear if he was interested or not.

“But the second floor is used as an inn, right? Wouldn’t the noise invite complaints?”

“Not to worry: there’s only one person staying upstairs now, and I’ve already gotten his agreement. Anyway, it’s pretty rare for outsiders to come to a small village like this. I still run the inn for formality’s sake, but most of my income comes from this pub.”

“But there is one person here.”

“Yeah, a guy who just arrived a while ago. It seems he’s an obscure painter; he said he wanted a quiet place to concentrate on his art and stimulate his creativity, so he’s rented a room for around ten days.”

That number startled John.

“That’s quite a long stay.”

“The rooms are all empty anyway, so I don’t mind at all. Also, instead of an atelier, well…… can you see it from here?”

The owner pointed at something beyond the window. A little ways from the inn, at the end of a patch of exposed, blackened earth, stood a small shed.

When the two men caught sight of the shed and nodded, the pub owner continued.

“It was originally a stable, but got remodelled into a storage shed. This guy said it was easy to concentrate there, so he moved lots of bulky luggage into the shed via carriage, and now he spends most of his day cooped up inside.”

“Something seems off. What happened to his original belongings?”

“There weren’t many to begin with, so now they’ve been moved to an empty room on the second floor. The others in the village don’t really like him, but he pays his bills on time, so I’ve nothing to say to that. And there weren’t many things in the shed in the first place, so he’s not causing me any trouble.”

Just as the owner finished speaking, the shed door opened, and they saw a man walk out alone.

Sherlock spoke up.

“Is, that the artist?”

“Yeah, his name is Rheos. I think he’s from around France.” [2]

Rheos was a pale, lanky young man dressed in awfully shabby clothes: he truly looked like an artist detached from reality. His shoulder-length hair hid most of his features, but his quick steps revealed the strength in his legs. He was carrying a large, dirty case under his arm.

“…………”

Sherlock stared with inscrutable eyes as he tried to figure out where Rheos was going, but quickly turned back to the barkeep.

“So, is he using this place as a base, and travelling around the area to paint landscapes?”

The owner shook his head.

“I thought so too at first, but apparently he practises by referencing works from famous artists.”

“Hmm, you said earlier that he always coops himself up in that shed. I thought he’d go out during the day if he’s painting scenery.”

“He’s an odd one, that’s for sure. But anyway, I’m the one who took him in, and he hasn’t caused any problems so far. I say it’s up to him where and how he wants to paint. ——By the way, Mr Detective—”

He leaned over to Sherlock a little.

“What is it?”

“From your detective work, I’m sure you’ve seen many strange cases, now haven’t you? If you’re willing, why not tell us about one or two at the dinner party?”

The owner broke into a wide grin, but on the contrary, Sherlock’s face twitched. To be honest, it was simply awkward to attend a complete stranger’s wedding party. Hence he decided to gently turn down the offer.

“……Umm, thank you for the invitation, but——”

“——Hmm? How about it? It’s my precious daughter’s wedding, y’know. I’ll do anything to make things even a little more exciting.”

However, contrary to his expectations, the pub owner seemed adamant that Sherlock regale the guests with stories from his detective work. The strength of his insistence had flustered Sherlock for a moment, but eventually, he clapped his partner’s shoulder beside him.

“In that case, John here can go. After all, he’s witnessed many of the strange things I’ve encountered up close.”

“Huh? What’re you saying, Sherlock!?”

Realising that he was being offered up instead, John panicked. As much as he wanted to congratulate the happy couple on their marriage, he didn’t want to be sent out to speak before a whole bunch of strangers.

“You’re always complaining about this and that — only now do you appreciate me? It’s not fair!”

“No need to be humble. I can personally guarantee your ability as a storyteller.”

“No, hold on just a——”

“——Oh, so you’ll be speaking in place of him, eh?”

Unfortunately for John, the owner had now set his sights on him.

“U-Uh, I……”

John put both hands before him in an effort to convey that he wouldn’t be joining the party, but in the face of the pub owner’s blinding smile, he realised all resistance would only be futile.

“Alright. I shall attend……”

“Thank you. As a further token of my thanks, have some slightly more expensive beer on the house.”

Now in a great mood, the owner took two bottles of beer from the shelves behind him.

Having been forced into speaking in public about their cases — a fine mess indeed — John was downright depressed. Sherlock patted him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. If I were to talk instead, it would just sound like I’m bragging. Do you want to get some practice in while you can?” suggested Sherlock, with a half-smile.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

John shot him a reproachful glare.

Footnotes:

[1] To give you a sense of how the house might look like, here are some examples of Victorian Gothic houses: The Guardian

[2] Rheos (pronounced ray-oh-s) is honestly my best guess at his name… (In the book it’s written as レオス). Rheos is also a real name!

[maneskinrollercoaster]

~ And All That For a Lighter ~

Pairing: Damiano David x Naomi (fictional character)

Word count: 3035

Warnings: none

Summary: Naomi meets Damiano in a café for the first time.

Naomi entered the café all soaked, her cheeks red from running and her hair messy and wet from the rain. It was pouring outside which was the thing she despised the most. Surprisingly tho she felt good. Fresh. She loved walking around Rome in the morning and for the first time in her life she admired this rainy weather. Little drops of water flowed over her cheek. Her life was a big mess and you could say she needed something new.

When a month ago she found her boyfriend cheating with her best friend she felt like her whole life collapsed. That’s when she decided to change something. Start a new life. She started admiring things she’s never liked before, she started dressing differently, she became more confident in her own body. She even started working out which was the most unexpected thing since physical education was her least favorite subject in high school.

Naomi always thought love was the most essential part of everyone’s life, but a sight of Alessandro having fun in their bed with Sofia made her hate love more than anything. She decided to move on and live life completely and only for herself.

- Buongiorno Joey - she said reaching the bartender standing behind the counter.

- Buongiorno piccola, what can I get for you?

- One espresso please, and one brownie - the bartender nodded and started preparing her order.

She decided to sit down since she would probably spend a lot of time working on her laptop and enjoying this rainy morning. The inside of café was warm and welcoming, comfortable couches, puffy pillows and a lot of plants. She visited this café every day for the past two weeks and she found herself enjoying this place maybe even more than her new flat.

Naomi went to sit in the corner on a cozy red couch. She took off her soaked jacket and pulled out her laptop with a couple of notebooks. She was a student of economy and since she had to find herself some more things to do she decided to actually try harder to have a better degree at her college. She wasn’t so fond of the direction she chose but she knew it’s gonna bring her a prosperous life. In fact her favorite thing in the world was art. She started painting when she was 8 years old. Since then she really enjoyed staying all day alone in her room painting everything she could, from beautiful portraits to mesmerizing landscapes. She had a huge talent but she was too afraid to chase her dreams.

When she met Alessandro he quickly bashed her ideas of becoming a professional painter, saying that it’s not something she will build her life on and that she will be only wasting her time. She was mad at him for a couple of days but then she quit her painting dream and chose economy for her main subject.

- Ecco a te, one coffee and one brownie - said Joey bringing her order to the table and putting it right in front of her.

- Grazie mille - Naomi answered and smiled to him.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled. It was delicious. That was another reason why she kept coming back here every day. They made the best coffee she’s ever drunk.

Two hours passed and Naomi was still working on her assignment she was supposed to give in till next Monday. It was about lunch time so she decided she will pack her things in an hour and she will go find a place to eat something. She took the last sip of the coffee and finished her first task when someone pulled her out of her little trans.

- Ah shit! I’m all wet! - she heard someone saying and moment later she saw a guy reaching the bartender.

He was tall and had slightly longer, dark brown hair. She could only see his profile but only that was enough for her to admit that he was really handsome. He was wearing black trousers, black Dr. Martens, white tank top and an oversized black jacket. He looked good and Naomi couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

- Damiano! It’s so good to see you man! - Joey said and shook hands with the new guy.

Damiano. The name really suit him. Naomi didn’t take her eyes off him even once.

- Ciao, ciao, Joey! - his voice was attractive as well. Raspy and deep but really calm.

Naomi didn’t know what was happening. Usually she didn’t pay attention to any guys after Alessandro but he was different. He looked edgy and bold but he seemed nice too. She was staring at him. And not in a polite way. She was literally eyeing him from up and down and she didn’t even realize.

- Give me an espresso man, I’m so tired, I just woke up. Yesterday we had so much fun. Victoria came up with this new idea of the song and we all stayed up late till 4 am trying to figure out how to pull it up together. - Damiano said.

So he’s into music. Nice. Naomi was still staring at him so rudely but she didn’t care at this point. Music is also art - she thought and smiled slightly not letting go of his person.

- Typical you, Dam, you’ve never slept a full night, did you? - Joey said and they both laughed.

- Do you have a lighter maybe? I forgot mine. - Damiano said and started searching his pockets.

- I don’t man, sorry. Let me make your order. Anything else for you?

- No, no that’s all. I’m gonna go search for a lighter and I’ll be back.

He turned around searching for people but at this time the café was empty. Only Naomi sitting in the corner. He started walking towards her. Oh shit, he’s coming here, stop staring, stop staring, stop staring - Naomi thought and looked at her laptop trying to pretend that’s she didn’t just checked him out for 10 minutes straight.

- Scusi, I’m.. - he reached her table and started speaking but stopped when she looked at him. - I’m sorry to interrupt but do you have a lighter maybe? - he said after a second.

- No, I’m sorry. I don’t smoke. - Naomi blushed and smiled lightly.

- Okey, grazie. - he smiled and started walking away.

- But there’s a store at the corner, I think they might have some. - Naomi said

- Grazie, grazie. - he laughed slightly and waved at her.

Naomi went back to her tasks still blushing not knowing why. 15 minutes passed and Damiano entered the café again carrying two bags. He came up to Naomi smiling.

- I uh.. Sorry to interrupt again but.. Do you want to maybe eat lunch with me? I just thought that it’s lunch time and you’re sitting here alone and since you helped me with the lighter.. - he couldn’t stop speaking and Naomi blushed again laughing. He looked a bit nervous.

- Of course, I would love to eat lunch with you. - she said interrupting him.

- I’m Damiano - he said pulling out his hand.

- Naomi - she said and grabbed his hand to shake it but he turned it and kissed the top of her palm.

