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blasphoeme · 6 years ago

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Transcendent

Chapter 1: Once Upon A Dream

Chapter Summary:

A new life, a new reality, a new world, a new start. Thus, begins our tale of two souls, destined to find one another to rekindle a love that was forged many, many years before their time. Will this love story unfold as it should? Will two strangers be able to fall for one another? Or will they flee from their fates?

Ao3 link here: Prologue. Chap 1.

Enjoy~ I hope this cheers people up after the prologue hehe :)

Credits of the mood board go to @midqueenally. Couldn't have made it without your help~

“Oh, bugger.”

His elbow connected with a paintbrush lying on its side, sending it toppling head first over the edge of his workbench. Its bristles were still wet with paint as it plummeted through the air, coming to land on the floor with a clatter. Reaching down to grab his trusty paint brush, a bright splash of colour caught the painter's attention. On its way down, the brush had streaked a line of orange across the blank canvas that was propped up against the leg of his easel. The orange paint adorning the canvas conjured up a vision of fire, flashing through his mind.

Scorching Dragonfire.

He needed to paint.

Lifting the canvas from the ground, he set it on his easel. Uncapping his paints, he squirted several dollops of them onto his well-used palette. Settling himself upon his familiar stool, he picked up his brush, moistening its tip with water before dipping it in the paint and set to work.

As a prodigal artist, Jon had been painting all his life. Strokes came easily, almost naturally as his mind wandered freely through his imagination. His mother used to say that he was born with a paintbrush in his hand and given some paint, he could create pictures that captivated everyone that laid eyes on them. When he was a child, no more than seven, a number of his art pieces had even been displayed in art galleries and sold for extremely high prices. All he needed was some paint, his trusty brush and his hands would do the rest. He simply smiled every time Catelyn Stark would gush about his achievements at such a young age to her friends. Those were moments when he felt so glad to stand out for once from his five siblings who all had an artistic, scholarly talent of some kind. Nowadays though, he preferred the anonymity more, selling his work mainly online through his shop to anyone around the world who wanted to buy them.

Besides his artistic gift, he was born with a unique quirk - the ability to lucid dream. Since he was old enough to remember, his nights were plagued with dreams of a life he never lived. Or at least he thought so. How could he have? The images and words that appeared in his sleep were nonsensical almost. Words, and sentences, meaninglessly circulating in his head. They were too outrageous.

As a boy, he saw himself training outside in a castle courtyard, alone, training on a dummy with a wooden sword. That image of the lone boy who looked like him always filled him with loneliness. As he grew older, he saw glimpses of himself wielding a real sword, hacking at the gruesome zombie-like creatures, cutting them down. He saw himself scaling a wall of ice. He saw himself riding on the back of an emerald green fire-breathing dragon.

He told his parents about them but they always shrugged it off and said it was just his overactive imagination. They all felt so real to him as if he were transported out of his body in his sleep and plonked into a medieval world. His dreams were uncanny but his nightmares were things of terror. During his nightmares, he saw himself being stabbed repeatedly. It was so real that he felt the pain of each stab to his torso and the last one to the heart. He felt his life slip away, as his blood seeped into the snow under him and he succumbed to the cold embrace of death. For a long while, there was only darkness. Until, he awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat and heaving. Instinctively, his palms drifted to his chest, searching for the seven distinct stab wounds that marred his body in his dreams. There would be none, expect a dull ache beneath his crescent-shaped birthmark above his heart. Every nightmare was the same. All he saw was his death. How could something so horrific be real?

He had no inkling why he had these dreams. Nonetheless he knew he had to do something, something to remember them by. A voice in his mind and heart told him these dreams were of crucial importance. So, he did what he did best. He painted them all since he was a boy. The collection grew from scrap pieces of paper, to sketch pads to canvases that currently lined the walls of his art studio. He kept them all. Over time, he even began incorporating some of the things he saw in these fleeting dreams into his regular art pieces. His customers seemed to love them quite a bit.

Lately, his dreams have evolved somewhat, to include someone new. He saw a woman. He didn’t know her name, but she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Every part of her was, from her silver hair to her piercing purple eyes, her plump peach pink lips and smooth alabaster skin.

