#i do appreciate how neutral i look in that self portrait there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kosmosguk · 4 years ago

Text

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation, mentions of suicide, gore

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

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oingo233 · 4 years ago

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Rapture is a Boy (8)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior? And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader(neutral)

Warning: FLUFF, so much fluff you could drown in it, self-doubt (brief)

Authors Note: This is the last part, which is crazy to me, I truly hope yall love it. This series is dear to my heart because it has allowed me to meet and talk to you and so many other amazing people! You all mean so much to me, and Remus is my lil baby too. I can’t even express how much I appreciate and love you all <3

Word Count: 5k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Part Eight

****A Stag, a Rat and a Dog***

Remus POV

“That was-” Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence, he just laughed, he laughed so loud it was hard not to join in with him. James pat his back and nodded, wiping some of the blue glitter off on his shirt.

“Right, mate.” he agreed. Sirius was bouncing in his spot, none of our smiles breaking or dimming. “Another notch under the belt of our legacy of awesome,” he all but sang, all of our cheeks still flushed from this morning. He hit Sirius’s arm and they began to race up the stairs, Peter and I followed, jogging after them. “Lily loved it too!” he added, smiling even bigger at just the thought of her, he was beating Sirius.

We all stopped running and Sirius was scowling, he lost, we all stood at the portrait when Sirius turned to me. “Worked well on (Y/N) too,” he stated, smirking at me and making a sexual motion with his hips, James laughed and I pushed him. “Ew, your palms are sweaty.”

“We’ll excuse me, ABBA sweats no doubt after giving the performance of a life time.” I say while James says the word and the painting opens for us. “Besides, it has worked for now. But they are still oblivious to the truth. I might lose them all over again, once they know.”

The mood seemed to darken at this realization. Not everyone is as understanding about my condition as the boys. That’s the real reason I couldn’t stop sweating, and if the boys looked close enough they’d see I couldn’t stop shaking ever so slightly too. I just got (Y/N) back, I’m not sure how well I’d be able to cope with losing them a second, and final time. My heart broke just at the thought, and at the very realization that I might have to prepare myself for such an outcome.

“Mate, (Y/N) is one of the people in this world that loves you most. Besides us of course,” James smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood whenever he could, “I doubt, that anything could make them think differently of you. You’re not just your condition. You’re Remus feckin Lupin!” The other boys cheered in agreement as we stepped into our dorms, Peter even went as far as rubbing my shoulders to build up my confidence, he saw a trainer do it to a wrestler on muggle TV once.

“And we’ve got a romantic feckin plan!” Peter cheers, still excited about what is yet to happen. I swallow thickly once more, this day could be one of the best in a while, or the absolute worst. I guess we’ll know tonight.

“Yes, and are you guys sure you are okay with this?” I ask, for the fifth time. James rolls his eyes, and Sirius bangs his head on the dorm room wall.

“Yes, Moony. Yes. Yes. Yes. We are okay with this for the millionth time. (Y/N) is our friend too, and all we want is to see the lot of ya happy again, so will ya shut up about it. We already agreed, mate,” Sirius says, looking up just barely lifting his head from the wall.

“And we don’t like lying to (Y/N) either,” James says, Peter nods with each word falling from their lips, as he tugs on pants and grabs a new, not bedazzled, robe.

We were still talking and going over plans for tonight when we left for first period. The common room was quite expect for our meshed whispers and loud footfalls, it wasn’t until the painting door swung open that we heard another sound. An all too familiar sound.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat before us. Her hands folded in at her chest and her pointed eyes trained on us, unblinking. We all swallowed thickly, our fear and respect for her almost overwhelmed our courage and friendliness towards her. Almost.

“Did ya enjoy the concert, Minnie? I was singing just for you.” Sirius said, smiling and trying not to laugh as her expression remained unmoving. James joined in and I nearly rolled my eyes, but a smile found it’s way onto my lips nonetheless.

“Yeah, we saw ya a-tap-tap-tappy your toes!” He says, doing a little dance. I was amazed by her ability to not even crack a smile at our enthusiasm, but then again, this was nothing new to her. “ABBA gets to the best of us doesn’t it?” As if on cue, Sirius was speaking again. I fought my smile and faked a sullen expression, fingers crossed behind my back, this was the part where one of us tried to weasel our way out of trouble.

“Exactly, our hearts were in it Professor, truly we had good reason and we weren’t hurting anyone. Shame. Just a shame Dumbledore gave us detention, any more severe punishment just wouldn’t make any sense.” She raised a brow and in a last attempt I put in a word of my own.

“But you’re always so sensible Ms. McGonagall. I’m sure your punishment for us will be well-deserved. Perhaps our outfits were too flashy?” Peter chuckles beside me, and shows her the inside of his robe.

“But this one isn’t at all. Ya see?” He shows her adamantly until she raises a hand and we are drowning in silence, she made us sweat in our palms and neck before speaking.

“Yes. It appears your shenanigans are over. But Lucy is still in the hospital wing scrubbing at her skin, the smell is pungent and unmoving. It seems, Sirius,” She turns to face him, his adam apple bobs, “You did hurt someone. The real shame is that you don’t seem bothered by that fact. Follow me, boys.” She said, turning on us, her robes nearly swinging up and hitting our shins. We follow wordlessly and with our heads down, her words bothered us a little, what really stung was the disappointment on her face and in her frown. (Though Sirius swears he heard her singing along).

She went to Peter’s class first, he went to follow her inside but she raised a hand and said “Oh, you won’t be going to class this morning, Mr.Pettigrew.” She excused Peter herself, whispering into the teachers ear. My heart sank at the realization that I would not be seeing (Y/N) again this morning, James eyes me, my mood obviously changed. I couldn’t even spend any time with them before tonight, our lunch would serve as detention as well. I might never get to see them again after tonight, couldn’t even enjoy this little time I have before the truth is out. I won’t be able to be at peace until tonight or maybe even after, because who will love a monster?

For the rest of the morning we were locked in McGonagall’s empty classroom, writing out letters of apology to be given to Lucy in person later that day. And attempting to come up with a charm or some potion that would reverse the long lasting affect of the Stink Bombs that we have created. Wouldn’t be a marauders prank unless everything was well crafted, would it? But now, our little spell seems to be our downfall. Luckily, we found the right reversion potion, and it was taken to Madame Pom. immediately. By the time we were allowed to leave, the bell for second period had just rang.

I sat through my classes with sweaty hands, and bouncing legs. I agonized in the silence of detention about all that could go wrong, several times I re-debated whether I should really tell (Y/N) the truth, but it was clear that I needed too. I have lied for too long, and it has cost me too much. The truth will set me free...or at least I hope it will. I sat through my very last classes feeling both sick, and determined. Before we knew it, it was dinner time and James, Sirius, Peter and I snuck out of the castle for our final act of salvation. Our last attempt to make things right.

Your POV

The ground was rocky and uneven below my feet, between the clumps of dirt and hidden rocks this trip to Hagrids hut felt more like a mountain climbing experience than anything else. But my breathing was not ragged and exaggerated because of the walk, no, it was because ever since this morning my heart has been beating out of control. I’ve been breathless and filled with both anxiety and warmth since Remus kissed my cheek and handed me this note.

Tonight will mark either the end or the fresh start of our relationship, of our friendship...of our love.

My head is spinning as I stumble over a pumpkin root. What has he been hiding from me? Is it something bad, or big, or maybe something he is just blowing way out of proportion? What if the truth pulls us apart even more than the lies?

I shake my head in an attempt to free myself of this anxiety that swells in my stomach like a churning sea. Whatever it is, I will face it with patience and love, but also self-respect. I repeat this to myself until before I know it, I am at Hagrids hut. The walls of his house seemed to mountain over me, it smelled strongly of firewhiskey, burning firewood,rich dirt and sweet pumpkins. The smell did wonders in calming my mind, but I rather large frown makes its way onto my face as I look around. There was absolutely no one in sight.

I cuss under my breath. Maybe this is the wrong place. Maybe Remus is late? I chew at my bottom lip and take a few large steps around the hut, my eyes keep going back to analyze the trees of the forest. The shadows of the forbidden forest seemed to reach for me. It called for me. As if it was a whirlpool sucking me in I stepped towards it, staring into the layers of dark, large trees.

I held my breath as a bush by the very edge of the forest shook, rustling leaves and snapping twigs filled the brisk night air. I shivered, whether it was from the cold or the sudden fear I was not sure, but I did not have time to debate my feelings because suddenly, a canopy of dark green vines, hanging from the trees shifted.

Large, cream horns parted the vines and drooping tree leaves, a particular branch got stuck on the intricate swirling of the horns and snapped completely as the creature stepped further from the shadows, revealing itself to me.

A beautiful Stag stood proud, it’s thick coat shone under the moonlight, it’s chest puffed out at me with pride. The horns only added to it’s graceful height, but it’s eyes are what truly took my breath away. Those round, warm eyes they were so human. So familiar. Before I could debate it any further, the Stag stamped it’s hoof in the dirt softly, it snorted and white air swirled around it’s soft face. Only then did I notice the beautiful yellow rose, plucked from a bush and resting at it’s front legs.

I bring a shaky hand to my mouth, barely able to comprehended the wave of emotions that nearly knock me to my feet. This was of Remus’s doing. But...how? The Stag inclines it’s head curiously at me to the right, it’s large ears flicking with some sort of impatience, or unrest. Only then did I fully seem to understand the familiarity of this creature.

“James?” I gasp. The Stag seems to stand even taller at me, and...smiles. With my mouth still hanging wide open I let out a boisterous laugh. “James!” I almost yell, the Stag snorts again and leans it’s head down, using his nose to push the rose towards me. The movement doesn’t help me get over my shock, but it stirs me into action. I begin to cautiously walk forwards, and as I do the Stag er, James, picks up the rose between it’s teeth, when I am close enough he softly nuzzles it into my hand. I grip it tightly, it has already been de-thorned.

Carefully, with my free hand, I reach it out just a few inches in front of me and James places his Stag head onto my palm. I pet him softly, he stares up at me and it was as if I was staring at James himself.

“You clever bastard!” I exclaim, I knew how hard becoming Animigus is, but why would he do such a thing? I was broken out of my trance when the Stag (James) begins to walk, slowly at first, he looks back at me and inclines his head first and it was as if I could just hear him saying, in his cheeky manner ‘Ladies first, of course,”

I swallow thickly and fight another bout of paralyzing shock, and instead smile, following James through the forest. His hoofs sinking softly into the ground, the sound was methodic and helped with the strange over pour of emotions I’m feeling.

What happened next, is actually quite embarrassing. It started with a little scamper by my feet. Considering how far we’ve walked into the forest I was more than a bit concerned for my safety, but the large, strong Stag beside me cast most of my fears to the side. Then, through a break of moonlight through the trees I saw it. A large, fat rat!

I screamed so loud, dark ravens flew from their slumbers in the trees. James beside me stomped his feet, and checked the perimeter with analyzing eyes, searching for the danger. But they only found the rat. I never thought a Stag could give such an amused, disappointed expression, yet here I stand. Clinging to a deers ass for dear life, and he is looking back at me with said expression. My cheeks flush and I let go of his furry back, then the Rat very slowly inches towards me.