She felt something weird in her stomach, like butterflies but she pushed them aside and only smiled to him. Damiano sat on the couch opposite Naomi and put two bags on the table.

- I didn’t know what you like, obviously because I don’t know you, yeah very clever Dam, whatever.. - he started speaking and Naomi couldn’t stop but laugh at him loudly

- Don’t worry, I’m not a peaky eater - she said sending him a reassuring smile.

- Alright, well, I ordered pasta with shrimps and some pesto and cherry tomatoes. - he said taking out the box with food from the bag. - I also got you a cherry smoothie but we can switch if you’d like.

- Wow, and that all for a lighter? You really didn’t have to. But thank you so much, I was about to go for lunch anyways. - she said grabbing the box that he handed her.

- Yes well, you’re really beautiful.. I mean, no.. I mean you are beautiful but I just wanted to say that you’re really nice and yeah I don’t know I just thought you might like to eat something.. Not that you look like you’re starving but yeah..

- Heyyy, thank you, really, that’s so nice of you. - she said smiling widely.

Naomi took the first bite of her pasta and it was delicious. She remembered her grandmother cooking shrimps every Saturday and all her family gathering together for a family dinner in the garden. It tasted just the same.

They ate everything and after two hours of talking and laughing and getting to know each other it was time for Joey to close the café. Naomi stood up and packed her things, said goodbye to Joey and together with Damiano they stepped out of the café. It stopped raining and instead there was a full sun and a fresh breeze.

- So what are you gonna do now? - he asked standing in front of her.

- Umm.. I think I’m just gonna go back to my flat, make myself some snacks and watch Netflix till I fall asleep - Naomi laughed.

- Alright well, do you mind if I walk you home? - Damiano asked steeping a bit closer to her.

- Sure, why not, we can take a walk.

That day Damiano walked Naomi to her house and they exchanged numbers, planning to meet again. He kissed her cheek for goodbye and squeezed her hand and Naomi has never felt like that in a long time. She was happy and Damiano, even tho she met him today, made her feel really good. Naomi couldn’t sleep that night still thinking of him and wondering why she felt so different around him.

*3 months later*

- What do you mean you don’t like Star Wars! - Damiano shouted to Naomi while they both walked towards the beach where they were supposed to watch sunset and have a little picnic.

Since the day they met they spent almost every day together. Damiano surprised her with multiple occasions to go out together, either for lunch or dinner or even breakfast when he woke up earlier than usual. He found himself falling for her. In fact he realized he fell for her the day he first laid his eyes on her. He found her funny, spontaneous and really kind and caring. When she told him about her painting dream he was so shocked she gave up, that he argued with her till he convinced her to chase the dream even if she thought it was too late. Naomi really enjoyed his company, he made her feel really happy and safe and most importantly - loved. She knew she developed some feelings and she didn’t want to admit it but at the back of her head she knew she fell in love. He made her laugh and supported her when she was having bad moments. He became her best friend at some point. Both of them were taking things a bit slower tho, they were both afraid, broken-hearted after rough ended relationships.

- I just don’t, I don’t understand how they made so many movies out of such a lame plot. - she said defending herself.

- How can you even say that! The plot is amazing! The space action scenes, come on! - he said offended but smiling.

- Yeah I just don’t see the point of filming it, that’s all.

- I don’t know how Victoria can still be friends with you, we’re both huge fans of Star Wars! You’re lucky I like you - Damiano started laughing and put his arm around Naomi’s shoulders.

She got to meet Victoria, Ethan and Thomas. Bassist, drummer and guitarist of their band Måneskin. Naomi wasn’t really into music so she didn’t really know them and didn’t know they’re pretty known here in Italy. Victoria was the kindest person Naomi could ever see. When her and Damiano stepped into the studio where they were recording, Vic was the first to reach out to her. She hugged her tightly and was clearly really happy to meet her. She then introduced Thomas and Ethan to her. Thomas started joking around that Damiano finally found himself a girlfriend and Ethan was really polite, he kissed Naomi’s hand and hugged her too, smiling really kindly. They were all so nice. They started inviting her over for dinners or just to hang out by the pool. She also listened to them playing and recording their new songs. Damiano told them that she wanted to be a painter and they all started reassuring her even more, that chasing her dream is the best thing for her and that she should never give up. Naomi really felt like she finally found her place.

Naomi and Damiano reached the beach, they put the blanket on the sand, put out all the food from the basket and they sat opposite each other. They were both smiling widely and chatting about everything. They drank some wine, ate some pasta and then they sat next to each other admiring the sunset.

- I really like you, you know? - Damiano said glancing at Naomi. - And I mean, I like you a lot. You’re really an amazing person with so much talent and you’re just so caring and loving. You really make me happy. - he said not taking his eyes off of her.

- Dami.. - Naomi started but she was interrupted.

- What I want to say is.. - he took her hands - I fell in love with you Naomi. I fell for you hard and I’m pretty sure since the day I saw you at that café. I care about you so much and any time with you is my favorite time in the world. So if you want to.. We could try, you know.. Being together, like, in a relationship. - he said in one breathe.

Naomi was speechless, her stomach was squeezing and she felt her cheeks turning red. She never would have though that someone will make her feel like this again. She knew that he cares for her but she didn’t know that he would feel the same way she felt about him.

- Dami.. Of course I do want to try, you make me the happiest, and honestly I didn’t know you feel the same way, that’s why I didn’t say anything. And also because.. - Naomi wanted to tell him about Alessandro but she was scared that Damiano will back off, saying that he will give her time.

- What’s wrong, bella? - he said gently squeezing her hand.

- I was in a relationship before. His name was Alessandro and we met before I started college. We were together for 3 years and everything was going just fine. But then.. One day when I came back home earlier than usual I found him cheating with my best friend, Sofia. Since then I just decided to not get into any relationship and live only for myself because I was too afraid to get hurt again - Naomi said looking down at their intertwined hands.

- Oh bella.. - Damiano pulled her into a tight hug.

He stroked her back and her hair and he was whispering to her ear. A single tear fell down her cheek but not because she was hurt but because of how gentle and caring Damiano was. He hugged her and made her feel better and she couldn’t find herself with anyone else right now than with him. He pulled away, looked into her eyes and smiled slightly.

- I was in a relationship too a while ago. It turned out we didn’t match and our life goals and perspectives were so different that we decided to end things. Maybe it wasn’t as harsh as your breakup but I felt awful for at least a month. I didn’t go out of my room and I lost all will to write music. Victoria brought me food every day but I just didn’t want to eat. But it all passed.. Listen, if you need more time it’s all good, I’ll give you space and I’ll wait till you’re ready.

Naomi was silent for a couple of seconds. In her head there was a battle. She wanted to let go of bad memories and trust Damiano completely, start a relationship with him, but on the other hand she was scared to get hurt again.

- No Dami. I don’t need time, I know what I want and I know how you make me feel and that’s why I want to try. - Naomi said hugging him tightly.

She knew she just overcame her fear and she felt free. Like a huge stone fell off of her heart. She felt amazing and she wanted to live this moment as long as she could. Damiano pulled away and cupped her cheek with his hand. He pulled her closer and she could feel his breath on her face. Slowly, but slightly Damiano leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Naomi touched his cheek and pulled him even closer. And then they both intertwined their lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss.

Naomi felt her stomach squeezing when Damiano put his hand on her back. It was their first kiss and the sunset was almost turning into the night. They pulled away after seconds and smiled widely at each other.

- I promise, I’ll always take care of you. - Damiano said leaning his forehead against hers.

- Always. - Naomi said grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers together.

That’s when they both knew that they found soulmates in each other.

[imagine-lcorp]

Folie à Deux (One Shot)

A/N: Hello guys!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN AND FELIZ DIA DE MUERTOS/HAPPY DAY OF THE DEAD to all of you wonderful people. Here I come once again to share a lil one shot to celebrate this already gone spooky season but i hope you can still enjoy it. Bear with me as I try to pull some hannibal vibes over here. Let me know what you think and thank y’all for sticking around!!

Lena Luthor x Killer R//Word Count: 1,653

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Murder, Guns, Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Violence. 

-------------------------------------------------

folie à deux. /fôˌlē ä ˈdœ/ French (n.) lit. madness for two; delusion or mental illness shared by two people in close association.

"I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you."  — Frida Kahlo.

Lena Luthor was no stranger to fear but never in her life had she faced such terror. She could feel it in the back of her head, making her afraid of every corner and shadow of her own house. She could feel it in her chest as she forced her lungs to take steady breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart. She could feel it in her skin, tuning her fingers cold as she gripped her gun tighter, with every careful step she took to get behind you.

"You're home earlier." Your voice, as soothing as ever, made her stop dead in her tracks.

She saw you, turning around and looking at her with attentive eyes. When you noticed the gun in her hand, you tilted your head. You smiled softly, wondering how much time was left, either before the police and her friends arrived or before she pulled the trigger on you.

"Is that for me?" You asked and, in her shock, Lena managed a small nod. "Such peculiar gifts we come bearing, don't you think?"

Your smile never faltered. She could still notice it as you turned your attention at the painting that was now installed in the central wall of her living room. She stood a few steps behind you and observed. You had just finished it, that much she could tell by the faint smell of paint fume and bright tones of the oils.

It was wonderful, like nothing you had ever showed her before. A danse macabre done with a style so characteristic of you, in which two stark white skeletons seemed to dance and embrace each other. They were surrounded by a field of blood red poppies that, upon a closer look, resembled tiny skulls amidst an equal blood-red sunset...or was it a sunrise? She would have to ask you, just like whose blood was it.

"Is that blood?" She couldn't take her eyes off the painting. Not even after the question had left her lips and her instincts screamed at her to run for her life.

"Burnt sienna and a hint of Prussian blue. Although you know I prefer the real stuff, I wouldn't want anyone to take it away from you in search of evidence." You said, enjoying your own clever remarks. "What do you think?"

"I didn't think you cared about criticism in your work." Lena replied, unable to recall a time when you had ever asked someone else's opinion about your work.

"Art, like love, is the reflection in which we can see ourselves through other's eyes. So I care when it comes to you." You turned again to look at her. "Tell me, Lena, what do you see?"