It was like looking through a window into an alternate reality. He would see the man who wore his face with this beautiful lady. They were so happy together, so in love. The utter adoration that shone in the king’s eyes for his queen filled Jon with awe. It felt almost intrusive, watching their intimate moments, sharing stolen kisses in alcoves of their castle, holding each other in bed as they drifted off to sleep. Would he ever get to experience a love like that in real life? A love so deep, so pure, so strong that it survived through so many losses and wars.

Would he get to meet his own true love? Jon wondered as he added the finishing touches to his painting. True love in this day and age? In a world so full of cynicism and hatred? It's a nice notion but reality is rarely that generous. A love so sweet would most likely be too good to be true.

With each stroke of his brush, his vision of black and red came into creation, fearsome and monstrous.

Drogon.

Adding some black to the golden amber pupils of his mythical creation, the painting was complete. Dunking his paintbrush into the jug of water by his easel, Jon sat back on his stool to appraise his work.

The black dragon with accents of red upon the ridges on his back and the underside of his wings hovered in mid-air with fire spewing from his gaping jaws against a backdrop of white snow and ice, his red-hot flames ploughing through a hoard of dead soldiers, incinerating them to dust.

It looked pretty good if he could say so himself, a near perfect recreation of his dream. With a pleased nod, he reached over to grab the can of fixation spray and sprayed a thin coat over the surface of the painting.

“There,” Jon exclaimed.

His phone rang just then, breaking the silence of his studio. Dipping his fingers into his pocket, he retrieved the vibrating, jingling device. Looking at the caller ID, Jon smiled.

“You’re up early for once little sis. Who are you and what have you done with Arya Stark?” Jon couldn’t help teasing his wild child of a sister. “And on a Sunday no less? You didn’t have a late night?”

“You know I did. But honestly, Jon. Can’t a girl ever be awake at a reasonable hour?” He could hear her annoyance through the phone.

Chuckling, Jon clamped his phone between his shoulder and ear as he placed the cap over his glass jar. He would have to tip out the water later on. “Sure you can. But we both know that a reasonable hour for you starts at noon. Given it’s Sunday, this must have something to do with our mum.”

Arya groaned. “Can’t believe she wants us to go for brunch at this hour. Midday won’t be here for another two hours.”

“It’s good to spend time with the family.” Jon simply shrugged. She couldn’t see it but it came as a natural reaction. “Play nice with mum okay?”

A drawn-out groan came for the other end. Jon imagined Arya having her face stuffed into her pillow. Her eventual grunt and begrudging ‘fine...’ in his ear from the other end of the line enticed a chuckle out of him.

His little sister was a free-spirited, strong-willed young lady. Like all the other children in his family, Arya had a talent as well. Hers was closest to his. She was a part-time freelancing wall mural artist with a knack of graffiti art. Her ideal time to do her work was late in the night. According to her, that’s when her mind is the most active and creativity came easiest. Her current project was a street art gallery. A gallery in the laneways behind buildings where no one usually traversed in hopes that it would encourage people to explore their city more.

“Anyway.... on to more pleasant topics.” Jon heard Arya clear her throat. “I’ll be coming over to Paris in a bit!”

“That’s great! When will you be here?” Jon was delighted. Ever since he decided to move from London to Paris to bask in the culture in the vibrant city of love, he hadn’t seen his family in quite some time now.

Arya hummed, thinking when she could leave her gallery which was very much still a work in progress. “We’ll have to see when we get done with more murals. Iris and I thought it’d be fun to have a short break before we launch officially. Somewhere not too far away from home. So, I suggested Paris! It shouldn’t be long now, we have a few more walls to cover.”

“That’s awesome, Arya! I have no doubt you’ll do a great job.” His baby sister utilizing her dream and talent for good he couldn’t be prouder of her. He couldn’t curb the well of emotions gurgling, welling up to push at his ribs, puffing up his chest. His baby sister was growing up so fast. “I’ll give you the biggest hug you’ve ever received as a reward when I see you.”

“A hug? That’s it? Thanks so very much.”

“Hey, didn’t you once say I gave the best hugs?”

“I was five and in desperate need of comfort after scraping the skin off my knee from tumbling down a hill.”

The siblings laughed together for a few moments before a deep sigh filled Jon’s ear. “I wish you were here though. It’s less fun without you. I miss you, dear brother.” His sister muttered quietly into the receiver.