It’s sharp nose lifting and dancing from side to side, it’s soft brown eyes sparkling up at me. I’d say it even looked a little cute, friendly even. But what unusual behavior, and what unusual eyes. It’s tail glowing under the white light like a plump, pink worm...

“Wormtail!” I realize, laughter bubbling from my chest. The Rat lets out a gleeful squeak and James besides me snorts once again, seeming to laugh. The Rat scurried off into the shadows, and I can’t help but berate myself. Did I hurt his feelings?

But then he comes bounding back into sight, he stands on his back legs and his little Rat face seemed to glow with excitement as his pink hands unveiled a small little white wildflower. The same kind Remus would pick for me on walks we took together. My smile only grows bigger as I do a sweet curtsey and pick up the flower mid-bow, lifting it up to my nose as I stand straight again.

“My apologies, you know I don’t like rats. But I suppose I’ll have to make an exception for you.” I smile down at him, and he reveals two yellow buck teeth, smiling up at me with as much of a smile any rat can muster. I fail to hold in my laughter but extend my arm to him, he climbs up it and perches himself on my shoulder. I hold the two flowers in one hand, and rest my other on James soft shoulder, so I can be led through the dark forest, I knew by know, they were leading me to Remus.

Peter climbs down my other arm and onto James back, then up his head. I laugh as Peter holds on for deer(hehe I’m funny) life as James jokingly waves his head back and forth, Peter almost falls off but I help him back. We all seem to laugh in our own ways, when suddenly a loud bark cuts through the sound of laughter and owls and even the rustling of the woods around us. It was loud and impatient and yet humorous, it reminded me of someone I know well. I smirk, raising a brow I turn to the equally amused Stag and Rat, James and Peter.

“Wormtail. Prongs,” I say, motioning to the Stag who only inclines his head again, “And Padfoot. Let me guess... Sirius is also some animal wandering these woods, finding us by chance? A wolf, perhaps? A dog?” They don’t say a thing, they only begin to walk again. Turning us towards the sound of the echoing bark.

I was on the ground before I knew what was happening. We’ve walked just a few more minutes and then a cloud of black overcame my sense and tackled me to the floor. Black, Sirius Black, was a dog and on top of me. He was barking right by my ear and cuddling me, it wasn’t until two little Rat hands attempted to push his leg that he got off.

I was laughing uncontrollably, this was all too much. Too crazy. I knew they were geniuses, but this... becoming Animagus and though the reason was unclear I could feel it, something to do with Remus. With Moony. The nickname had a new meaning to me, and I wasn’t sure what yet, but I was sure I was about to find out.

Sirius was racing around me in circles as I stood up. His black tail wagging wildly, and his fur rustled and tossed under the wind. I wanted to coo and awe, though his eyes were human and mischievous, the rest of him was adorable and strong. A proud, handsome looking dog. It was clear, by his behavior, that he was just as excited to reveal this big secret, as I was to know the truth.

“Sirius! You dog,” I joke, a bad one on my part but he still barked with laughter and I shook my head, taking in the three of them. This was, Merlin, I didn’t even know what this was other than beyond surprising and impressive. Shocking.

Suddenly, Sirius makes one last dart behind me, he sends me in a spin and by the time I can control my footing he is back in front of me. He is sitting on his back legs, front paws up in the air and bent in a cute trick, his ears flopped forward. Just above his paws, drooping from the jaws of his mouth is a single daffodil. Daffodils, like the one written about in this favorite poem of mine that Remus would read me on bad days, I Wandered Lonely as A Cloud by William Wordsworth.

I sigh, tilting my head to the left, a soft smile on my lips. Everything about this was amazing and sweet. It was amazing that the boys had this whole other life I never knew about, which I’m sure there will be a reasonable explanation for my ignorance because ouch. But sweet, because this was obviously planned my Remus, but the boys were taking their own time to make it happen. I bend down and pat Sirius’s head, the only time he lets me touch his hair, I think, almost laughing. His tail wags as I pluck the flower from his mouth and he lets it fall easily into my hand.

I gather it with my other flowers, now forming a little bouquet and bring the whole lot of them up to my face and inhale. I close my eyes as I smell the sweet and powerful aromas, memories with Remus filled my head, and with it, a warmth filled my chest.

“I hope this hasn’t been all too much for you. I thought some truths would be better seen than told,” Remus says, walking up behind me. I spin around, I didn’t even notice the sound of crunching leaves behind me. But I couldn’t find it in me to speak, the moonlight dancing across Remus’s face, highlighting his eyes, and the soft curves of his lips with the ragged lines of his scars, I was astounded by the boy before me. Once again entranced. All the anxiety, all the fear has left me, as I stared at him clad in fancy pants and a button up to match.

He stops walking, unsure of where he stands with me. I step towards him, finding some clearing in the haze I begin to speak.

“It’s wonderful. They’re wonderful,” I say, turning with a thankful smile to the stag, the rat and the dog. They each in turn, show their teeth at me in an attempt of a smile. I laugh and beside me, Remus does too. With a nod of his head, they turn their backs on us and leave. I no longer needed guidance or safety. Remus stood before me and I felt something that has been missing for the past couple of days. And even though I was in the middle of the dangerous, forbidden forest, I knew that I was also home.

“I love the flowers. I must say, this night has already taken the most unexpected turn it could, but the nicknames definitely make more sense,” I attempt a bad joke, a habit of mine in a nerve wracking situation but Remus only seems to grimace slightly, before turning it into a smile, though it was a rather sad one.

“Well, you seem to be taking this well. Have you figured out mine yet?” He asked, his sad tone surprising me. We were so close his voice dropped low just out of habit it seemed, and because the short distance between us put us in a trance. I missed him. I missed him so much my body now seemed to come back from the dead and reach for him, I was alive again with dancing butterflies and buzzing questions. I glanced down to his lips, before taking a step back.

“No. But I can guess. It makes sense, once every month you seem to leave me. You change into someone who is distant, someone who doesn't seem to love me,” He steps forwards, looking pained by this realization, but as I speak it becomes clearer to me, but I can’t yet reach the conclusion.

“I will never become a person who doesn’t love you. I will change and grow but you will be the one thing that remains. You don’t have to guess anymore, but I want you to know that my love for you will always remain, even if after tonight, we do not,” he speaks with such reverence, like our love was something scared to him and deep down, I knew I felt the same way. It is my first love, and if I can help it, than he will be my only lover until the day I die. All I can do is nod as he steps forwards again, I can see a bead of sweat roll down the apple of his cheek, he was about to tell me. I can feel the shaking of his hands as he places them in mine.

Suddenly, his unbreaking stare leaves me, and in place, find the bright moon. Twinkling in the sky and illuminating us in its wake. I understood in that moment, Moony. A boy mapped with scars. Moony. A boy plagued by nightmares, and insecurities. Moony. A tough, but oh so scared boy who seemed to hate the very night itself. Moony. The boy who changes during the month, and is gone completely on the full moon. Moony. Moony, the Werewolf.

I pull on his hands and gather him into my embrace, pulling back only to kiss him sweetly. The world becomes ours as our lips dance with one another to a song we’ve heard before. It is the song of him making love to me. It is the song of the poems he reads me and the flowers he picks. It is the song of the moons very envy as she watches us together. The song of lovers. It moves us. It moves my hands up his neck and through his hair. It moves his lips across my cheek and jaw and then down my neck. It moves the wind, and the trees around us. It pulls the moans from our mouths and then the confessions.

“My beautiful love,” Remus kisses the words into my skin, up to my lips. “My only love,” he mumbles into my lips, kissing me softly but his hands are bruising at my hips. As if I would leave him if he did not hold me close enough and for forever.

“I love you, Remus ‘Moony’ Lupin. I love all of you and all that you ever will be and all that you have been.” He pulls back from me, his eyes glazed with tears and a softness that makes my heart sing. He nods, and than he laughs. A tear falls from his eyes as his head leans back and he laughs, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. It was as if all his anxiety, and self-hatred has left him and in their place my words have nestled in. I love him. I love him. I love him.

“I’m a werewolf ya know?” he says, still laughing, he knew I made the connection. At this point it was pre-caution, I roll my eyes and kiss him again. The world is forgotten as we kiss, as we rejoin as one and as lovers. I pull back and softly wipe away his tears.

“I know,” I whisper into his lips, he smiles, giving me a soft kiss. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Remus?” I ask, pulling away from him. He frowns now, his cheeks red with blush, and lips to match.

“I thought I’d lose you forever. That you’d think I was some monster, or- or beast. You always looked at me like I was the world, and I was terrified one day you’d see the real me, and just- well, stop loving me altogether.” While he speaks his eyes still glitter with the promise of tears, and my heart sinks at his words.

“I think I understand your anxiety about it. I can’t imagine how hard it must be. But I would never stop loving you for such a thing, merlin, I don’t think anything could stop me from loving you. I never want you to feel the need to hide from me again, okay?” Remus nods into my hands, I still haven't moved them since I wiped away his tears, it seemed like more keeps falling each time.

“The boys became Animigmus to help with my full moons. It can get pretty bad… but ever since they have come along things really got better, really they did.” he adds when seeing my sad facial expression. My heart felt broken all over again at just the thought of Remus being in pain, alone and suffering. I swore in that moment, I’d do anything in this world to help make things better for him. I nod my head. He continues.

“And Lucy, her older sister is a werewolf. She figured out that I was one pretty quickly, she said I could speak to her about it all, and that she could help somehow. It was nothing more, she just let me complain and even write some letter to her sister. I never even thought of Lucy like the way I think of you. She was always just a friend, but that remains no more. To hell with her,” he says. He can’t stop smiling, a real, golden smile. There was nothing holding him back, I could just tell he felt so much lighter. I took his hand and wordlessly led him to sit on the grass with me. We laid shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the stars together.

He told me in depth about how he was bitten as a child, about how it changed his life. Then when the boys told him they were becoming Animgus for him and all the little moments and adventures they’ve had since. He didn’t sugar coat a thing, he didn’t lie. He was bearing his soul before me for the first time, without any thin veil holding us back and I’ve never felt closer to him. It was well past curfew by the time I felt satisfied with everything he’s told me, I felt both heavy with this knowledge and yet free. I felt included and like I truly knew Remus, and I still did love him. More than ever, I love him.

We laid in silence for some time, my head has moved to lay on his chest and I can hear the steady, warm beating of his heart.

“Can you hear it?” he asks, out of the blue. I strain my ears to listen to the forest around us, I lift my head slightly and he laughs. “No. My heart, can you hear it?” I lean back into him and let out a little laugh myself.

“Oh. Yes,” I smile, “I can hear it.”

“Good. It beats for you.”mhe says, I look up at him only to find that he has already been looking at me. His eyes soft, and smile warm, his heart steady under the palm of my hand and loud within the stillness of the night. It beats for you. His words echoed in my head and I couldn’t help myself, I lean forward and press my lips against him. I could kiss him forever. I could be with him here like this forever, alone and in love, honest and unafraid.