Lena looked back at you and what she saw in your eyes made her catch her breath. Madness and love, all mixed up together. A look that seemed to reach within the darkest part of her soul and, instead of trying to give it light, you marveled at it.

"You." She said taking a deep, shaky breath. "And me."

With barely a hint of hesitation, she took the last steps forward, placing herself right beside you. She looked at the painting, both a love letter and an omen of death.

"When I saw the photos of the murders, all I could see was you. From the blood paintings hanging from walls to the bodies displayed in such surreal forms. The bullets and the knives, the wounds and the cuts. You were there, in every detail."

She could remember the first time she ever saw pictures from the crime scenes and feeling as if she had been seeing photos from a gallery exhibition. Each body they had found had been displayed in the most bizarre and beautiful shapes and poses. Bones, flesh and skin, all arranged in forms she didn't know were possible for the human body. She had been horrified at first about it all but, the more she looked, she hadn't been able to deny there was certain grace and elegance in the killer's doing. Whoever had done it, she had thought, was a genius of their own morbid talent.

"Then, when they gave me the list of victims, all I could see...was myself." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Each crime scene had come along with a list of victims too. The police had identified them with varying degrees of difficulty. Some names had been hard to find while others had been too obvious to even pretend they hadn't recognized them the moment they had seen their twisted faces. However, as different those victims seemed to be between each other, what tied them together were their own crimes. Abusive husbands and wives, child molesters, unethical practitioners, corrupt officials and political leaders with their own dark intentions. People that, even Lena recognized, no one wanted wandering on the face of earth.

Your latest victim had been the judge that had let Edge go free on bail. All her efforts to put him behind bars for good had mean nothing. Then she heard the news. His body had been displayed on his own court, hanging from the ceiling in his black robes, with a band covering his eyes. His chest had been opened and in his hand he held a pair of scales. His heart laid there, weighed against a black feather, ready to be devoured.

The real shock of the murder, however, came after a single detail was revealed. Their blood. The judge and the rest of victims had been drained of their blood before exposing their bodies.

She had never thought too much about it, because there had been nothing to think about when you told her red was one of your favorite colors. It frustrated sometimes, as a painter, how hard it was to find a shade of red as bright and vivid as that of blood. Fortunately, you had learned a long time ago how to make your own red pigments and oils, using the blood of animals, usually pigs whose death was more meaningful than their lives anyway, you had said.

"I wanted to make something beautiful out of such grotesque people." You sighed and turned your head to look at her. "Turning lead into gold with every drop of blood and every stroke, each one an offering and an amend. Is my vision so different from yours? Is yours that different from mine if we want the same?"

"I wanted justice. This is not it." She said resolute, feeling again the metal of the gun against her fingers. "This is only the aftermath of your own judgment."

"Could you say then, in your judgement, if I was fair on my own?"

"If I say you were then every crime of yours is one I have performed too."

"And I recall, you would have wanted it a few times."

Were the deaths of those men and women justified? Had their own acts been so evil that you had to pay them in kind? She remembered how bad had she wanted it sometimes, to make justice by her own hand because it seemed more reliable than a justice court. That much she could understand about your deeds and maybe that was enough for her.

"It's all the same. If there is no justice, then let it be reckoning." You looked at the gun in her hand and raised a brow. "Isn't that why you have come?"

"I have to stop you." Lena said, and you would have expected her to be quick about it. For her to raise her hand and point her gun, to pull the trigger and be done with it in a heartbeat.

But she didn't move.

"Here." You moved your hand slowly towards hers. She didn't even flinch as she watched you hold her fingers against the gun and raise her hand towards your chest. The hand of an artist, the hand of a killer. "Turn my blood into gold. Let them have their reckoning."

Still, she didn't move.

It was the moment Lena understood it all and became truly afraid. Afraid, not about pulling the trigger, not about shooting you through the heart, but to have life and death dancing on her fingertips. To choose with no remorse but with a clear conscience and blood in her hands. So easy, she had thought, to end your life and watch it vanish through your eyes.

"I can't." She said, and you felt her fingers loosen up. "I do not have your talents for this."

You took the gun and looked at it for a moment before looking back at Lena. "You do. It just takes a little practice."

In the distance, the sound of sirens filled the streets. You had been left with no more time.

"Now, come. Justice is upon us, and we don't want them to think you have been making deals with the devil."

Without another word, Lena could fathom what would follow next.

"No." She said with nostalgia already brimming in her eyes. "We have just been dancing around each other for a while."

You offered her a hand, with the other still holding the gun. "Soon the music's over, so let's give it one last chance."

Lena took your hand and, in a confident move, you spun her around. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of your body against her as you embraced her from behind. Then she felt too the barrel of the gun against her temple.

"Once I'm away, please, remember. I've only ever tried to show you beauty." Your soft breath tickled her ear as you whispered to her. "Can you see?"

When Lena opened her eyes, all she could see was red. The painting hung in front of you and it seemed to her as if you were both facing a mirror.

She felt no fear this time. "It's terrific."

[tatestripedsweater]

Evan’s React: Plus Size Reader (Soft and Squishy as the anon worded it) - Requested

Warnings: Body Shaming, Mental Abuse

A/N: I am plus size myself so writing this did comfort me, but also I write the characters as they appear in the show so I don’t sugar coat it.. so these might not be the answers you wanted (mainly Kai’s) but there’s a warning for a reason. Any hateful comments will be deleted/blocked.

Tate would prefer a slimmer S/O just because he more so cared about what people thought, it not really being about hurting your feelings. He didn’t want his mother to bring up your weight if he ever brought you home to meet her (which eventually has to happen), so in that instance I think he’d gravitate towards someone slimmer but he wouldn’t say no to a plus size person.

Kit wouldn’t care about how much you weighed, he loved you for your heart and kindness. If anyone gave you any shit for your size then he would be the first person to put them in their place, I think the only thing Kit would worry about would be your health but at the end of the day you were happy and that’s all that mattered to him. He would definitely throw you onto the bed during sex, it didn’t matter how much you weighed for him to do that.

Pre-Death Kyle is a sweetheart, weight wasn’t an issue for him much like Kit. Kyle would be the type of guy to cuddle up to you and use your tummy as a pillow, he would even kiss your stomach and blow raspberries on it if you ever felt insecure or upset about your weight. We all know he’s a soft boy, so he would purposely buy oversized shirts for himself then he would let you wear them, so you could wear his shirts without you feeling insecure about your weight.

Post-Death/Franken-Kyle wouldn’t really understand why your weight even mattered, all he saw was you and his face would instantly light up like a Christmas tree. Much like what he was like before he died, he would cuddle up to your stomach but instead he would actually end up massaging your stomach with his hand and would call it ‘jelly’. It would’ve offended you if it was anyone but Kyle, but the way he grinned whenever he did it only made you smile. It was like a form of therapy for him.

Jimmy knew what it was like to be different and that people would pick on you due to your weight, so if anyone said anything then he would automatically get protective. Jimmy always told you how perfect you were to him and that you didn’t need to loose weight or change anything, and if you did then to do it because you wanted to and not to please other people.

We all know James has a very open mind, even though he’s from a questionable era he treats Liz with so much respect so having a plus size S/O wouldn’t even phase him. He would buy you the best clothes that bring out your curves, James wouldn’t take any slander about your body. If he heard someone made comments about you that were anything but kind, they would be dead within the next hour.

Rory wouldn’t mind if you were slim or plus size, he loved all bodies and even is the type of guy to hype you up on social media if you ever feel insecure. Rory would even call you his ‘jelly baby’ since he loves your squishy cuddles and would kiss you with every chance he got since he loved your chubby cheeks as well. The boy just adores you.

Back in Edward’s time having a fuller figure was seen as healthy and even showed that the person had wealth, so he wasn’t bothered by you being plus size and would most likely be proud of himself that he managed to get someone like you in his life. Edward would have painters come to create portraits of you so that he can show them off in his art gallery, not that anyone would see it as it was for his eyes only. He may also have had a risqué painting of you above his bed.

Kai would want a slimmer S/O but he wouldn’t say no to you just because of your weight, even though he would use it against you and any insecurities to bring you down. He would most likely be the type of guy to have you ride him to ‘loose weight’ as it’s a form of exercise in his mind, would even go as far as forcing you to eat healthy so you can be ‘perfect’ for your Divine Ruler.

I feel like Gallant would be into more of a bigger partner anyway since he saw them as strong and being able to dominate him since he’s such a sub, but if you ever did have those days of insecurity he would shut you down almost instantly and list everything he loved about you. Boy would even make a power point if he really had too.

Peter (Maximoff) is like Rory, he would hype you up and would tell you how beautiful you are everyday. He would also leave little love notes in your room and on the mirrors in your bathroom reminding you how gorgeous you are, he also loves that he has a snacking partner and would never judge you for what you ate since he could eat for an entire country anyway.

[bard-llama]

Phillipa, again in Vergen, learns that Saskia wants to marry for love (and maybe a little as a political statement) Iorveth: "Well, we have to find a way to gain some political benefit out of it. At least he is not Stennis, though..."

OH GOD NOT STENNIS!!! I mean, I usually kill the fucker anyway, even though I don't think Geralt would let him die, canonically. BUT knowing that he never faces ANY punishment in canon, I let the fucker die.

But for canon, I do have a WiP where, post-Witcher 3, Iorveth recruits Roche to help him murder war criminals (sans themselves) who profitted off of others' suffering. He figures they need to work their way up to King Stennis of Aedirn. I know that's not what this ask is about, but I love this part, so I'm gonna include a snip under the cut.

Anyway, Philippa - she would 100% find a way to bilk their marriage for all its worth.

So I’m gonna include 2 snips from the WiP whose working title is “Becoming Terrorists Together” 

You know what? Fuck it. Here’s 90% of the whole WiP lmao Seriously, there’s only like, half a page after this.

When Nilfgaard dictated terms that actually favored you after they literally tore a swath across the continent, a reasonable person would listen.

Vernon Roche was not a reasonable person. In point of fact, he typically enjoyed spitting on reasonable people. Especially if they were Nilfgaardian.

Unfortunately, no one asked him his opinion. In fact, there was very little asking going on at all.