“I miss you too. I can’t wait for you to get here.”

After saying a quick goodbye to his sister, Jon hung up and headed to his kitchen. Time to get on with his day. First on his agenda, breakfast. An omelette or maybe a sandwich with coffee. Tugging open the metallic door of his fridge, Jon peered inside. “Well....” The fridge was desolately empty, only a lone sad lemon, a bottle of milk that had probably gone bad, condiments and the like, occupied the space. He’d been so busy with his orders lately, groceries were the last thing on his mind. “Cafe down the street it is then.”

Burlap shopping bag now stuffed full with groceries for the week and his breakfast purchased, still warm to the touch, Jon made his way back home. The advantage of living just above a market street meant there was food all around, easily accessible. You just had to step outside. Shifting the bag from one arm to the other, he retrieved his breakfast from its makeshift paper home before taking a hearty bite. The flaky pastry crumbled in his mouth, coating his taste buds with an explosion of rich buttery flavour. Monsieur Seaworth, as the baker liked to call himself, made pastries that tasted like heaven in every bite.

“Jon. Jon Snow.”

Pausing mid-munch, Jon glanced to his right. A lady was standing on the curb outside the fortune teller shop. A chill swept up his spine at the peculiar grin quirking at her lips.

“Umm... My name is Jon yes, but it’s not Snow. It’s Stark.”

The lady took a step onto the cobblestone road, unhindered by his words. “I know your dreams, Jon Snow. I know the things you see every night in your sleep.”

A torrent of goose bumps rose to attention all over his body. Who was this lady? He stood frozen on the spot and his mouth went dry as his stomach began to pitch and roll. How could someone know when he never, ever revealed that part of himself to anyone?

“She has come, Jon. She is here, very close by.” Lifting her arm, she pointed a slender finger in the direction of the bustling market up the slope. “The woman that you see in your dreams.” The strange lady in red spoke, taking another step forward. Jon gulped, recoiling slightly at the quickly diminishing gap between them. The lady kept walking still. Peering at Jon with unblinking eyes, she glided closer and closer toward him, completely unperturbed by the filth and grime staining the ends of her swishing velvet dress that trailed along the ground as she moved.

“Find her, Jon Snow.Go to the place where many people traverse and sell their wares.” The fortune teller implored. Now standing directly in front of him, Jon could see an unnerving gleam in her eyes. Her voice had an oddly serene tone about it almost as if she were reciting, reciting some sort of cryptic prophecy aloud. “You need to find her. You need to make her believe you.”

“Believe? In what...?”

“She won’t believe you until you show her. Show her your paintings.”

As her next words tumbled from blood red her lips, his half-eaten croissant slipped from his slackened grip and landed onto the cobblestone with a mute thump. Jon’s heart leapt into his throat and his blood lost its warmth.

“Show her your dreams.”

Dun dun dunnnn hehe. See ya next time! Thanks for reading!

#iceandfiresource #jonerysevents #jonerys fic #jonerys fanfic #jonerys #jonerys modern au #jonerys fluff #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #got fanfiction

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wallpaperpainter · 4 years ago

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10 Secrets About Abstract Acrylic Painting That Has Never Been Revealed For The Past 10 Years | Abstract Acrylic Painting

Paola Gracey is dubbed “The Art Chemist” for a reason.

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The artist’s adapted abstruse paintings absorb her bookish science background. Gracey accustomed a bachelor’s amount in allure from Florida International University and fell in adulation with the art arena in Miami. The aggregate of the two is what led her to accept a actual audible appearance in her pieces.

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A allotment of that accurate action is balloon and error. She uses adapted techniques like pouring, dripping, accounting and bond afore clearing on aloof the appropriate one. Again she advance variables that were adapted throughout the process.

Gracey accidentally apparent her talent. In the beginning, art was aloof a hobby. As a allure major, Gracey took painting classes to affluence the accent of the workload.

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“One day, in the flat on my pallet, I was bond the acrylics; I stepped out of the flat for cafeteria and aback I came aback the abutting day begin the best admirable agitate of broiled acrylic paint,” Gracey told VoyageMIA.“Till this day, I admonish myself to never stop practicing and abide to advance the technique. Since that day, my paintings accept morphed into article unique, which I anticipate has bent the eye of the art community.”

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