I understood a lot of things that night, more than just about who Remus was and the secrets he has been hiding. More than the truths that he bared and the love that we had. I understood how after all this time of separation and uncertainty. After exhausting ourselves in a sea of sorrow and questions, we have finally found our peace. I have found my happiness. And I realized something rather important. Rapture is a boy. Rapture is love.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget @beyondprincess @1975weasley @nicodoesntexist @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain @yoyoitsbella @ftwert @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @dontjudgemyobsessionpls @blackpinkdolan

@holdenviolet @katie-lupin05 @acoustic-archie @trishizzl @accio-willtolive-lmao @ilistentotayswifttocope @kopheliablack

#young remus imagine #remus lupin #young remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #harry potter #harry potter fandom #the marauders #the marauders fanfiction #fluff #werewolves #pls im emotional this series is over #young marauders #i love yall

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sadman-morgan · 4 years ago

Text

rainy night muse

pairing: arthur morgan x neutral!reader

summary: Heavy rain slammed against the tent’s folds as thunder roared throughout camp. This night felt longer than any other. You were exhausted. You just wanted to get some sleep.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none, other than extreme fluff with one cowboy.

---

You and Arthur had spent the day hunting, gathering supplies and various items requested by fellow camp members, all while committing petty crimes along the way. Hunting always made you incredibly sore to the point where other members had taken notice. Ms. Grimshaw always assured there were other ways for you to earn your keep, but you brushed the offers off. Despite the aching, hunting was always your favorite pastime to share with Arthur.

After rounding up your hunts, you and Arthur decided to head back to camp. When you both approached your horse, Arthur saddled up first, then reached out his arm for you to hop on. On the way back, nightfall slowly began to creep into The Heartlands. Arthur had spent any free-breathing second scribbling away in his journal, which soon became the quickly discussed topic on the ride back.

“What’d ya draw today?” you questioned.

Despite not seeing his face, you could feel tints of red smearing across his face, and the heat coming off of it.

“Uhh.. scenery? Not real sure, jus’ random things I saw beauty in, I suppose,” he laughed nervously.

You were both usually quiet after strenuous days like today. Occasionally, you mumble-sang random songs together or pointed out breathtaking views. There was always something about talking to you that made Arthur’s heart skip beats, and his palms drown in his own sweat. Speaking his true mind was always a difficult task.

Once you arrived at camp, the day turned into a deep pitch black, only to be combated by the bright illumination of the campfire. Arthur hopped off first to hitch the horse, then came back around to help you off.

You both went around saying your hellos to those still awake, and gave your hunted animals over to Pearson.

After handing over the hunted animals, you and Arthur went back to your tent to drop a couple of things off, and to turn in for the night.

You sat down on your shared cot and quietly watched Arthur rustle through his satchel before finally placing it down on the table.

Before coming over to sit down, Arthur mumbled, “Shit -- I’ll be right back, just forgot to do somethin’.”

“Y’alright?” you questioned him.

“Yeah. Just forgot to.. to give everyone their things. I hope they’re still awake. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, I’ll be back in a minute,” Arthur said as he shuffled through his satchel, picking out the few items that camp members had requested.

After Arthur left, you dug through his satchel, took out his journal, and began to flip through his beautiful paragraphs and illustrations.

Arthur knew you read his paragraphs and looked at his drawings. It was mostly because of how you spoke about different things, and how you would try to compliment him on his art, which was never received well. He was self-conscious about his art and writing being seen by anybody else; it initially was for his eyes only. As time went on, he grew less worried about your reading, as long as it was only you seeing his work. He never believed you when you tried to compliment him on his art, and would sometimes grow defensive if he thought you were kidding. You would never do such a thing, but he suspected otherwise.

Flipping through the pages, you finally found his writing and drawings from that day. On one side of the page, he wrote a small blurb about enjoying hunting with you, and how beautiful the scenery was. You laughed a little bit, before flipping the page to see his daily drawing.

Tears immediately filled your eyes and trickled down your face. You glided your fingers across the page. His daily drawing was a beautiful portrait of you, "Muse" scrawled hastily underneath. You closed the journal and slipped it back into his satchel.

You sat down on your cot and continued to happily cry with the cheesiest smile smeared across your face. You meant the world to Arthur, but he always struggled to outright say so. You raised your head to Arthur’s return, still teary-eyed.

“I’m back, y’alright?” he questioned. He seemed mildly puzzled.

“Yeah~ I’m alright. Nothin’ to worry about,” you responded.

But Arthur knew exactly what to worry about.

Arthur felt his heart begin to race out of embarrassment. He felt loved, but he also felt his usual sense of guilt. He didn’t believe that he deserved to be loved by such a beautiful person like you. After Mary had left, he grew afraid of history repeating itself.

Arthur didn’t know what to say or do other than nod his head, and mumble, “Thanks.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, so you gazed off into the void behind him.

“Don’t mention it, Morgan.”

Once you stood up, Arthur pulled you tightly into his arms. While nearly suffocating, you were welcomed by the soft aromas of pine and whiskey, mixed in with sweat. You felt at home.

Arthur loosened his hold on you with one arm and used the other to gently ruffle your hair.

“I care about you, Darlin’... so, so much,” Arthur mumbled into your ear.

Arthur could feel you smiling deep into his chest. He pulled you away so he could gaze into your gorgeous eyes.

“You’re my world, Y/N,” Arthur said as he carefully dragged his thumb across your face, wiping away the remainder of your tears. “You’ve turned me into a goddamned fool”.

You pulled him back in and kissed his cheek, his stubble scraping against your skin. You felt a sudden temperature change in his face.

You carefully pulled away while tracing his jawline, only to have him tug you back in and give you a quick smooch on the lips.

“You’re so handsome,” you said.

He gave you a puzzled look and chuckled. “Maybe it’s time to visit the eye doctor then?”

You playfully shook your head. “Don’t think so, cowboy”.

Your mutual flirtations were interrupted by bellowing thunder and heavy rain, and nearly every camp member rising to their feet.

“Sonuvabitch,” Arthur sighed. “Let’s go help out.”

Everyone rushed to get their belongings out of the rain and load them back into the proper wagons. Thank God there wasn’t much to move around. You and Arthur were both completely drenched in no time, but kept on loading the wagons.

“Everyone alright?” Arthur called out.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan," "Yes, Arthur,” various voices across camp responded.

“Alright, Just a bit of thunder and rain, nothin’ to worry about. Let’s try to get some rest.”

As everyone went back to sleep, you and Arthur headed back to your wagon and tent.

You looked and felt like shit, and so did Arthur. You were both overworked, exhausted, and soaking wet from the rain -- not to mention the deep aching pain throughout your neck, back, and shoulders.

Arthur walked over to the small area where you both kept your pajamas and took them out.

“Here ya go,” he said in a deep, exhausted tone.

“Thanks,” you responded.

As you took your pajamas from Arthur, you gave him a small head notion for him to put his eyes elsewhere, or to turn around.

“Alright,” he said as he turned around and covered his eyes. “I won’t look at ya.”

“Thanks,” you said as you finished getting dressed, pulling your shirt over your head. “‘Free to turn around now.”

After you returned the favor, you both crawled into your shared cot. The rain continued to pour hard against your tent.

You snuggled close into Arthur and carefully sprawled your hand across his chest, before putting your head down.

His soft breathing and heartbeat were more comforting and relaxing than he could ever understand. Arthur raised his hand and gently played with your hair, which always sent tingles down your spine.

You could’ve passed out immediately on his chest, but the harsh rain had decided otherwise. You hated it when it poured. Arthur never understood your hatred for the rain, as it always immediately lulled him to sleep. On stormy nights, he would battle the pull of gravity on his eyelids so he could lull you to sleep first. It seemed like this night would be the same.

“Y’did good today, I’m so… so proud of you.” Arthur mumbled into your ear.

His voice had dropped a ton in comparison to when he last spoke. His voice was naturally deep and raspy, but when that man grew tired, his voice sure could tell. He spoke so much slower, deeper, and raspier the more exhausted he was, and God did you find it to be one of the sexiest things about him.

You gently kissed his neck before rolling off his chest and onto your back.

You tried so hard to stay still and quiet, but you mindlessly tossed and turned. Sometimes you would move so much, you would accidentally kick Arthur.

What felt like two hours passed, and you were still wide awake, kept conscious by the relentless aches in your muscles.

Arthur hadn’t slept. Your constant movement, kicking, and whimpers had kept him awake.

“Wh… What’chu whimpering for? Is something wrong, Darlin'?” Arthur slowly said, barely conscious.

“My back and shoulders… they… they hurt so badly, Arthur,” you whined.

You sounded like you were about to cry. You just wanted to get some goddamn sleep.

Arthur laid still for a moment. “I… I have an idea, can you roll over on your stomach for me?” He muttered as he carefully nudged you onto your side, and then onto your stomach.

Arthur motioned behind you and grazed his hand across your shoulder, “I’m gonna rub your shoulders and back for you, is that alright?” he asked. Once you nodded, he applied a bit more pressure, which caused you to wince.

“God damn.... knotted up to high heaven,” he murmured as he began to gently massage your back and shoulders. You whimpered and groaned when Arthur found a sore or sensitive spot, but he could feel you begin to relax underneath him, telling him that his hard work was greatly appreciated. Arthur gradually slowed down for a minute to admire you. He smiled softly as he watched the rise and fall of your shoulders as you began to nod off.

Only ten minutes after he started, you had fallen completely asleep.

“Goodnight, Muse,” he mumbled as he ran his hand across your shoulders.

After a job well done, Arthur slid off of your back, rolled onto his, and quickly dozed off.

He loved to sleep to the ear-pleasing harmonies of the pouring rain, but only if you were taken care of first.

---

an: first fic for this fandom, I hope you guys like it! I’m always open to writing suggestions, feel free to leave some in my inbox.

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cerberus253 · 4 years ago

Note

Drago's beloved girlfriend would be able to introduce him to the holidays? If she likes them, but not Drago. And what gift do you think you could give him?

Drago probably already knows a bunch of the main holidays celebrated in the USA, as well as why they were created and still celebrated. With that being said, I don’t think Drago would celebrate any of them, well, aside from Halloween because ‘tis the season to be spooky scary. If anything, he’d be okay with Halloween. despise Christmas and the 4th of July. and not care about the rest.

Like I just said, Drago would like Halloween because of it’s scary aesthetic and its “praising“ amongst monsters and darkness. He’d hate Christmas because of all the mushy, heartfelt, family stuff. Kindness and compassion for no reason other than just because? Pathetic! Weak! For the 4th of July, and really any holiday like it, Drago doesn’t like it because it celebrates independence of humans. I guess you could also put Valentine’s Day under the “hated holidays“ list, but I think Drago would find that one more annoying than anger inducing.