“What do you mean, ‘congratulations, you’re in charge now’!?” Roche bellowed. He had a very good bellow, developed from years and years of yelling orders over the battlefield. 

Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of the Nilfgaardian Empire, King of Cintra, Lord of Metinna, Ebbing, and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair, Temeria, and Vicovaro, and Overlord of Aedirn, Redania, and Toussaint was not impressed. “I mean, congratulations. You’ve successfully managed a Free Temeria. Now you have to rule it.”

Roche sputtered. First off, ‘Free Temeria’ was a helluva way to say ‘Temeria, Protectorate of Nilfgaard’. Secondly, “I’m not a ruler.”

“Aren’t you? Shame,” Emhyr said tonelessly. He didn’t look up from the report he was reviewing. “What’s the problem? Isn’t this everything you’ve been fighting for?”

Roche gnashed his teeth together. Unlike a certain former intelligence operative, Roche’s goal had never been to rule. Why the fuck would he want to do that!? Roche was a behind the scenes kind of guy. He most certainly was not the guy to wear the crown.

Also, he’d seen firsthand how much paperwork the guy with the crown had to do. No thank you.

“I don’t know how to run a country,” he growled.

“Then you’re in for a sharp learning curve,” Emhyr shrugged. “I’d get started if I were you. Your swearing in ceremony is in an hour.”

“My fucking what?”

“Your swearing in as the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, of course.”

Roche gaped in horror. “There’s no way in fuck that I’m becoming – that.”

“Oh?” Emhyr raised a single eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I assign a Nilfgaardian administrator?”

Roche grit his teeth. If Temeria were ruled by a Nilfgaardian still sore about the war efforts, then Temeria’s people would be subjected to harsh treatment, and that was the opposite of everything he’d worked for, dammit.

Still… ruling Temeria? Him!? And that fucking title – no way was he keeping that.

Ah hell, he was going to agree, wasn’t he? Emhyr played him too damn well, knew that Roche wouldn’t be able to say no.

He pursed his lips, frowning deeply. “What exactly would I have to do?”

Emhyr smirked, eyes still focused on the report in front of him. Roche had never wanted to stab anyone quite so badly in his life.

Forty-five minutes later, he was dressed in absurdly expensive Temerian blue robes and three maids were attempting to remove his chaperon.

“Sir, you are to be sworn in as the ruler of an Imperial protectorate! You must look dignified.” Emhyr’s chamberlain insisted.

“I shaved, didn’t I?” Roche shrugged. What was it with Nilfgaardians and beards, anyway? Who really cared if he had a five o’clock shadow?

“You did, sir. But I am afraid they absolutely cannot place your crown over a chaperon. So if you would remove it–”

“Wait, wait, I don’t need a fucking crown!”

“It is Nilfgaardian tradition, sir. Every Imperial Representative has been sworn in with a crown. The people expect a crown. You simply must wear it, I’m afraid.” Mereid, the chamberlain, somehow managed to look innocent and helpful, even as he nodded for the maids to grab at his chaperon again. 

“The people expect an actual fucking ruler,” Roche muttered, dodging the maids. “Chaperons are traditional headwear amongst Temerian nobility. If anything, it’s more dignified to wear it!”

Mereid’s eyes narrowed and Roche felt a prickle of fear at the base of his spine. This was a man who even the Emperor deferred to. He was not to be messed with.

But dammit, did it have to be the chaperon?

“Sir,” Mereid began, his tone icy. “I must ask that you refrain from further struggling and remove the hat.” His eyes looked exactly like Ves’s three seconds before she knifed someone.

Roche removed the chaperon. 

As casually as if he hadn’t just won a protracted battle, Mereid snapped his fingers. “Tend to his hair,” he ordered, and the maids immediately launched themselves at Roche again.

It took every bit of control he had not to bolt. 

Ten minutes later, his hair was slicked back with a truly ridiculous amount of oil to tame his curls. Combined with his undercut, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but apparently Mereid was pleased.

“Now,” Mereid clapped, “we must proceed to the throne room.”

Roche blinked. “There’s not like, actually going to be an audience for this, is there?”

Mereid gave him a look. “The purpose of a coronation is for it to be witnessed, sir.”

“Ah fuck, Ves is never gonna let me forget this,” he groaned. 

“It shall be forever memorialized, of course,” Mereid said casually. “The court painter is already working on your portrait.”

“Oh my gods, I hate everything.”

“Shall we depart, sir?” Mereid gestured to the door in a way that clearly suggested that it was not a question.

Roche glanced at his reflection in the mirror and thought of this being how he was remembered. “Fuck,” he grunted. Nonetheless, he followed Mereid when the chamberlain started out of the room.

Ves laughed at him, of course. She didn’t even have the courtesy to hold it in until after the ceremony. Instead, Roche had to listen to her cackle as Emhyr fucking var Emreis slowly lowered the crown of the King of Temeria onto his head.

Despite what Ves later claimed, he did not tear up at all when Foltest’s crown came to rest on his brow.

“People of Temeria,” Emhyr proclaimed grandly, “I present to you, the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, Commander Vernon Roche!”

Roche felt vaguely like throwing up even as he stood and faced the scattered applause.

––

A month later, Roche did not want to set everything on fire any less than he had from the start. If anything, the urge had only gotten stronger with each paper he signed. 

He was also, somewhat disappointingly, actually pretty decent at ruling a country. Temeria was doing better than it had since the war had started, and the economy was projected to be back at the level King Foltest had achieved by the end of the year.

Roche still hated it.

With a heavy sigh, he took off the crown and reverently placed it on a cushion. He would love to just be able to toss it aside when it got too heavy on his head, but it was Foltest’s crown. He couldn’t treat it with anything but the appropriate amount of solemnity and respect.

His robes, on the other hand. 

Roche tore off the ridiculously heavy clothing as quickly as possible, leaving his hair a rat’s nest above his head. Then he headed for the one luxury he actually appreciated – the huge opulent bathtub. It was truly ridiculous – made from polished copper, it was inlaid with mother of pearl edging and was everything he hated about rich people – and also really, really nice to soak in.

Once the tub was steaming, Roche slid down until the surface of the water tickled his ears. The tub was deep and he let himself relax into the heat, tilting his head back and letting out a long sigh. The stresses of a life he’d never wanted began to sluice off of him with the water and he rolled his shoulders back against the side of the tub, stretching his neck with a yawn.

When he opened his eyes, he encountered dark red fabric and an olive green eye about three inches from his nose. It took his brain a half-second to process what he was seeing and then Roche found himself screaming, high pitched and shrill, as he grasped frantically at his chaperon to cover himself with.

Jerking back at his scream, the elf wanted in every northern kingdom and Nilfgaard blinked at him. Iorveth, somehow hanging from the ceiling, just stuck a finger in one ear and grimaced at the noise.

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Iorveth said, offering him a bar of soap as if the leader of the Scoia’tael interrupting his bath wasn’t reason enough to yell.

“What the fuck!?” Roche yelped. “How the fuck did you even get in here!?”

Iorveth shrugged, still hanging upside down. “Your security needs work.”

Roche sputtered. “Why the fuck are you here!?”

“Why, to pay respects to the new Imperial High Commissioner, Administrator, Governor, Overseer, and Commander, of course” Iorveth smirked, mischief sparkling in the eye that was still far too close to him. 

Roche poked Iorveth’s forehead with his pointer finger and pushed him away. “Ever heard of space? Privacy? Not being a shithead?”

Iorveth snorted, and did some sort of complicated flip through the air that left him standing next to Roche’s bathtub. Roche frowned. On the one hand, he didn’t particularly want to be naked and unarmed with Iorveth in the vicinity. On the other hand, he literally just got in, and it would be such a shame to waste the hot water.

Decided, he crossed his arms and glared at Iorveth. “What the fuck, Squirrel?”

Iorveth ignored his glare, poking around his room instead. “There’s no way you aren’t hating every minute of playing king.” The elf flicked the tip of Foltest’s crown.

Roche scowled. “Why are you here? And why aren’t you – you know – killing me?”

“Even death isn’t enough to escape Nilfgaard,” Iorveth said.

Roche’s forehead wrinkled and he squinted at Iorveth. Iorveth continued to search through his room, though the elf considerately stayed within Roche’s sightline.

Roche was suspicious.

“There were rumors you’d died,” he finally said.

Iorveth shrugged. “Not the first time. What, did you believe them this time?”

“No,” he found himself admitting. “Only I’m allowed to kill you.”

Iorveth glanced back at him with a smirk. “Don’t seem to be trying at the moment.”

“Water’s still hot,” Roche grumbled. Iorveth muffled a laugh and Roche was hit by the utter strangeness of chatting casually with fucking Iorveth while sitting in a ridiculously fancy bathtub that he only had because he was currently ruling Temeria.

What the fuck was his life?

Gods, the bathtub really was fantastic, though. He slumped back against the tub and let himself enjoy it, muscles slowly unwinding. If Iorveth killed him, the elf would be doing him a favor. But Iorveth was right – even in death, he probably wouldn’t be able to avoid fucking Nilfgaard.

Roche hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to see Iorveth staring at him again, though fortunately from much further away this time. “What?”

“This ruler thing isn’t allowed to kill you before I do,” Iorveth said eventually, turning back to poke at the shit decorating Roche’s room. “Fucking shit, your shoulders look tight enough to chop wood on.”

Roche snorted, shrugging shoulders that really were painfully tense. “What, are you offering a massage?”

Iorveth dropped the trinket he’d picked up and fumbled catching it, graceless in a way Roche had never seen an elf be before. Then Iorveth turned to him with a wide eye and what Roche almost thought was a blush. Roche’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Actually,” Iorveth cleared his throat, “I was thinking of a more violent type of stress relief.”

“What?”

“Nilfgaard wants to quell all unrest in their lands, so they’re not going to prosecute any war criminals. Which means they’re fair game.”

Roche blinked at him. “Iorveth,” he said slowly, “you do realize that technically we are both war criminals?”

Iorveth just shrugged. “‘Least we haven’t gotten rich off of other people’s suffering.”

That was true. At least he and Iorveth had fought for a cause, even if what they did was monstrous. People driven by pure greed disgusted Roche, and he knew there was no shortage of greedy predators preying on those devastated by the war.

“Are you… inviting me to go murder assholes with you?” Roche asked in disbelief.

Iorveth tilted his head, shrugging again. “Essentially.”

Roche sucked on his lower lip. It was a terrible idea. He was leader of a country now, he couldn’t just swan off and do whatever he wanted. And what would they do, run around like vigilantes, punishing the cruel?

That actually sounded really fun. When was the last time he’d had fun? Definitely before fucking Emhyr’s grand fucking idea.

He pursed his lips. It really would be an awful decision, but gods, for the first time in ages, he actually felt interested in something. Excited about something.

“Huh,” Roche huffed, “I don’t think I’ve killed anyone in at least two months.”

Iorveth looked mildly impressed. “We could fix that.”

“It is definitely wrong to long to murder people,” he pointed out.

“Moralize later, dress now,” Iorveth said, picking through his wardrobe. “Where’s your armor? There’s no way you let them take it away in favor of these ridiculous things.” Iorveth held up a velvet brocade robe to support his point.

Roche laughed. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Under the bed. Had to hide it from the chamberlain.”

Iorveth turned to the bed, an absurdy lavish four poster bed with chiffon draped ever so precisely around the bedframe. Laying on it felt like laying on a cloud.

Roche hated it. He usually slept on the floor instead. 

“We’re waiting until my bath is done to leave, though,” he said and Iorveth shot him a disbelieving look. “I can’t just waste the hot water,” Roche justified, flushing slightly. A lifetime of little money had taught him that nothing should be wasted. Baths didn’t cost him coin now, but old habits died hard.

“What, and I’m just supposed to wait for you?” Iorveth grumbled.

“Hey, no one invited you here,” Roche pointed out. “I don’t care what you do, but I’d recommend not getting caught at it. You’re still wanted… pretty much everywhere.”

Iorveth smirked proudly, “I know.”

Roche rolled his eyes, yawning and leaning back in the bath, stretching his neck from side to side. 

“That’s a gigantic bathtub,” Iorveth said, something contemplative in his tone.

“Uh huh,” Roche grunted.

“If you’re enjoying the hot water, I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Iorveth said nonsensically, and Roche opened his eyes to stare.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Iorveth just arched an eyebrow and reached for the straps holding his weapons. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Roche asked in disbelief. It wasn’t that he objected, necessarily – years and years of military life had removed any shame he might’ve felt at being naked in front of his enemy. But naked and sharing a bath? “You know this is weird, right?”

Iorveth just snorted, now setting about removing his numerous weapons. Roche was a little impressed by how many the elf managed to fit on his body. “You, Vernon Roche, are currently ruler of Temeria. Is there any part of your life that isn’t weird nowadays?”

Roche opened his mouth to respond – and then closed it. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Claiming to be part of my life?” he finally asked.

“Of course I am,” Iorveth said confidently, “I’m your nemesis and you’re mine.” 

Roche swallowed at that, watching as Iorveth removed his belt, gloves, and all the various straps that held his hodgepodge armor together. Apparently he was really doing this, really planning to join Roche in the bath.

Seriously, what was his life now???

Instead of thinking too hard about that, Roche cleared his throat, jerking his gaze away as Iorveth pulled his chainmail over his head. “So, this murder thing…”

“Mm?” 

“You have a hit list or something? Or were you just planning to run around until you found an appropriately irritating war criminal?”

“Wouldn’t be that hard,” Iorveth muttered. “Stennis of Aedirn is top of my hit list, but not necessarily the best place to start.”

Roche blinked. “Stennis… as in King Stennis?”

Iorveth shrugged, and in Roche’s memory, he could hear that brash voice easily declaring, king or beggar, what’s the difference?

Back then, Roche had had many opinions on the difference. The likes of King Foltest could hardly be compared to some beggar on the streets. Or even some whoreson who had somehow found his way into power.

Now? Now Roche had the blood of two kings on his hands, and really, what was a third?

“That will require careful planning. He’s probably got good security.”

Iorveth was silent for long enough for Roche to look at him again, and he flushed when faced with the sight of Iorveth’s bare chest, ribs visible and skin a handful of shades darker than Roche’s. Iorveth’s gambeson lay in a pile next to him, and the elf was currently working to remove his hose – only at Roche’s words, he’d apparently stopped to stare at Roche instead.

“What?” Roche asked, hoping the heat from the bath hid his blush. Why was he suddenly feeling awkward about nudity? It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen the worst of each other before. Who cared if there was a bit of skin on display?

His eyes caught on the peaks of Iorveth’s nipples, darker than Roche’s – almost the color of polished cedar. Roche bit his lip, feeling oddly fixated as Iorveth’s nipple hardened in the cool air under his gaze.

“I’d heard you killed kings now,” Iorveth said eventually, shifting enough to break Roche’s gaze and when Iorveth bent to remove his hose, Roche quickly turned away. His face and ears felt hot and he sank lower into the tub.

“Gods, I hope people aren’t going around gossiping about that,” he groaned. “Both were supposed to be fucking secret, dammit.”

Iorveth pursed his lips, staring at Roche. “You really did it,” he said slowly, and there was something in his voice that made Roche look at him. Standing naked with absolutely no shame, Iorveth frowned at Roche. “Radovid I get. You got a Free Temeria out of it, and even most dh’oine agree he was insane. But Henselt? Really?”

Roche cleared his throat, determinedly keeping his eyes trained on Iorveth’s face and not the miles of bare skin that lay in front of him. “He deserved it,” Roche grunted.

“He was a king,” Iorveth said, as if that explained everything. Roche frowned at him. “What did he do to drive you that far?”

Iorveth sounded genuinely curious and Roche swallowed. He didn’t really want to talk about this, didn’t really want to remember the way the Kaedweni king had stolen his family from him. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, trying not to go back there. 

A touch on his shoulder startled him and Roche jerked around, blinking wildly as he realized that the touch had been Iorveth – what, comforting him? That was fucking weird. Still, Iorveth’s touch was cool against his slightly-overheated skin, and the look on the elf’s face was more akin to understanding than pity.

Roche supposed that was acceptable. He swallowed harshly and forced himself to answer, “he murdered my men.”

Iorveth inhaled sharply, clearly not having expected that. “Oh,” the elf murmured, obviously lost for words. 

Roche cleared his throat. “So, King Stennis…” he changed the subject, shifting in the tub to allow Iorveth room to climb in.

Iorveth was silent as he took the invitation and stepped into the bath, sighing softly at the touch of hot water. They sat facing away from each other, and the press of Iorveth’s back against his was oddly hypnotic. Roche found himself only able to focus on the places they touched – and the places they didn’t.

“I’m… sorry,” Iorveth eventually said.

Roche blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “Why?”

Iorveth tapped his fingers against the side of the tub. “Enemies deserve respect,” he said. “The Blue Stripes were uncommon enemies – efficient and ruthless and well-led. I may not feel anything at their deaths – but they were your unit.”

Were. Roche swallowed roughly, digging his fingernails into his palms. “Let’s talk about Stennis,” he grunted forcefully. 

Iorveth sighed, and for a moment, Roche almost thought that Iorveth’s shoulders pressed against his more intentionally. Offering comfort again? What a strange thing for his nemesis to do.

“Why did you come to me?” he asked, not sure if he expected Iorveth to answer truthfully or not. 

Iorveth hummed. “We are remnants of a past age,” Iorveth said slowly. “Our skills are no longer needed nor wanted. Instead, we’re supposed to fit into nicer, less controversial boxes.” Roche could feel Iorveth shrug against him, “I’ve never been one to conform to societal expectations.”

Roche snorted, “yeah, no shit.”

Iorveth huffed in amusement. “I figured you probably hated all this as much as I do.”

Roche grunted in agreement. “The bathtub is nice, at least.”

Iorveth actually laughed, twisting around to face him. “It is. And yet, you still look tense enough to string a bow.”

Roche grumbled. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d left his back exposed to his nemesis, not until cool fingers hesitantly touched his shoulders. Inexplicably, he didn’t tense further, even though touch typically meant violence, especially coming from Iorveth.

Only Iorveth didn’t hurt him. Actually, Iorveth’s touch was gentle as he traced the line of the tattoo that spanned Roche’s shoulders. Roche shivered at the light scratch of Iorveth’s bow calluses, unsure why he was allowing this.

Except that it had been so very long since anyone had touched him in kindness and Roche couldn’t make himself pull away. If he was lucky, this wasn’t some sort of ruse to get him to let his guard down before Iorveth slit his throat.

Though really, Iorveth could kill him right here and now with little resistance – and yet, he continued to live and breathe. Instead, he felt Iorveth’s fingers dip under the surface of the water, continuing to trace the tree tattooed across his back, each branch a tribute to the men he’d lost. 

Roche swallowed, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. He pinched his index finger and thumb together tightly, letting the pressure ground him. 

“So,” he coughed. “King Stennis? Why do you want to kill him?”

“He poisoned the Dragonslayer and faced no consequences,” Iorveth said, a growl in his voice. His fingers traced back up the trunk of the tree on Roche’s back and then he dug his thumbs into Roche’s traps.

Roche gasped sharply, the pressure a painful ache until his muscles slowly unwound under Iorveth’s touch. 

“Seriously,” Iorveth said casually, as if he weren’t apparently giving Roche a shoulder massage. “How are you even able to move right now? You feel like a brick shithouse.”

“Gee, thanks,” Roche snorted, wincing slightly as the heels of Iorveth’s palms kneaded between his shoulder blades.

Then he felt the moment his tension released, and he practically melted into Iorveth’s touch, feeling looser and more relaxed than he had in… fuck, who even knew how long?

Iorveth continued massaging his shoulders, moving up to circle his thumbs against Roche’s neck and dipping down to work at his back on occasion. But Roche wore his stress in his shoulders and Iorveth spent the most time there, fingers strong and agile, pushing and pulling at his muscles with surprising ease.

Roche sighed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to remember the thread of the conversation. Right. Stennis. And the Dragonslayer. He poisoned her? Really?

“I thought the Dragonslayer was alive and well and running the only country that hasn’t succumbed to Nilfgaard?”