Now, if Drago had a human s/o, they’d probably get him involved with some of them. Those like Valentines Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc are really about being with family and expressing their affection/thankfulness to one another. Yeah, it all has human origins, but it’s also about in general love. Dude’s a grinch because he never felt loved, and therefore probably resents emotional holidays. However, since he is now with someone who absolutely ADORES him, he may start seeing it in a better light, even if it’s for slight selfish reasons on the surface (”Yes! Rain your gifts upon me!”). In addition, I don’t think Drago would be too warm towards strangers and relatives during these holidays even if he understands their meanings now, but he would warm with the s/o for obvious (attachment) reasons. Oh to imagine cuddling Drago under a warm blanket, drinking hot cocoa, watching a silly movie together, and then plopping a little Santa hat on his grumpy face. Imagine his surprise when you give him so many kisses for being so cute with that hat on~ *ahem* Anyways, insert every holiday movie classic with a person hating the holidays at first, but then finally shown the love they never knew, and then they finally understand the true meaning of compassion and family, and boom, ya got Drago’s “appreciating the holidays“ arc.

The next set of holidays would be those that fall under Easter, Saint Patrick’s Day, 4th of July, Halloween, etc. I’m not sure how most people view these holidays, but I look at them as “Fun Activities“ holidays. So, of course Drago would be from neutral to against for most of them for their origins or the “silly, pointless stuff“ one does, but again, once the s/o celebrates these holidays with/in front of him, he’d be a little more open with them. For example, Easter. Easter’s origins is about the resurrection of Christ, and for some reason you go on an egg hunt for goodies and prizes. Yeah, sounds dumb, BUT it could be some innocent fun if done right. The whole activity is to search for metaphorical/literal treats, whether it be chocolate, little toys, stuff you could actual use (stamps, bookmarks, jewelry, etc), etc. It’s all a treasure hunt, and really just about every creature that targets gaining happiness and satisfaction harbors curiosity. Drago would think it’s stupid, but just wait and see what his reaction(s) would be if you hid some stuff around the house, putting some riddled notes with a small piece of chocolate in every single one, and ultimately it leads to his Grande Surprise! He’ll want to resist it at first, but curiosity and greed will get the best of him, and if ya do it right, ya might get him like a cat looking for the scurrying mouse. Er, that last part might be romanticizing things, but still, so cuuute~

And just a quick note with the others, 4th of July is really about getting together, having a cook out and/or a camp out, and watching amazing fireworks to please that primordial brain part of ‘Ooo, shiny!’. Saint Patrick’s Day is purely about hanging out with friends, and Halloween is pretty obvious: Sweets and Scares all the way babyyyy.

Downside to all of this, Drago might catch on to it all being “required to socialize on these specific days,” when in reality nothing is stopping anyone with doing these same activities any other day of the year, well, aside from society telling you “no,“ and maybe needing a permit to do fireworks on any other day of the year, but my point still stands. You can hang out with people any day you want, give gifts whenever you want, and throw parties and gatherings whenever you want.

Holidays are specialized days to do these “extravagant“ activities all around the world and people will understand and be a part of it, but still, it feels all a little forced, ya know? It feels so much better to do something for someone on a whim than doing it because it’s a holiday, which makes it all feel required. Drago would definitely argue this at some point (and I totally agree with it with Christmas and kind of Halloween), but just actually have him Do the Things with you and be a part of something instead of being cut off all the time, he’ll warm up a little bit to it; just a little though. Maybe.

Reiterating, I personally believe people don’t like most holidays either because a lot of people who celebrate it are fucking annoying, or it’s because the former people never had a proper one, let alone had company and any good emotional attachments with anyone. So, what it comes down to is social animals need, well, to socializing, and the lack thereof drives one crazy, insane, and can and will cause mental problems. In a sense, holidays are important so social animals can get together for a yearly dose of needed chemicals to produce within them so they don’t break and become self destructive.

...

A-Anyways, that got a little deep. So, uh, what gifts would I give Drago... Well, he does come off as the type of person to not want anything unless they had some physical use to him, but there probably is some stuff he’d like just to have. So, I’d personally focus on getting him things he would use, like some cool-ass jackets and, if possible, some spellbooks so he can learn new magic stuffs. Ugh, I’m not good at giving gifts... The stuff that would make me feel like I gave him something worthwhile would be hand-made art pieces. I would LOVE to just... make things for him. A portrait of him, a sculpture of a fearsome Chinese dragon, a hand-made necklace, wood carved Chinese Zodiac animals, Bob Ross paintings of what his fantasy palace would look like, a hand knit blanket and/or sweater and gloves, etc. I never feel like “just buying something“ is ever good enough and I need to actually make something because that is the closest thing to the heart a gift can be. Going out and buying things, well, I guess imperial and Chinese looking things because of his heritage, aesthetic, and the suggested power Imperial China gives off.

But yeah, the best gifts would probably be things that he can actually use and its design or whatever is something that pleases him. So, uh, Chinese Dragon biker jacket, dawg. Maybe some finger less, fire resistant gloves or something.

#ask #anon #jackie chan adventures #drago #holidays #gifts

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closecry · 5 years ago

Text

Sketches (Artist!Reader x Pagan Min)

Summary: You are quite the artist, unknown to Pagan. You find it calming to draw things in your daily life. Living in Kyrat with Pagan has caused a lot of your sketches to have him in it. One day he comes across you drawing something and asks to see how the progress is coming along. After you hand him the notebook, he commits a cardinal sin by starting to flipping through the pages.

Word Count: 1,241. No warnings, this is pure fluff to start the new year right. The reader is left gender neutral.

(Rather read on Ao3?)

You were a little bit of an artist. Not that you would ever admit it or call yourself that out loud.

Everywhere you went, you always brought a sketchbook with you in order to document your journey. The pieces you draw reflect what's going on in your life.

...It's only natural for you to start to doodle Pagan. Being around him as much as you were, it was only logical. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you start drawing him more and more as the days pass. He starts showing up in your sketchbooks more often as you get to know him.

They're all innocent, it's nothing like you doodling him with his shirt off or anything, it's more like him when he's lively and talking on the phone with someone or reaching for something on the top of the cupboard and he has to get on his tippy toes…. It's just moments that are slices of life, of your life now. The mundane… Or, they would be mundane if they weren’t Pagan.

When he discovers it one day you want to die.

You're working on a piece outside, a yak has somehow wandered in a field nearby, past where the guards care. You're drawing it, how it looks surrounded by all the urbanization this area has had done to it. It's eerily serene. (You have a feeling Pagan had noticed you interested in the creature and that’s the reason it hasn’t been removed yet.)

"What are you sketching, darling?" His voice startles you, and you jump when you hear it, almost losing hold of your pencil.

You look up at him as he moves to sit beside you on an empty space of the blanket you had stretched out upon the grass.

Instead of verbally offering an answer you more so hand it to him, allowing him to hold the sketchbook and look for himself. Afterall, this piece wasn’t a bad one. It was looking quite nice, actually. He looks up after a moment, and sees the yak in a similar position. He then looks back down and admires the accuracy appreciatively. "You're a very good artist." He says, almost surprised, continuing to look at the piece in question. "Why hadn't you shared that with me before?" His eyes come up to yours and they seem almost hurt.

You shrug. "I don't draw that much, just when I see something interesting." You say, and before you know it Pagan does the biggest no-no possible. He starts flipping through the pages.

Before you can stop him, he lands on one of the photos of him. It's the one piece you had done of him while he was relaxing one day, leaned against the couch and humming along to the music playing in the background sleepily... He had looked cute. It's more of a sketch, but it is fairly lifelike and you're sure he can tell exactly who it is.

A smile grows on his face and you hide your face in your hands. "So, me in my pajamas is interesting now?" He says, extremely self confident and not with a hint of malice.

Your mouth goes dry. "Listen…" You start, but you have no ground. You don't know where to go with that. You put your head in your hands, giving up an attempt at a rebuttal. If there were any moment for God to strike you down, it would be now. Put you out of your misery. Your intensely embarrassed misery.

"It's alright, love." He lets out a chuckle, and slides his hand slides over your back soothingly. "It doesn't bother me any, you shouldn't be embarrassed." He lets out a small humming noise. “With all of the portraits around, you can tell I’m clearly photogenic.” You hear him pause, mumble something like ‘Or, well, Eric is photogenic, but you understand what I mean.’, but you’re not positive on the wording exactly because it’s said so quietly and quickly that it’s hard to catch.

Regardless of his evident interest in your artwork, you still not only embarrassed, you're absolutely mortified. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve planned for Pagan discovering your artwork. His interest in you seemed to be endless, it was inevitable for him to eventually find out.

You hear the noise of him turning the pages and that breaks you out of your train of thoughts. Oh God, you tried to remember what else you had drawn in that one. Luckily, nothing too… weird or odd. You didn’t think. Just daily sketches of your surroundings. You know that quite a few of them are Pagan, though. That alone has your heart beating faster as he continues to search through your notebook.

"...You're very good, I must admit." Pagan says, once more, and it's with nothing short of absolute adoration. You're not sure he could have another tone towards you, and if he could, he hadn’t shown it.

Your cheeks are red hot when you look back up at him, and the smile on his face hasn't disappeared. He's on the page you had drawn of the outside of one of the windows, one that overlooked the mountain. Pagan had been admiring it one day in one of his suits when you had decided to sketch him doing such.

One of Pagan's fingers traces the edge slightly, but lightly enough as to where it doesn't smudge the pencil. “We should blow some of these up and hang them in the palace.” He says, and his eyes darted up to you at you now that you’ve raised your face from your hands. His smile grows wider upon seeing your face, and you can see his eyes tracking the bright shade of red your cheeks and neck have turned. "You look absolutely breathtaking in red, my darling." Pagan says without a hint of sarcasm.

Normally saying something so cheesy and romantic would be saved for the movies, but he seemed to just spout off romantic nonsense all the time… it was kind of nice. Before meeting him, you’re positive you would’ve just rolled your eyes if a man tried something like that with you. If it were anyone else saying it, it would come out sounding fake. Forced. Someone wouldn’t say something like that to you unless they want something from you and were trying to butter you up with compliments. With Pagan, it comes out as naturally as breathing. He really did live to see you blush.

Your eyes move down, not being able to handle the intense eye contact for a long period of time, especially not when he was looking at you like you were the most important thing in the world. "Thanks." You say simply, knowing that his compliment does nothing but redden your cheeks further.

It looks like it pleases him, if his continued smile is anything to go by, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he quirks his head back to the palace. “Let’s go see what Gary can do about blowing some of these up.” He says, holding the sketchbook in one of his hands. He sounded very sure of himself already, like he wouldn't take no for an answer. He made a move to stand up, and offered you a hand so you could do the same.

It was hard to argue with Pagan, especially when he was determined to do something. “Alright.” You say, and you take his hand.

#far cry 4 #pagan min #pagan min x reader #pagan min imagine #fc4 #far cry imagine #far cry #pagan #og #reader #my writing

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iamkatehardy · 6 years ago

Text

The Portrait (Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Pt 3

Word Count: 2.2 k

Warnings: Just cursing 😁

Summary: Can (Y/N) Shelby and Alfie finally reach an agreement? Will they say “See you later” or “Goodbye”?

Preparing the ground for the final part(s)!