“She is,” Iorveth responded, voice low. It added a sense of privacy to their conversation that made Roche feel oddly special. “Geralt and the fucking sorceress healed her. The peasants wanted to make Stennis pay, but apparently Gwynbleidd’s morality won’t allow for a lynching. The nobles, of course, don’t care if Stennis is a poisoner, because he’s royal, so…”

“So now it’s left to you to get revenge?”

“Some might call it justice.”

Roche turned his head to look at Iorveth over his shoulder. “Somehow I doubt anyone would picture either of us as agents of justice.”

“Who cares what others think?” Iorveth shrugged, sliding his thumbs up the nape of Roche’s neck. 

Roche turned back around and let him. “Most people,” Roche answered, leaning into Iorveth’s hands. 

“You don’t,” Iorveth said, voice utterly assured. “As long as it’s for Temeria.”

Roche huffed. He wasn’t wrong, but still. “I think I’m supposed to care now. The whole ruling thing and all?”

“You hate it.”

“Of course I fucking hate it. That’s probably why fucking Emhyr forced it on me.”

Iorveth hummed in agreement, massaging Roche’s neck and the base of his skull. It felt ridiculously good and Roche felt his body melting into Iorveth’s touch, putty in the elf’s hands.

Iorveth could have done anything and Roche wouldn’t have been able to stop him. He could slit Roche’s throat, could drown him in the bath, could break his neck, hell, Iorveth could even suffocate him in a chokehold.

The elf did none of that. Instead, when the water began to cool, Iorveth slid his hands down Roche’s neck and across his shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Then, cool lips pressed against the curve where Roche’s neck met his shoulder. By the time his gasp found voice, Iorveth was already pulling away, rising gracefully to his feet and stepping out of the tub, stealing Roche’s towel.

“There’s a Redanian,” Iorveth said casually, as if he hadn’t just kissed Roche. Roche gaped at him, but Iorveth didn’t appear to notice as he began dressing. “Former general, hoarded medical supplies and food and charged exorbitant prices for them. Located in the Outskirts of Vizima, so figured we could start with that.”

Roche swallowed, belatedly pulling himself out of the tub. Iorveth helpfully passed him the already-wet towel and Roche took it with a grumble. “What’s the target’s name?”

“Arnold of Denesle,” Iorveth answered, still acting like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He’d even pulled Roche’s armor from under the bed and laid it out for him.

Roche sucked on his lip as he dried off quickly, reaching for his armor. Technically, he supposed, a kiss wasn’t that much stranger than the rest of this situation – i.e. Iorveth having snuck into the royal palace, joined him in the bath, and even given him a massage. Maybe Iorveth was playing some sort of mind game with him?

If that was the case, Roche should really push it from his thoughts. As he got dressed, he tried to do so – but there was something about the way Iorveth’s chapped lips had brushed against his skin that had him shivering, the spot still tingling.

Sometimes, he felt he knew his nemesis well enough to know how Iorveth thought. Other times, it was very clear that as much as he’d studied Iorveth, he had no idea what went through Iorveth’s head.

If Roche’s tattoo sounds familiar, it’s ‘cause I used the same concept in How to Fluster an Elf. This WiP was actually written first, though.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

6, 11, 13, and 14 for the historical figures ask :)

Thanks for the ask! :)

6) Do you think that you and your favorite historical figure would be friends or enemies? Why?

Assuming I'd travel back in time and meet him in, say, the late 1770s or early 1780s, I think I would stand a chance at befriending him as I am not a fellow naval officer, or in any way, shape or form affiliated with the 4th Earl of Sandwich.

He appears to have been a very warm, approachable person outside of his profession.

11) What is your favorite portrayal of them in an artwork such as a painting or photograph?

Talking visual art, I really like the James Northcote-portrait that I analysed in this post.There are two other portraits of him, one of which shows him wearing his own hair instead of a wig, which I found quite interesting, but is otherwise quite dark as for the background, a burning enemy ship at night was chosen. Don't know if he was going for the "tough guy not looking at the explosion behind him"-mood or if he was aiming for a cozy (naval) campfire-vibe, but it just doesn't work either way for me. I prefer the Northcote-portrait as it seems to be a more genuine representation of him, by which I don't exclusively mean the fact that the artist managed to reproduce his face in a way that causes the portrait to recognisably depict the sitter, but particularly through the little, barely-there details such as the wig, sleeves and anchor that on a closer look may 'tell' us so much more about him.

13) Who is your favorite historical figure’s bestie? Who is their arch-nemesis?

For "bestie", the answer has to be his fellow naval captain John Simcoe, John Graves' dad. John very likely played cupid and introduced Samuel to his first wife, and later made him godfather of his baby son. When John died aboard his ship, Samuel took the business of being a godfather very seriously. That said, the argument could also be made that his wife was his closest friend as well, but since John died a decade before he met Margaret, I wanted to name both.

For "arch-nemesis", a couple of names come to mind: in Boston, he really, really did not get along with General Gage, and one of the latter's associates in the town, Benjamin Hallowell. The Gage-Graves rivalry was well-reported at the time, and also included their respective wives taking a stand to support their husbands.

The Earl of Sandwich was a former friend (or at least Samuel thought they had been friends) who washed his hands off Samuel very quickly when supporting the latter (if you can call not granting him any of the resources he routinely asked for call "support" at all) was no longer opportune. Samuel wasn't too pleased about the betrayal (naturally) and while Sandwich probably wasn't a super-villain-esque arch-nemesis, he felt that he had been let down by a person he had formerly trusted.

14) Did your favorite historical figure have any favorite past times or hobbies? If so, what were they?

Hands down the kids that weren't his, particularly when he had increasingly more time to do so following his recall from the North American Station in 1776. When the newly-wed Simcoes moved out, the empty nest was so strong, the Graves' invited the teenage daughter of a friend to stay with them for a 'holiday' only a couple of weeks later.

There are however also mentions of parties in Bath with his wife (the two apparently loved to host). He also appears to have been no stranger to the theatre, though given his wife preferred more serious topics, they probably didn't go to see comedies by Garrick or Sheridan (particularly not the latter, Margaret Graves hated his plays). While he doesn't seem to have been very musical, or musically interested, two of the three portraits of him were made by painters from the circle of Joshua Reynolds, so there's room to assume he had an opinion on contemporary visual art.

Thanks again for the asks, hope you have a nice day! :)

[more-pokeimagines]

Stone Cold Body [06] - Chapter 5

A/N: Once again, I’m so sorry for the long wait. I was really busy with my final thesis and requests for my two writing blogs but I hope you guys are still interested in the series. Feedback is always appreciated!

Warnings: none

Taglist: @piershoesz

Present

Having a prince by your side still felt weird, even after spending a few days with him. Bede was reticent and farouche, only speaking when someone directly addressed a question to him and often looking at you like you were both his worst enemy and the biggest idiot he had ever encountered. His mere presence was enough to make you absolutely furious but the more reasonable part of you knew that you couldn’t just leave him in the lurch, simply because he had no idea about living in the 21st century. As hard as it was, you had to admit that he needed your help.

You had spent the last few days in a small inn in the middle of Wyndon’s old town where Hop had to share a room with the prince because the other rooms had been fully booked, and of course they didn’t get along well. Hop had lost his patience with Bede after a few hours of nerve-wracking silence, and Bede had told him in return that he wouldn’t mind Hop leaving and that he didn’t need a babysitter anyway.

Needless to say that the mood had been up the spout when you met each other the next day to grab some breakfast. Hop shot angry glances at Bede at least three or four times a minute while Gloria tried her best to save the situation by discussing various plans for the day. You, on the other hand, just wanted to stay out of this and focused on your breakfast instead: a stack of waffles with honey, a fruit salad and a large cup of coffee because you were absolutely sure that you wouldn’t survive another day in Bede’s presence without a considerable amount of caffeine in your system.

“I thought about visiting the castle today,” Gloria said and looked around one. Bede showed no sign of interest in her words while Hop and you nodded in agreement. Visiting the castle had been on your list anyway, and you weren’t going to scrap everything just for the sake of peace and quiet. If Bede didn’t want to accompany you he could stay in the inn instead.

“The temporary exhibition about the royal family ends in a few days,” Gloria continued in a conversational tone, completely ignoring the fact that Bede’s face dropped when she mentioned his family. “And I don’t know about you but I definitely want to see it.”

“Sure,” Hop agreed. Next to him, Bede huffed. “I’m not coming with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you don’t have to,” Gloria replied and smiled at him. “It probably sounds really boring to you, doesn’t it? I mean… it’s an exhibition about your family after all.”

You took a sip from your coffee. Somehow, Gloria seemed to be the only one who wasn’t bothered by Bede’s behavior. She even managed to smile at him from time to time, and it also didn’t faze her that he treated you like you were some obnoxious bugs that bustled about his head. Instead of arguing with him, like you and Hop did most of the time, she really tried her best to start a normal and peaceful conversation, and while you usually admired her for her talent to adapt to every situation, you wished that she would stop with trying to befriend Bede. He didn’t belong here; he wasn’t a part of your friend group and you really didn’t want him to be here. His presence made things so much more complicated than they needed to be, especially since neither of you could stand him or his behavior. Well, except Gloria but you were absolutely sure that she was just pretending because she didn’t want to make the whole situation even more tense. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself since you didn’t want to believe that she really had some sympathy for the arrogant and disdainful prince.

When a quiet voice in the back of your head reminded you that he was probably acting like that to cover up his fears about being trapped in another time and having no idea if he would ever be able to go back to his time period, you shook your head to silence the thoughts. That you started to feel sorry for him was definitely the last thing you needed right now. But still… you didn’t even want to imagine how strange the whole situation had to be for him. He had been trapped in stone for so long, and now that he was finally free, he had to discover that the world around him hadn’t stopped turning while he had been accursed.

You watched him from the corner of your eye while you cut your waffles up before dipping a smaller piece into the puddle of honey on your plate. His looks didn’t match his personality. In all objectivity, you had to admit that he was quite handsome, with his slightly curly, light blonde hair and the unusual purple color of his eyes. But the way he acted made it almost impossible to like him; he was presumptuous and unfriendly, despite the fact that the three of you only tried to help him.

“(Y/N)?” Hop’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned your head to look at him. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’re ready to go,” he repeated, pointing at your only half-empty plate. “You haven’t finished your breakfast yet.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, no, don’t worry about that. I’m not hungry.”

“Okay.” Gloria beamed at you. “Let’s go!”

*

The exhibition itself wasn’t as good as you had expected. Of course, it was interesting to read more about the Royal family of Galar but a part of you had hoped to find out more about Bede and the reasons why someone had cursed him.

Lost in your thoughts, you stared at his portrait, noticing that the painting didn’t do him justice. The color of his eyes seemed to be much duller than in real life, and some details like the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth must have been added by the painter to make the prince look more approachable and friendly because you couldn’t imagine that Bede was able to smile at all. But you still had to admit his dark grey uniform made him look quite regal and sophisticated.

For the first time since you met him, you fully understood that he had been meant to rule Galar after his father’s death. From the information panels right next to his portrait you knew that his parents had been particularly strict about his education and rarely allowed him to do something for fun. According to the historians, he had spent most of his time with studying the politics and the history of Galar but had never been able to live up to his father’s expectations, no matter how hard he tried to impress him.

Once again, you felt a wave of sympathy for Bede. Surely, it had been hard for him to live with the impression that he wasn’t good enough to be king one day, and you wondered if this was the reason for his dismissive behavior. Maybe he just tried to protect himself by pushing everyone away who tried to get near him. On the other hand, that didn’t make much sense since neither of you had demanded high standards from him, unlike his parents who expected him to be perfect in any way possible.

A bit taken aback because this had been the second time today that you had felt sorry for the prince, you shook your head and brought your attention to the portrait right next to Bede’s. It showed his sister, Princess Carlina, and if you hadn’t known you wouldn’t have recognized them as siblings. Her hair was darker, her eyes more of a blueish-purple color, perfectly in tune with the color of her gown, and her lips curled into a genuine smile. In comparison to her brother, she looked friendlier and less tense but maybe you were just making that up because you knew how Bede acted most of the time.

She had been the one who had encouraged their parents to build the park surrounding the statue but that was basically everything you knew about the princess. Even though she eventually became Queen of Galar after her father’s death, she wasn’t as famous as her older brother, mostly because her husband tried everything to keep her out of political affairs and other government affairs. According to the information panels, she had died young, only a few years after her marriage, without having children.

For a moment, you wondered if she ever learned that her brother wasn’t dead; that someone had trapped him in stone instead. Would she be glad about the fact that you freed him? You definitely weren’t too happy about it but since there was nothing you could do to change it, you slowly started to accept it. In the end, it didn’t matter that much anyway – nobody could force you to like him just because you had managed to break the spell.

With a quiet sigh, you shook your head and turned away from the paintings. As artistically as they were, they didn’t help you with any of your questions. Even though the legend surrounding the prince was the most interesting thing about the Royal Family, there hadn’t been any information about it, probably because his parents tried everything to keep it a secret, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when you returned to Hop and Gloria who were waiting in the gift shop near the exit of the castle.

“Nothing,” you said when they looked at you in anticipation. “I double-checked every single information panel about our Prince Charming but they don’t mention the curse at all. I guess we have to do some research on our own.”

Hop huffed. “Does that mean we have to spend even more time with him?”

“Well, we can’t just leave him on his own, can we?” Gloria retorted and nudged him with her elbow. “He needs our help to get the hang of this time.”

Hop and you exchanged a glance, silently pitying each other because you had to spend even more time with Bede. But both of you knew that Gloria was right: it would be irresponsible to skip out on him, no matter how much you actually disliked him.

*

Everything was dark around you. Somehow, it felt like you were floating in the void, like there was nothing else around you but thick darkness.

Then, the darkness suddenly lifted, revealing a light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second. Still, you weren’t sure if your feet were even touching the ground but when you opened your eyes, you found yourself in the corner of a ginormous ballroom. Every inch of the room seemed to be covered in gold, and there were people in beautiful gowns and custom-tailored uniforms and suits everywhere. On the gallery, you could see a string orchestra tuning their brightly polished instruments before they picked them up and started to play. The melody was melancholic and full of longing, making your heart ache for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

For a few moments, you found yourself staring at your magnificent surroundings, trying to take in as many impressions as possible. There was something magical about this place; it almost seemed like everything could happen here.

And then you saw him.

He was making his way through the crowd, dressed in a navy-blue uniform that made him look even paler than he already was. In the dim light, the color of his hair was almost silver-blond, and even though you didn’t want to stare at him like everyone else, you kept your eyes glued on him, watching him as he greeted the royal couple. Next to him, there was a girl – his sister, Princess Carlina, and you realized that she looked so much prettier in real life than she did on the painting you saw just a few hours ago. Her smile was contagious; even her strict father couldn’t help but return it when she beamed at him.

Then, the scenery suddenly changed. Heavy fog surrounded your feet, making it almost impossible to see the ground. Right in front of you, you spotted a near-derelict building with tall turrets and shattered windows. The stone walls that had started to crumble in some places were covered in dead ivy, and through the opened gate you could hear loud voices. One of them, you recognized immediately, the other one belonged to a woman.

Burning with curiosity, you slowly sneaked closer.

“They will regret what they have done to me and my family,” the woman said, her voice filled with a mixture of satisfaction and burning anger. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You must be insane when you think that I will be intimidated by your empty words,” Bede replied. He sounded just like he did when he talked to you, a bit presumptuous and cold, almost as if the woman didn’t deserve to be taken seriously. “You and your kind can only lie and betray and hope that nobody notices how reprobated and selfish you are.”

The woman laughed. “Your arrogance will do you no good, little Princeling. One day, you will get what you deserve.”

The scenery changed again. You were still standing outside of the building but farther away this time, and now you could see that it was some kind of abandoned church. The full moon, ominously hovering over the scenery, cast a pale light over everything and made the whole situation even more creepy. Just looking at the church made your flesh crawl. You had no idea why but somehow, you knew exactly that something terrible was going to happen.

Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet started to shake. A terrifying rumble reached your ears, the light of the moon got brighter for a few seconds. The church began to deflate; stone by stone the building collapsed like a house of cards, blowing up dust, and you covered your eyes. Another loud rumble and then – nothing.

*

With a scream escaping your lips, you started up from your sleep. It was only then when you realized that everything you saw had been nothing but a dream. An alarmingly real dream but still nothing more than a product of your imagination.

You rubbed your face, noticing that your palms were sweaty, as you tried to steady your breath and calm your racing heart. “Damn it,” you mumbled, still completely taken aback by your dream. Everything had seemed so real, almost as if you had caught a glimpse of the past, but the next second, you rolled your eyes and quietly scolded yourself for being such an idiot. You had visited the castle today, you had seen the portraits; of course everything had seemed real. And with all the things going on right now, the dream simply had been your subconsciousness’ way to process them. There was nothing magical about it, not even the slightest bit.

At least that was what you tried to tell yourself. A small part of you was still convinced that there was more to it but you refused to listen to the tiny voice in the back of your head. Your life was already crazy enough; you didn’t want to bother yourself with the past as well.

But as soon as you lied down again and closed your eyes, the pictures came back. You still saw the gorgeous ballroom, heard the rousing waltz that the orchestra had played, remembered the argument between Bede and the unknown woman. For a moment, you wondered if she had been the one who cursed him. And – which seemed to be the more important question – why you dreamed about it in the first place. It made no sense; you knew nothing about the things that happened back then which, again, could only mean that your imagination ran riot after visiting the castle today.

You let out a quiet sigh. Not for the first time, you realized that none of this would be a problem if Gloria hadn’t persuaded you to take a photo with the statue. If you had refused, Bede wouldn’t be here; you wouldn’t dream about weird arguments and collapsing buildings. Instead, the three of you would have continued your road trip as planned. Everything would be fine.

Suddenly feeling the urge to scream out of utter frustration, you pressed your lips together. There was no way you were able to go back to sleep, not when the thoughts in your head were running wild. Not when you couldn’t stop worrying your brain about your dream.

Maybe, you mused, it would be best to find someone to talk about it. But you knew that Hop would just shrug it off because he didn’t understand why you were so upset, and while Gloria definitely help you to interpret every single detail of your dream, you weren’t sure if that was really what you wanted. Probably not.

No, you wanted answers. You wanted to know who the mysterious woman was, why she threatened the prince and, probably the most important question, why you dreamed about her and Bede in the first place. It just made no sense, at least not with everything you knew at this point. You couldn’t answer any of your questions. But you knew someone who could.

*

“I need to talk to you,” you said and grabbed Bede’s arm before he could enter the breakfast room. He gave you an irritated look, clearly surprised that you touched him without his permission and actually spoke to him. You couldn’t blame him – usually, you avoided addressing him directly but today, you had no other choice. “Please,” you added, your voice filled with impatience. “It’s urgent.”

Bede raised an eyebrow, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe that you even knew how to say Please, but much to your surprise, he nodded. “Fine.”

You dragged him outside, careful that no one could see you. Although you had no idea why someone would eavesdrop on you and the long-lost prince of Galar, you preferred to better be safe than sorry.

“So,” Bede said and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What’s so urgent that I cannot have breakfast first?”

You remained silent for a moment. Then, you let out a deep sigh. “I… I had a dream last night,” you replied slowly. “In the end it was more of a nightmare, to be honest.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“I saw you. You were arguing with a woman, in an old church,” you explained, although it felt incredibly weird to tell him about your dream. A part of you still expected him to laugh at you and return to the breakfast room after telling you that you were completely crazy but the other part wanted to know if he knew anything about the mysterious woman. “She… she was saying something about a punishment. I didn’t understand everything but she definitely threatened you.”

Bede raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He was trying to play it cool but you had noticed how he flinched when you mentioned the old church and the argument between him and the woman. Now, you were sure that he definitely knew something and that it had been more than just a dream.

“Yes,” you insisted. “And I want to know who that woman is and what she was talking about. So, if you know anything about that it would be great if you could just answer my questions without acting like I’m just some stupid idiot who had a nightmare.”

He huffed but you noticed how he avoided your gaze. Instead, he was focusing on something behind you. “Even if I knew something,” he finally said, his voice shaking almost unnoticeable, “I surely wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you! I don’t trust any of you,” Bede snarled at you. Suddenly, there was nothing left of his steely composure. Instead, he flashed his eyes at you as if you were his worst enemy. “And what is the point anyway? All of this is long gone, and if you ask me, this is none of your business after all.”