The Portrait Pt.3

The first rays of the rising sun, which shone in through the large window in the bedroom, woke you up. You lacked courage to immediately get up, so you just rolled on the bed, covering your head with a pillow; another round of negotiations with Alfie Solomons definitely wasn’t something you were eager for. Furthermore, he made you wait for about an hour last time, didn’t he? He deserved a possible slight delay.

You took your own sweet time getting ready; if you were going to trash Alfie, you would do it in style. The dolling up process was followed by a strong cup of coffee, while you leafed through the day’s newspaper, two vitally important things for a Shelby in the morning.

After getting a lecture from his boss, Ollie knew better than keeping you waiting. Not many women visited the bakery; when he heard the staccato sound of your heels clicking on the floor, he hurried to meet you at the entrance, escorting you down the hallway, to Alfie’s office.

“At least you’ve learnt something from my last visit, haven’t you, young man?” – A self-satisfied smile formed on your pouty lips.

After Tommy’s little prank involving grenades, Ollie had realized Shelbys were crazy motherfuckers, just like Alfie, or maybe worse ; he kept silent, trying to stay low and out of trouble.

Alfie waited in his office, even more impatient than usual; he kept coming up with excuses for his rather odd reaction to your delay , telling himself it was because he was eager to get his hands on Shelby Company Limited, or maybe because you were thirty seven minutes and fifty two seconds late already. He knew exactly how late you were; his piercing eyes had been absolutely glued to his golden pocket watch since the appointed time.

When the doorknob jiggled, he nodded his head gravely, expectantly looking at the door.

“Ollie?!” – Alfie’s eyes moved to the man staying behind you, before he closed the door.

“Yes , Alfie?”

“Note this down, next time Miss Shelby graces us with her presence, we should offer her a watch, aye. Now, go.” – Waving his hands, Alfie shooed Ollie away.

“Oh Mr. Solomons, that is very considerate of you…” – You shot him a scornful appraising look, taking a long breath. – “ And I really appreciate that, but you don’t need to bother… It was a deliberate fashion delay.” – Your gaze locked with his, as the corners of your mouth lifted, to form the Shelby irresistible signature smirk.

“Fashionable?! Women…” – He watched you closely, as you sat down, amused, yet cautious.

“ I didn’t expect you to know a lot about that subject anyway…” – Raising a caustic eyebrow, you looked down with a mocking air, while straightening your skirt.

“About what’s fash…”

“No, Mr. Solomons, about women.” – You interrupted him, eyes darting over his face again; you could see a vein pop out in his neck, but his expression was seemingly neutral.

“May I offer you something to drink, aye?” – He tried to avoid the topic.

“A decent business proposition would be a good start…” – You shot him an impatient look. – “But after that, I wouldn’t say no to an Irish whiskey.”

The phone rang, in the otherwise silent office. Alfie looked at it, then at you.

“You should pick up; it seems to me like they won’t be giving up. Furthermore, we’ve got some time on our hands.” – You nodded silent approval, eyeing him warily.

“I’m sorry. I won’t be long, a’ight?“– He answered the phone and you took the opportunity to get your sketchbook once again.

Alfie spoke slowly, thinking and weighting his every word, as he stroked his beard. He blinked slowly, focused; his blue-green eyes were dark oceans of immeasurable depths, where you could drown yourself in, with no need of ever again coming up for air. His thumb slid across his lips; they looked soft, luscious, warm and unusually inviting, despite the coarse speech that often left them. His mind changed from brute to brilliant in a matter of seconds. He was immovable, irreverent, intriguing; it was annoying, but definitely enticing. He probably didn’t realize all that about himself, but even if he did, Alfie seemed to you like the kind of man that wouldn’t care; you loather it, and you loved it.

While working furiously on the drawing, your eyes devoured and took in each of his gorgeous features; you were possessed by a frantic need to have his portrait done, an undeniable appeal to capture all the secrets hiding in his features, the ones he wouldn’t voluntarily tell. He had no idea how much he inspired you, and you didn’t want him to; as soon as you’d lay your eyes on him, inspiration struck you as swift and sudden as a lightening, a raw electrifying feeling down to the cusp of you being, and the need to let it out through the thing you liked the most : art.

You woke up from your creative trance when you heard the name Tommy. After angrily closing the sketchbook, to keep it away from Alfie’s sight, you leaned forward on the table.

“Tommy, like my Tommy?”

Alfie just nodded; he liked to bargain with your brother, Tommy was way more flexible about the conditions than you were.

You ripped the phone off his hand, sitting over the table.

“Thomas, fuck off, keep your nose out of my business. You weren’t so willing to do business with Mr. Solomons when you sent me here, were you? Well, now I’m in charge, and this time, you can’t fuckin’ boss me around! Are we clear?” – You yelled, before slamming down the receiver. “If he calls again, you’re not answering, it’s my signature you need.”

He never though there was someone brave enough to shout at Tommy Shelby, let alone tell him to fuck off, and hang up on him.

“You’re in charge, sweetie.” - A soft low laugh escaped his throat, followed by an amused smile.

“Let it be a warning for you too, Alfie. I’m not screwing around. Now, the contract, did you rework it?”

Alfie took the contract out of one his desk drawers, along with a bottle of Irish whiskey; after scooting the contract to your side of the table, he poured you a drink, which you promptly took in your hand, taking a sip as you carefully analyzed the contract.

“Way better than the first one…” – You swirled the whiskey that was left I the glass, tapping your foot slowly on the ground.

“So, what do you say, sweetie?”

Taking a deep breath, you put the glass down. Bending over the table slowly, you chuckled, making sign for Alfie to approach. He did; his elbows were resting on the table, hands clenched together, as he dipped his chin, looking at you over your glasses.

“I say… Fuck. You.” – You whispered right in his face, before sitting back down. – “This is not what we agreed upon! I don’t know what kind of deal Tommy promised you, but I’m not my brother… So, from now on, we’ll play by my rules, or we won’t play at all.”

He sank back in the chair, closing his eyes; a corner of his mouth lifted.

“Listen, love, it really pains me to be the bearer of bad news, especially to such a beautiful, determined, cunning little lady like you, a'ight… But you’re hardly in a position to make any demands, innit doll?” – He unclasped his hands and threw them up, opening his eyes to face you once again.

“Why am I even wasting my time?” – Rolling your eyes, you got up. – “You’re such a leech!”

“I’m a skillful exploiter of situations…”

“And you take pride in it, unbelievable…” – After grabbing your stuff, you turned on your heel.

“(Y/N), wait.” – He took a deep breath.

“What?” – You gently turned to face him.

“If you leave now, you lose.”

“I guess it makes two of us, Alfie. I’ve got something you want too, and I would gladly give it to you in exchange for your support and loyalty, if you know what that means, that is. But it’s never enough for you, and I refuse to give in to your disproportionate greed. So, negotiations end immediately.”

“ You’ll be losing far more than I will. You will be facing a war, not a single ally.”

“We’re fuckin’ Shelbys , Alfie, we are forged in fire… We stick together through thick and thin, and that makes us ready to face any war. If you can breathe, you can stand, and if you can stand, you can fight… With or without you, we’ll make it. Our demons will keep us company anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a long ride home, and I should be getting on with it. ” – Your gaze stayed on him a moment longer than it had to, before you gave him a courtly nod.

“I am sure that we can come to an arrangement in this regard, a’ight? Please, let us sit and talk.” - He had weighed your words; the togetherness of your family had always been its strength, he knew it, and he envied it. Alfie didn’t have a family structure to back him up, or for him to back up, but maybe he could compensate that void in his life by helping your family.

“We tried, twice… Regrettably, however, we have failed to reach an agreement. We’re both too stubborn, and inflexible, for that.” – A faint smile crossed your face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“Sweetie, I insist. We draw up a contract together and sign it.”

“But this is the final try.”

“Name your terms, Miss Shelby.” – He made place for you on his side of the desk, bringing an extra chair, pulling it for you to sit, and bringing you pen and paper.

You shot him a look in which surprise and amusement were nicely fused, before siting by his side. After making a list of the demands and concessions of both of you in the negotiations, you discussed it for hours, before you finally reached an agreement that pleased both. You finally signed the contract, before Alfie folded it and put it on the drawer.

He poured you another whiskey.

“Thanks.” – You took a sip, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand.

“When are you going back to Small Heath?”

“Soon, I need to rub this in Tommy’s face, as soon as possible…” – You smirked victoriously, giving him a look of triumph.

“Oh…” – He pressed his lips together, furrowing his eyebrows, somehow disappointed you had to leave so soon. You were a tough nut to crack, but he could relate. – “ Didn’t like the city, huh?”

“As a businesswomen these were hard days here, Mr. Solomons…” – You glared at him, but then you chuckled. – “But I actually like it here… As an artist, I had a blast! I hadn’t feel so alive and inspired in ages.”

“An artist? “ – His eyebrows rose, and he curiously studied you.

“We can say I didn’t get the gangster gene in my DNA…”

“You’d never know it to look at you…” – He made a face.

“I’ll take that as a compliment…” – You got up. – “ It was a pleasure doing business with you , Alfie.“ – You extended your hand for him to shake

“Likewise, Miss Shelby.” - He looked at your hand, then at you, and he finally took it, kissing your knuckles softly, instead of offering you a handshake.

Chivalry and Alfie Solomons combined? Was hell freezing over or something like that?

“(Y/N).” – You gave him a warm smile.

“(Y/N), a’ight.” – He reluctantly let go of your hand.

“I know you said I wasn’t in position to make demands… But may I ask you something?”

“Of course, by all means, yes.”

“I might have been drawing you…” – Your cheeks turned pink

“Might?” – He looked at you over his glasses.

“And I might as well finish it, if you wouldn’t mind, that is.” – Cocking your head lightly, your eyes widened, waiting for his answer.

Since he couldn’t come up with an excuse to see you again, he was thankful you did.

“I…” – He hesitated for a second.

“It’s ok to say no, I get it, really ” - Nodding courtly, your lips curved into a sincere smile.

“NO. I’d like that, aye? We could meet up..” – He tried to set up a date, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t want to bother you, Alfie. I’ll come here later in the week, before I leave for Birmingham. I will ask Ollie if you are available. If you are, we can finish it, if not… We can finish it another time.”

“We have a deal.” – Letting out a deep throaty laugh, he rubbed your shoulder.

“So long, Mr. Solomons.” – You decided to dare, and gently kissed his cheek, before heading out the door.

Once you left the bakery, Alfie called Ollie to his office.

“Cancel all the meetings I have this week, a’ight ”

“But Mr. Solomons…”

“Don’t question me! Need to available when… Never mind, just do it, aye? I have an important appointment, I just don’t know exactly when, so cancel all the others. “– He shooed Ollie away once again.

“He’s getting even more nuts with age.” – Ollie whispered to himself.

“But definitely not deaf, little boy!”- Alfie shouted, throwing him a book before he disappeared through the door.