“Fine!” you yelled, mimicking his tone. “Don’t tell me! I’ll figure it out on my own, I don’t need you or your help anyway to find out what’s going on!”

“Good luck with that, then,” Bede replied and rolled his eyes. It made you furious that he acted like your dream didn’t mean anything, and you clenched your fists to keep you from slapping him across the face. “Oh, shut up, will you? You don’t need to act like you know everything when you’re nothing more than a scared Princeling who’s too frightened to face his own miserable past!”

There was a long silence then. Bede just stood there as if he was rooted to the spot, his purple eyes filled with utter disbelief and consternation. Gone was the angry look on his face, the tense posture. All that remained was a young, insecure man. And suddenly, you regretted your harsh words.

“Bede, I-“ you started but he cut you off with a wave of his hand before he turned around and stormed off.

You stared after him, still a bit appalled by your fierce reaction. There was no rational explanation for the loathing you felt every time he spoke to you, and you didn’t understand how someone you didn’t even know could drive you up the wall like this. But you were absolutely sure that there had to be a reason for these feelings and for his silence too. And now, especially after his strange behavior, you were hell-bent on finding out what was going on.

Masterlist / Next chapter

[not-xpr-art]

Art Deep Dives #1 - The Value of Art ~

Hi everyone!

This is the start to another project I want to start on this account, a companion to my Art Advice tag, and each week or so I’ll be ‘deep diving’ into art history, arts & culture, society’s relationship to art, etc etc... (I basically want to make use of my history of art degree, and also because I genuinely love talking about this stuff... especially without the pressure of deadlines lol)

Side note: don’t worry about these being really ‘academic’ or ‘formal’, since neither of those things are in my vocabulary lol... this is a very casual, informal kind of ‘essay’ writing that I want to be accessible to everyone, regardless of how much you know about art! 

This first one is a kind of follow up of my Art Advice post talking about references, and I’ll be talking about the ideas of how we ‘value’ art.

(this is about 1600 words long by the way...)

The Value of Art

It’s no secret that art is highly subjective. Particularly when it comes to the question of ‘what is the most important type of art?’. It changes from person to person, country to country, and era to era. How we define ‘great art’ now is vastly different to how we defined it several hundred years ago. I mean, just look at the kinds of art in galleries in the modern era (Tracey Emin’s bed comes to mind) versus that of the 18th century (with the likes of Joshua Reynolds, JMW Turner and Thomas Gainsborough). Really, it’s clear to see that what we see as ‘the most important type of art’ is forever changing...

Or... is it?

In order to really answer whether the kinds of art we value now versus that of the past has changed, we need to first establish what ‘valued art’ even means. 

I think in today’s day and age, ‘value’ is often synonymous with ‘price’. So, a Banksy original chipped away from it’s original wall setting and having been sold at a Christies auction for £3.2million is, by this definition, what we as a society ‘value’ as art... Right? Or maybe ‘value’ is more to do with what kinds of works that are displayed in big galleries or public spaces? The Tate has an entire wing dedicated to the works of landscape/seascape painter JMW Turner, so surely that means that we today place a high ‘value’ on his work still? What about public sculpture? Architecture? Sculpture and architecture are often a lot more available for the general public, and even if most people wouldn’t be able to tell you who made the Statue of Liberty, they at least know about her and perhaps even enjoy to look at her? And surely the fame of buildings like the Eiffel Tower or the Taj Mahal mean that they, too, are ‘valued’ as pieces of art? And what of artworks from other countries and cultures? A Chinese man may find no ‘value’ in a painting by a so-called ‘Great Master’ of the Italian Renaissance, but instead will ‘value’ a piece of Imperial Ming Dynasty porcelain instead, does that mean his opinion is the ‘right’ one? Colonialism has played heavily into what arts are now called ‘valuable’ and what are not, so how do we quantify whether a work has ‘value’ without placing our own individual cultural bias on it?

Basically what I’m getting at is, what we value as art in this day and age is very complicated, in a big way because our society is complicated. But for the sake of arguments, and for my next few points, I will be defining an art’s ‘value’ predominantly by whether it has been featured in a big gallery... Which also means I’ll be focusing on painting and sculpture... And also focusing on the Western world of art, specifically Europe, which I want to clarify doesn’t mean I personally ‘value’ that art more, it’s just where I’m from and predominantly what I studied in my course... 

Art historians often declare the Renaissance (around the 14th to 16th centuries) the ‘beginning’ of what we know as art today. But for this essay, I want to instead start a little before this, in the Early Medieval period. People often know of this era as ‘the dark ages’, in Europe at least, because it was after Rome had fallen and taken all their so-called ‘genius’ with them. A particular note for why for years we’ve seen this period as ‘regressive’ is through their art. A quick Google search of ‘Medieval baby’ will come up with a plethora of results for a wide range of paintings depicting babies (usually the baby Christ) as scaled down versions of adults, complete with receding hairlines and strangely buff arms and chests. 

Now, is this because medieval babies actually looked like this? I think this is... highly unlikely... I know most things happened earlier in that era than nowadays (girls getting married and pregnant at age 14, for example), but I think it’s a bit of a stretch to think their babies had six packs... No, instead it’s more likely that rather than being direct representations of babies, these were purely symbolic. And particularly given how they often were of Christ, art historians often say that the weird adult-baby hybrids are to represent Christ’s divinity. 

Now... What’s all this got to do with art and value? Well, the thing about early medieval art is that the value was almost entirely placed upon the symbology and meaning of a piece. Later in the medieval period, paintings began to become more ‘realistic’ to some extent, but it still for the most part stayed true to this idea of symbolism over representation. 

That is, until we get to the Renaissance and all of that gets thrown out of the window because artists want to be able to paint babies that actually look like babies, thank you very much! And with the likes of Leonardo da Vinci championing for art to become a science, surely this means that the kinds of art that was valued in this era were highly accurate portraits or landscapes... Right?

Short answer? No. 

Long answer? Well, portraits and landscapes had their place in the hierarchies of art. Portraits were often commissioned by wealthy patrons, and were basically ways of the artist showing off how good their portrait skills are. And landscapes were less important, more seen as ‘nice backgrounds’ than anything else. But the art that was highly valued by most wealthy patrons and art connoisseurs of the time was... (imagine a drum roll here please) 

History painting! These are basically big biblical or mythological scenes, often with a lot of figures doing a variety of things (think Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel), often with some pretty landscape as the backdrop, and often featuring a couple of portraits in the mix (including one of the patron who commissioned it, probably being blessed by the Virgin Mary, and a cheeky one of the artist peeking out from behind a bush or something...). From the Renaissance era up until basically the mid 19th century, History paintings were seen as the most important works of art to be featured in galleries. 

And really, things only really began to change when we reached the end of the 19th century, with the development of photography. 

Photography, and film, both lead to a massive shift in not only the kinds of art that are produced in the 20th century, but also the kinds of art that are valued. For so long art had been the main form of representation of society, and the advent of photographs meant that art had almost lost that ‘purpose’. Not to mention the leading towards a more secular society which no longer had a need for symbolic or spiritual artworks. 

So, the only place art could really go was to become a form of expression instead. The likes of artists like Picasso and Braque pioneering cubism, being about new ways of representing the world. The Surrealists delving into ideas of the subconscious. Pop-Artists like Warhol looking into media and consumerist society, and the list goes on... 

Which brings us onto my most hated period in the history of art: Conceptual art. 

I’m not going to go big into this period, which is still around today (unfortunately), but all you need to know is this twat Marcel Duchamp flipped a urinal (which he didn’t even make himself) upside down and called it a ‘fountain’ and shoved it into a gallery and thus art that has no value beyond it being ‘concept based’ was born. And yes, yes I hate it a lot (I’m not even trying to be objective about this, I hate conceptual art with a burning passion... some guy put some sh*t in a box and put it in a gallery & called it art and I am SO mad about it lol...). And as much as I hate this period, what it does signify is how art began to be valued not through the craftsmanship of the work itself, but instead the ideas. 

And this idea remains today. Damien Hirst has forged his entire art identity on creating works that are based entirely on some ‘meaning’ that could be forced onto it, rather than the aesthetic or material value. And as mentioned before, Tracey Emin’s infamous bed isn’t about the work and effort gone into the piece itself, but instead about what the artists intends for the piece to ‘mean’. So, the ‘value’ of the work is what it says, and not what it is, essentially. 

(This is not to say that there are no artists who work today that get featured in galleries and are highly skilled at their craft. The one that springs to mind is Grayson Perry, who’s well known for his pottery and tapestries with some kind of social commentary bled into them.)

This ideology around art also bleeds into online spaces of art (which I see as distinctly separate from the world of art galleries and the Turner prize). I still see artists, and non-artists, talking about how much they enjoy work that is ‘original’, and oftentimes ridiculing and demoting ‘fanart’ as purely ‘derivative’ or ‘unoriginal’. 

And all this brings us back to history paintings. Because their ‘value’ wasn’t just in the immense amount of skill that went into them. A large part of their ‘value’ was that artists and non-artists alike saw them as feats of the artist’s ‘genius’ or ‘imagination’ at play. And in the same way that Early Medieval art was valued for the symbology of the piece rather than the representation, history paintings had the benefit of including both elements. In essence, they were both meaningful AND beautiful. 

In conclusion (just to remind you that this is technically an essay lol), a lot about art HAS definitely changed in the last few hundred years, particularly in what kinds of art is getting made now (and why we make art in the first place). However, what we as a collective society ‘value’ as art has remained surprisingly the same, often with a heavy preference for a work’s meaning and symbology, which can sometimes overshadow the craftsmanship of the work itself. 

I still hate that godforsaken Duchamp toilet though...

(images used:

unknown medieval painting (I just liked that he had his hand down mary’s dress lool)

mona lisa by da vinky 

detail of the creation of adam on the sistine chapel by michelangelo

a photograph by louis daguerre, often known as the father of photography

*clenches fist* ‘fountain’ by marcel duchamp

‘my bed’ by tracey emin )

I hope you enjoyed this informal essay about art, I will definitely be doing more of these in the future! If you have any thoughts on this, feel free to reply to this or message me, etc! I love having open and frank conversations about art!