Tags: @picassho-18 , @sparklyreaderx , @titty-teetee , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @tiredoffeelinglost , @theladynevermore , @moralesunflower , @alexa4040 , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @marvelgirl7 , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @captstefanbrandt , @iv-nyc (In case you want to be tagged/untagged , let me know <3 )

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons tom hardy #alfie solomons peaky blinders #tom hardy characters #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x ofc

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bae-leth · 5 years ago

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Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd - Unit Overview

Hi again! I’m doing my best trying to plan out the one-shot for my son Ivan so I decided that while I’m still planning things out on that front, it would be fun to make up some quotes and other stuff for him as a unit in the game! It was tons of fun trying to come up with different stuff depending on what part of the story it would take place. I probably missed or made mistakes on a bunch of quote stuff (I was rather sick and loopy when I played the game), but I did my best! A NOTE: I left out a bunch of stuff that would have been exactly identical to how it’s said or done in game canon for Dimitri, so if I only put down Ivan’s version of a quote or leave out a section for something, that’s why. SECOND NOTE: I put in canon Dimitri’s stats, growths, and proficiencies so that you can easily compare the differences between him and Ivan. And I am SOOOO sorry for the length…But I hope you enjoy! And I hope you have fun spotting all the differences between Ivan and Dimitri, both the obvious ones and the more subtle ones. As well as the subtler hints towards Ivan’s personality that I hopefully wrote up properly!

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bae’s quick notes: all of Willow’s amazing detailed notes below stem from their Other Dimitri AU! You HAVE to check it out, it’s so good!!

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Character Description (as Dimitri)

The crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and leader of the Blue Lions. He is a chivalrous and kind young man, however he seems to be hiding something dark behind his pleasant exterior.

Character Description (as Ivan)

The second prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, who had been presumed dead following the Tragedy of Duscur. After nine years of masquerading as his brother, he has chosen to face the future as himself.

Preferences (as Dimitri)

Likes: Battle training, weapon maintenance, combat, high-quality weapons, strength training, going for long rides, physically laborious work

Dislikes: Delicate work, fragile objects, scorching heat, selfish people

Preferences (as Ivan)

Likes: Going for long rides, writing and performing music, live musical performances, fiction books, ceremonial weapons, board games, sparring

Dislikes: Himself, darkness, excessive training, scorching heat, people who talk behind others’ backs

Stats and Growths (Canon Dimitri)

Base Stats - HP: 28 Strength: 12 Magic: 4 Dexterity: 7 Speed: 7 Luck: 5 Defense: 7 Resistance: 4 Charm: 9

Max Stats - HP: 99 Strength: 87 Magic: 38 Dexterity: 69 Speed: 69 Luck: 42 Defense: 57 Resistance: 36 Charm: 77

Stat Growths - HP: 55% Strength: 60% Magic: 20% Dexterity: 50% Speed: 50% Luck: 25% Defense: 40% Resistance: 20% Charm: 55%

Stats and Growths (as Ivan)

Base Stats - HP: 24 Strength: 10 Magic: 6 Dexterity: 5 Speed: 5 Luck: 8 Defense: 6 Resistance: 4 Charm: 8

Max Stats - HP: 90 Strength: 82 Magic: 48 Dexterity: 64 Speed: 64 Luck: 67 Defense: 56 Resistance: 36 Charm: 73

Stat Growths - HP: 50% Strength: 55% Magic: 35% Dexterity: 45% Speed: 45% Luck: 50% Defense: 40% Resistance: 20% Charm: 50%

Skills and Proficiencies (Canon Dimitri)

Skill Levels – Sword: E+ Lance: D+ Axe: E Bow: E Brawl: E Reason: E Faith: E Authority: D Heavy Armor: E Riding: D Flying: E

Strengths: Sword, Lance, Authority

Weaknesses: Axe, Reason

Budding Talent: Riding

Skills and Proficiencies (as Ivan)

Skill Levels – Sword: E+ Lance: D Axe: E Bow: E Brawl: E Reason: E Faith: E+ Authority: D Heavy Armor: E Riding: E+ Flying: E

Strengths: Lance, Authority, Riding

Weaknesses: Reason, Heavy Armor

Budding Talent: Faith

*Ivan can learn the Faith spells Heal, Recover, Physic, Nosferatu, and Aura*

First Kill

“It’s justice for what they’ve done. It’s justice. And yet…my hands…”

Cooking (as Dimitri)

“I must say that cooking isn’t my forte, but I promise to do my best, Professor!”

“Hmm, what sort of flavors will these ingredients produce? I wonder…”

Cooking (as Ivan)

“I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have an eye for this sort of thing, Professor. I apologize in advance.”

“This is…not going as badly as I expected. Though my expectations weren’t very high to begin with.”

Choir Practice (as Dimitri)

“Singing, huh? We must all do our part for the sake of a successful performance. Although, I was never one for song…”

Choir Practice (as Ivan)

“I’ve loved music since I was a child. Singing, playing…It was something that was mine. I’m…quite out of practice now though…”

Counselor Note (as Ivan)

“I feel confused. There are things I loved before and always thought I wanted to return to, and yet they don’t interest me now. And there are things I always thought I was doing for the sake of others that I’ve realized I enjoy more than I thought. I don’t like how I’m not sure of my own interests anymore.”

(Bad Answer): You’re really confused, aren’t you?

(Good Answer): There’s nothing unusual about changing as you grow. Take as much time as you need to figure yourself out.

(Bad Answer): Maybe if you’re stubborn about it your interests will go back to normal.

Lost Item (as Dimitri)

Items

Childhood Picture (A portrait, worn with age, of a group of smiling children. How sad that it seems part of it has been ripped off. Probably belongs to someone with several friends.)

Jeweled Dagger (A beautiful silver dagger with blue sapphires embedded in the hilt. The letter D is carved into the base of the hilt. Probably belongs to someone who like weapons.)

Collection of Fairytales (A thick book of many tales of fantasy and adventure. Something has been brutally crossed out on the inside of the front cover. Probably belongs to someone who loves stories.)

(If item belongs to him): “Oh, I’m so glad you found this! Thank you.”

(If item doesn’t belong to him): “My apologies, Professor, but that isn’t mine.”

Lost Item (as Ivan)

Items:Same as above.

(If item belongs to him): “Thank you! I…I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost this.”

(If item doesn’t belong to him): “Sorry, I think you have the wrong person…”

Gift (as Dimitri)

Liked Gifts: Forget-me-nots, Training Weight, Whetstone, Riding Boots, Ceremonial Sword

Disliked Gifts: Book of Sheet Music, Gemstone Beads, Armored Bear Stuffy

(Received gift he likes): What a thoughtful gift! Thank you so much!

(Received gift that’s neutral): Thank you for your kind thoughts.

(Received gift he dislikes): I…appreciate the sentiment. Please, don’t give me that look.

Gift (as Ivan)

Liked Gifts: Forget-me-nots, Book of Sheet Music, Board Game, Ceremonial Sword, Riding Boots

Disliked Gifts: Gemstone Beads, Training Weight, Arithmetic Textbook

(Received gift he likes): For me? Truly? I don’t know what to say…

(Received gift that’s neutral): I’m glad you’re thinking of me.

(Received gift he dislikes): Umm…Thank you…? Don’t give me that look!

Tea Party (as Dimitri)

Greeting: “I apologize for the wait.”

Liked Topics: Monastery rules, You seem well, Evaluating allies, Working hours for guards, Equipment upkeep, The ideal Professor, School days, Working together, The last battle…, Mighty weapons, Sturdy weapons, Thanks for everything…, The library’s collection, Our first meeting…, Children at the market, Fodlan’s future, Books you’ve read recently, A new Gambit…, A word of advice, Someone you look up to…, A place you’d like to visit…, Overcoming weaknesses, The view from the bridge, Cooking mishaps

Disliked Topics: Reliable allies, Being the perfect knight, You seem different…, Dining partners…, Hopes for your future, Things you find romantic, Food for life, Capable comrades, The existence of Crests, Classes you might enjoy, The Opera…, Favorite sweets, School uniforms, Shareable snacks, Cats…, Tell me about yourself, I’m counting on you, You’re doing great work, Past laughs, Close calls

Comments

“I would like to learn all I can from you, so please join me for some training.”

“A relaxing conversation…It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it? Hmm? Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“I apologize for troubling you. I am grateful for your support.”

“I’ve always been too strong for my own good. I keep destroying fragile things as a result. Yes, I certainly do have a cursed touch…”

“When I feel down, I go out for a long ride on my own. There is no place more relaxing than a trusted steed’s back.”

Extended Time Comments

“A gift for me? How thoughtful!”

“…Is there something wrong with my face?”

“My hands shake sometimes, particularly after battles. I hope they stop soon…”

“This may be a strange question, but how does my smile look? Is it…warm? No, forget I said anything.”

End of Tea Party: “Thank you, I had a wonderful time. I would like to do this again sometime, if that’s alright with you.”

Tea Party (as Ivan)

*Only listed topics that are placed differently than how they’re placed in the Dimitri section*

Greeting: “I’m glad you invited me.”

Liked Topics: Tell me about yourself, I’m counting on you, The Opera…, You seem different…, Past laughs, Cats…

Disliked Topics: Monastery rules, Mighty weapons, Sturdy weapons, School days, Cooking mishaps, Equipment upkeep

Comments

“Please, don’t hesitate to tell me if I’m a boring conversationalist. Being social was never my strong suit.”

“Until around nine years ago I was terrified of horses. It’s true! If you had told my younger self that he’d ever find horse riding soothing, he’d laugh.”

“I…I’ve recently begun to write music again. It’s nothing special, I haven’t done it in years. But…it makes me nostalgic. I’d love to play, to sing, again one day.”

“My brother’s ability to break practically anything was a sight to behold. It took me years of practice to get as bad as him. Years! But…those moments always did make me laugh the most…”

“I appreciate you. I’m sorry if that’s too blunt, but I wanted you to know that. I’m so grateful for all you’ve done.”

Extended Time Comments

“This is for me? You’re truly a kind one, aren’t you?”

“My eye? It doesn’t hurt me anymore. I’m…somewhat grateful for it. Ah, sorry, I don’t know how to explain what I mean…”

“My hands have started shaking after battles again…Is that truly such a bad thing?”

“Thank you for not giving up on me, Professor. I’ll do all I can to live up to your, and everyone else’s, expectations.”

End of Tea Party: “Thank you for inviting me. It’s nice to talk with you honestly for once. Can we…do this again?”

Dining Hall (as Ivan)

Favorite Food: Shares many favorites with Ingrid, so if a food is her favorite it will most likely be his as well. Also loves food with interesting textures.

“It smells wonderful. I’m sure it must be delicious.”

“This is my favorite…Yes, I’m certain of it!”

With Dedue

Ivan: “Haha, you look like you’re enjoying yourself, Dedue!”

Dedue: “Not as much as you seem to be enjoying yourself, Your Highness.”

Ivan: “Hmm? Do I…really look that happy?”

With Felix

Felix: “Another meal I have to spend sitting with you.”

Ivan: “Come now, Felix, we used to do everything together. Remember that time we fought with our brothers and lost? And then we ran to my room and cried for-”

Felix: “Just shut up and eat your food!”

With Sylvain

Ivan: “Sylvain? You’ve been staring for a while. You’re going to make me blush if you keep this up.”

Sylvain: “Will I? Ooh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you go red! …Seriously though, don’t mind me. It’s just…been a while, Ivan.”

Ivan: “…It has, hasn’t it?”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “Hmm…I can’t remember if this is truly my favorite dish or not.”

Ingrid: “It is, Ivan. It’s been a while, but I remember you and I loved many of the same dishes. So I can say, without a doubt, this one is one of your favorites.”

Ivan: “I think I remember that too. Thank you, Ingrid. And I hope you don’t mind if I trouble you for some more answers in the future.”

Instruction (as Ivan)

Bad: “Ahh, I…I’m sorry…”

Good: “That wasn’t so bad.”

Great: “I understand…Let me review it once more.”

Perfect: “It’s all coming to me!”

(Praise): “Y-You’re too kind to me.”

(Console): “Heh, come now, I’m no longer a child.”

(Scold): “…I’m sorry…”

Certification Exam Post-Timeskip (as Ivan)

Pass: “Will I be of more use to everyone now?”

Fail: “Even after all that studying? I, ah…I’m sorry…”

Class Mastery (as Ivan)

“I’ll put this strength to good use. I promise.”

Group Tasks (as Dimitri)

“Let’s make sure to do our work diligently.”

(Perfect) “It wasn’t any trouble at all!”

(Good) “We certainly did our best. I hope it was enough…”

Weeding

With Dedue

Dedue: “…Your Highness, I don’t like the way you’re looking at those weeds.”

Dimitri: “I wasn’t going to do anything! It’s just, I remembered being told once that there are several kinds of edible weeds, so…”

Dedue: “Your Highness, please…”

Group Tasks (as Ivan)

“I’ll make up for not pulling my weight before.”

(Perfect) “Did we meet your expectations?”

(Good) “I hope we didn’t cause extra work for someone else.”

Stable Duty

With Dedue

Dedue: “Are you doing well, Your Highness? I heard you’re terrified of horses, so if there’s any trouble-”

Ivan: “It’s been years since then, Dedue. Horses are no trouble for me, I promise.”

Dedue: “If you’re certain.”

With Felix

Felix: “At least you’re finally helping out for a change.”

Ivan: “Ah, I’m…I’m sorry for not doing more before.”

Felix: “Pah, would you quit apologizing already? Keep it up and ‘sorry’ won’t sound like a real word anymore.”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “When we were younger, whenever I asked if you wanted to help me take care of my horse, you’d freeze in place. What made you so scared of them in the first place?”

Ivan: “Honestly, it’s been so long, I can’t remember anymore. But I’m fine with them now.”

Ingrid: “And I’m glad for it. I have plenty of lost years to make up for with you, after all!”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “This brings back memories! You crying and running to hide behind me or Dimitri every time a horse so much as looked at you wrong.”

Ivan: “Sylvain, please tell me you haven’t been spreading that story around. I’m no longer scared of horses!”

Sylvain: “I know. But if you ever get spooked and wanna hide behind your old pal, for old time’s sake, feel free!”

Clearing Rubble

With Dedue

Ivan: “Was there always so much rubble around here? I’m sorry I’ve left you all to take care of this on your own this whole time.”

Dedue: “It’s alright, Your Highness. You’re helping us now, and that’s enough.”

Ivan: “Is it though…?”

With Felix

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Felix: “…Hmph. Someone’s in a good mood.”

Ivan: “Hmm? Did you say something, Felix?”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “Hmm, hmm, hmm~! Hmm, hmm, hmm~”

Ingrid: “Will you…take up music again, Ivan? I’ve missed your songs terribly.”

Ivan: “I…I would like to. One day…”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Good grief, every time we clear this area it’s like someone dumps another load of rubble just to spite us!”

Ivan: “The monastery did take a lot of damage over these past five years. Let’s work hard, okay?”

Sylvain: “I know, I know…”

Sky Watch

With Dedue

Ivan: “I must be honest. While I’m at ease with horses, I don’t think that ease has yet to extend to Pegasi.”

Dedue: “If you’d like to go back down, please do so. I can take over from here.”

Ivan: “No, I appreciate the thought, Dedue. But I can’t be a cowardly child forever.”

With Felix

Felix: “How long do you plan on staring at the ground, boar? You have to keep your eyes ahead if you want to keep watch.”

Ivan: “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Felix, but can we not speak right now?”

Felix: “You’re ridiculous…”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “You’ve been looking pale since we set off. I know you’re not afraid of heights, so what’s wrong?”

Ivan: “It’s pathetic. I’m used to horses, but Pegasi still shake me up…”

Ingrid: “Oh, Your Highness…”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “I’m curious. I know horses always scared you, but what about Pegasi? I mean, they’re basically horses with wings.”

Ivan: “Sylvain…”

Sylvain: “Hey, no need to glare like that! I’m shutting up now.”

Perfect Result

With Dedue

Ivan: “Dedue was fantastic. We never would have finished so quickly without him.”

Dedue: “You never give yourself the credit you deserve, my prince.”

With Felix

Felix: “I guess this boar’s not so bad to deal with if you know how to handle him.”

Ivan: “Heh, you did a fine job too, Felix.”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “We did a perfect job! C’mon, Ivan, no compliments for your old friend?”

Ivan: “Yes, yes, you were excellent as usual, Sylvain.”

With Ingrid

Ivan: “The job’s done. Ingrid’s help was a blessing.”

Ingrid: “Why don’t you take some praise for yourself, my friend?”

Good Result

With Dedue

Dedue: “Our results were satisfactory, wouldn’t you say, Your Highness?”

Ivan: “Yes, we did our best. Thank you for your help.”

With Felix

Felix: “Hmm, that wasn’t too bad to go through, I suppose.”

Ivan: “We did well, didn’t we, Felix?”

With Sylvain

Sylvain: “Alright, we’re finally done! Thank goodness!”

Ivan: “Was it truly that bad? I thought we were doing well.”

With Ingrid

Ingrid: “We’ve finally completed our task. Good work.”

Ivan: “You too. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Level Up Pre-Timeskip

“…Not good enough.” (0-2 stats)

“I must run extra drills when we get back.” (3-4 stats)

“Yes, that’s right. This is much better.” (5-6 stats)

“Good. I just need to keep up this pace!” (7+ stats)

“Am I…? Am I really not capable of more?” (Max stats)

Level Up Post-Timeskip (as Dimitri)

“How am I supposed to kill her like this?!” (0-2 stats)

“Better…But not good enough…” (3-4 stats)

“If only a monster can do this, then I’ll gladly call myself one.” (5-6 stats)

“Rest easy…Your revenge is a hair’s breadth away!” (7+ stats)

“I’ll end it. Everything. Every single thing.” (Max stats)

Level Up Post-Timeskip (as Ivan)

“I know I’m better than this!” (0-2 stats)

“This is progress. This is good.” (3-4 stats)

“Slowly and steadily, just like this. I can do this.” (5-6 stats)

“Brother, watch me. I will protect everyone!” (7+ stats)

“I never dared to dream of this…” (Max stats)

Skill Quotes Pre-Timeskip

New Skill

“I got this.”

“I’ll work diligently.”

Skill Level Up

“It’s becoming clearer now.”

“I’ll study harder.”

“Maybe a little more practice will clear things up.”

Skill Mastery

“Yes, I understand now.”

“Good. Another milestone passed.”

Skill Quotes Post-Timeskip (as Dimitri)

New Skill

“This better be useful.”

“What do I do with this?”

Skill Level Up

“I see.”

“A waste of time.”

“Hmph.”

Skill Mastery

“Should the rats be trembling now?”

“Done.”

Skill Quotes Post Timeskip (as Ivan)

New Skill

“This is new…”

“I have to work harder now.”

Skill Level Up

“Perhaps a little more practice will help.”

“Wait, I…I think I understand.”

“If only everything came to me so easily.”

Skill Mastery

“Oh, am I…done?”

“This will prove to be quite the boon.”

Battle Quotes Pre-Timeskip

When Selected

“I’ll cut through!” (Full Health)

“I’m still in top form.” (Half Health)

“I can’t fall yet…” (Low Health)

Enemy Deal 1 or No Damage or Misses

“Too slow!”

“Not good enough!”

Critical Attack

“It’s the end of the line!”

“Farewell!”

“For Faerghus!”

“Make your peace!”

Gambit Cut-In

“We can do this.”

Defeated Enemy

“It’s how it must be.”

“Stop shaking…”

“It had to be done.”

“It’s justice, that’s all.”

“I could have done that better.”

Ally Defeats Enemy

“You’ve done well!”

Ally Heals/Rallies

“I’m grateful to you.”

“Thank you.”

Reclassing

“I will do my best, I swear it.”

Battle Quotes Post-Timeskip (as Dimitri)

When Selected

“What?” (Full Health)

“This is nothing.” (Half Health)

“Death can’t claim me yet.” (Low Health)

Enemy Deal 1 or No Damage or Misses

“Fool!”

“Pathetic!”

Critical Attack

“Die!”

“To ashes with you!”

“Get out of my sight!”

“I’ll kill you!”

Gambit Cut-In

“Don’t drag me down.”

Defeated Enemy

“I’ll join you in hell soon enough.”

“Next.”

“Did you see them scream?”

“I lost myself too long ago.”

“Too simple.”

Ally Defeats Enemy

“You can’t do more?”

Ally Heals/Rallies

“A waste of effort.”

“Hmm.”

Reclassing

“If this doesn’t prove useful…”

Battle Quotes Post-Timeskip (as Ivan)

When Selected

“Please rely on me.” (Full Health)

“No, don’t worry about me.” (Half Health)

“I must…be cautious.” (Low Health)

Enemy Deal 1 or No Damage or Misses

“You tried, I’ll say that.”

“Saw it coming!”

Critical Attack

“I can’t let you through!”

“This is how it must be!”

“On my honor!

“I will protect them!”

Gambit Cut-In

“Together now!”

Defeated Enemy

“I won’t let this be in vain.”

“…I’m shaking again…”

“Will you haunt me now…?”

“I wonder if I was ever made for battle…”

“I hope you made your peace.”

Ally Defeats Enemy

“You’ve worked hard, haven’t you?”

Ally Heals/Rallies

“You’re too kind.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

Reclassing

“If I can help everyone like this, then I’ll be whatever I must be.”

Retreat Quote Pre-Timeskip

“I’m not allowed to die here. My apologies, but I must fall back for now.”

Retreat Quote Post-Timeskip (as Dimitri)

“Worthless, useless body! Remember my face, dog! I will see your blasted corpse yet!”

Retreat Quote Post-Timeskip (as Ivan)

“Dying isn’t an option. I promised so many people I would live. I’m sorry, I will make up for this, I swear!”

Death Quote Pre-Timeskip (before it’s revealed “Dimitri” had a brother)

“No…No…Not here, not now. Please…don’t hate me…Please.”

Death Quote Pre-Timeskip (after it’s revealed “Dimitri” had a brother)

“I need more time. Please…I can’t die yet…Give me…strength…Brother!”

Death Quote Post-Timeskip (as Dimitri)

“Don’t look at me…like that…Stop! I beg you! …No, I swear! I swear…I was doing…all I could…”

Death Quote Post-Timeskip (as Ivan)

“There’s so much…I still have to do…So much I…want to do…As myself! Please forgive me, everyone. Forgive me…Di…mi…tri…”

**BONUS **

Supports

In Ivan’s case, regarding supports, anyone who goes up to A or S support with him will only unlock their A and S supports with him after he’s chosen to be Ivan again. Likewise, anyone who goes up to B support with him will only unlock their final B support with him after he chooses to be Ivan again. By “final B support” I mean that in Ivan’s case, anyone who only goes up to B support with him has two B support related conversations.

Ivan’s Supports: Byleth, all members of the Blue Lions, Raphael, Marianne, Dorothea, Flayn, Gilbert, Alois, Catherine, Manuela

*Considering Ivan’s true nature, these supports will change quite a bit by the final support conversation(s)*

*No way am I gonna mention this boy loves music over and over and NOT give him supports with Dorothea and Manuela. But I expect his supports with them before he goes by his real identity again to be hilarious (and rather sad let’s be real) as he desperately tries to act like he doesn’t give a shit about music (also it’s so funny how disinterested canon Dimitri is in music I didn’t realize it until I looked up his info to write all this)*

Blue Lions Comments Around Monastery (Pre-Timeskip, after it’s revealed “Dimitri” had a brother)

Dedue: “I apologize. By the time I came into His Highness’ service, his brother was already dead, so I never knew him. All I can say is that his death has affected His Highness more than any of us could ever understand.”

Felix: “Don’t. If you want to learn about the boar prince and his brother, ask someone else. I don’t have anything to say about either of them.”

Ingrid: “…Ivan was a timid and quiet boy. Dimitri, Glenn, and Sylvain always protected him, he and Felix were two of a kind, and I always held his hand when he cried. The people of Faerghus didn’t see Ivan the way we saw him. I don’t think Ivan himself understood how we saw him either. Losing…Losing Ivan changed Dimitri…”

Sylvain: “You found out about Ivan, huh? It’s not like it’s supposed to be a secret, we just try not to talk about it much, for Dimitri’s sake. Be careful who you ask about Ivan. There are so many idiots who know nothing…Dimitri seems like he’s doing well, right? The guy’s a better actor than anyone gives him credit for.”

Ashe: “I’ve known about Prince Ivan since I was a commoner. Everyone considered him a joke, laughed about him and called him weak, pathetic. It made me want to meet him, you know. To see the real him. But then the Tragedy of Duscur happened and, well, you know…”

Mercedes: “It’s sad the way I’ve heard people talk about Prince Ivan. I can’t imagine how hurt Dimitri must feel, hearing people talk about his own brother like that. I wonder if they were close. Ah, but it may be insensitive to ask about that, wouldn’t it?”

Annette: “From what I can remember, no one thought much of Prince Ivan. Prince Dimitri was the heir, and he’s always been strong and smart. So, everyone pushed Prince Ivan to the side. I saw him once, at a party. Prince Dimitri was surrounded by so many people while Prince Ivan was alone, in the corner of the room. But…I could never tell if he wanted to join in or not.”

Dimitri: “Please, there’s no need to worry about me. I’ve accepted Ivan’s loss a long time ago. …My brother…was one of a kind. There’s no one who could be like him. Not a single person…”

Blue Lions Comments Around Monastery (Post-Timeskip, after it’s revealed “Dimitri” is Ivan)

Dedue: “I never knew the real Prince Dimitri. But from what I’ve heard of him, he seemed like the kind of person I would’ve enjoyed knowing. It doesn’t matter though. His Highness is the prince I know and believe in. There’s no other in this world that could replace him.”

Felix: “…A long time ago, when the boar was more of a human, he told me he wanted what his brother had. He always was jealous of him. Well, you can see how that turned out. As far as I’m concerned, both of the princes are long dead.”

Ingrid: “We lost Dimitri and Ivan nine years ago. Ivan was the one officially declared dead, so none of us could ever mourn for Dimitri properly. Meanwhile, Ivan warped himself to become Dimitri in every way. I don’t know if he even remembers who he truly is anymore…”

Sylvain: “Well, there you go! You’ve figured out our kingdom’s dirty little secret. Congratulations! …I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. Ivan’s uncle and those court advisors who only care about appearances were the only ones who wanted this. Me, Felix, Ingrid, and Felix’s father tried to fight it. But Ivan went ahead and agreed to do the act, without any hesitation. It hurt us, all of us…”

Ashe: “Prince Dimitri is Prince Ivan? It’s like something out of a storybook. Ah, sorry, I know that’s not proper, but I don’t know what else to say. But…I wonder how much of the prince we knew back in the academy was real. Was…was anything of him real?”

Mercedes: “It must be difficult to wear the mask of someone you loved. To hear people speak of you and not know that you’re standing right there. I wonder…how long has it been since someone called him by his own name. What does he consider to be his own name now?”

Annette: “After the Tragedy of Duscur, when everyone thought it was Prince Ivan who died, I heard so many people who were thankful that it was him. They were glad because Prince Dimitri was so loved and respected, the idea of losing him was far more tragic. How cruel! How stupid! Acting as if it’s better one person died instead of another! It’s just…horrible!”

“Dimitri”/Ivan

???: “Go away…”

Byleth: (…Ivan?)

???: “Who…? Ah! …Leave.”

Byleth: (You’re Ivan.)

???: “Leave me alone!”

*I imagine that if this happened in the game then after it’s revealed that “Dimitri” is really Ivan, from this point onwards until he chooses to be Ivan again, his textbox would have his name listed as “???”, regardless of what anyone else calls him*

Blue Lions Comments Around Monastery (Post-Timeskip, after Ivan chooses to be himself again)

Dedue: “His Highness looks more at ease than I’ve ever seen him. His love for his brother was always obvious but I always thought it was suffocating him. But I couldn’t find the strength to tell him that, worried he’d think I was dismissing his feelings on the matter. …Thank you, Professor.”

Felix: “Ivan is still as dead as Dimitri is, you know. He spent nine years being his brother. That act, and his obsession with revenge, warped him over the past five years. The Ivan I knew will never come back. But I have to say, the way he’s behaving now…No, it’s nothing. Don’t tell anyone I said anything!”

Ingrid: “I hope Dimitri is happy. He would’ve never wanted his existence to make his brother suffer. Ivan always said Dimitri wanted him to get revenge, but I could never believe that. I’m sure, more than anything, Dimitri wished for his brother’s happiness. It’s been so long since I could interact with Ivan as Ivan! And I feel that, at long last, I can mourn for Dimitri now too.”

Sylvain: “Ivan. I never thought I could ever call him that again. I never thought I would see him be himself again! Well, he’s not completely the Ivan I remember. There’s so much he’s said and done, so much that’s changed him. I think the Ivan I grew up with will be, for the most part, only a memory. But he’s working hard to change himself and atone for all he’s done. So I’ll stay by this Ivan’s side every step of the way. We all will.”

Ashe: “I was worried when I heard Prince Dimitri was really Prince Ivan. I was scared that meant that the person I got to know at the academy was a fake, that all our memories together were fake. But I’ve been thinking about the prince I knew at the academy and the prince I know now. And I’ve realized they’re not that different. I think…I think our time together wasn’t as fake as I feared.”

Mercedes: “Ivan, Ivan, Ivan, Ivan. Oh, don’t mind me! Since the prince has chosen to go by his true name again, I’ve decided to practice. I don’t want to mess up, after all! Hmm, Ivan…The more I say it, the more I realize that it’s a lovely name. It suits him!”

Annette: “Oh, guess what? I learned that Prince Ivan likes music! I…accidentally overheard him humming in his room. So I asked around and Ingrid told me he used to be quite a musician when he was younger! Oh, but this makes things so much more embarrassing! I know he’s heard me sing my stupid songs…What do I do now?”

Ivan: “Hello, Professor…Is it strange, the way I speak now? I was always told my voice was softer than Dimitri’s. He truly was one of a kind. I don’t understand how anyone ever believed I was him. …I-it’s like we’re meeting for the first time again, isn’t it? Then, please let me introduce myself once more. I am Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd, the second prince of Faerghus. And, Professor? Thank you. With all my heart, thank you…”

Ivan: Light of Faerghus (Solo Ending)

Following the war, Ivan officially addressed the people of Faerghus and revealed his identity as Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd, revealing that it was his brother, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, who had died during the Tragedy of Duscur. The news caused much talk amongst the people, no one sure what to make of the man who was once considered a failure of a prince but was now their king. Although he was considered king, Ivan forwent an official ceremony, wanting to first focus on regaining the trust of the citizens, and wanting to hold a proper funeral for his brother. Three years after the war, a grand ceremony was finally held to officially welcome Ivan as the king, the people he worked diligently to regain the faith of celebrating for weeks. His hard work to reform the political system and the Church, his investment in the arts, and his work with the orphans of Fodlan, made him beloved by many to the end of his days. History books would proclaim King Ivan to be like a beacon in the darkness, the treasured Light of Faerghus.

#submission #willow #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #ivan alexis blaiddyd #god im going to make this a tag YES #bae's notes: WILLOW!!! I LOVE THIS!!! I LOVE ALL THE DETAIL!!!!#some things i picked up: Ivan says sorry so many times.... im gonna cry his self esteem is so low....#i like how his mag and luck growth is noticeably higher than dima's!! that's a neat touch...#all the references to him and felix being the lil bros are so GOOd #the boy likes music!! and singing?? often he hums!! that's so sweet i love it!! and i love how others notice #did iVAN PICK UP THE EDIBLE WEEDS THING FROM DIMITRI.... DID HIS BROTHER SHOW HIM THAT WEEDS COULD BE EATEN ONE DAY.... AND HE TOOK IT TO #HEART... CURIOUSLY.... IM GONNNA JHDSHFHSGJDF #his voice is softer than dima's.... im.... cyring.....#i n short i LOVE THIS and i SCREAMED WHEN I GOT IT #everything ivan makes my heart go uwu.#fave #other dimitri au

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ofeoladapo-literacy-through-art · 5 years ago

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Literacy Through Art: An Analysis of Banksy’s “Sweeping It Under the Carpet”

By: Oreofeoluwa Oladapo

This street art painting was painted by Banksy, an anonymous artist, in Chalk Farm, London. This painting, entitled “Sweeping it Under the Carpet,” is a portrait of Banksy’s maid from a hotel room that he stayed in while he was in Los Angeles, and the artwork symbolizes how the governments in the western world ignore and fail to address many of the issues that occur in the world. The more developed countries are essentially sweeping pressing global issues under the rug and pretending that certain problems do not exist. Specifically, people who knew Banksy said that the portrait is meant to symbolize "the West's reluctance to tackle issues such as AIDS in Africa." Personally, I am very passionate about the idea of using street art to convey messages. Some people would consider wall art to be vandalism or graffiti, but I think that it is a form of self expression that is very necessary in world culture. Banksy was anonymous, so he focused on using his art to convey messages as opposed to making money off of his work. I enjoy the simplicity of this portrait and the meaning behind it is extremely powerful upon hearing the explanation, but, even though Banksy had the intention of silently protesting through his artwork, it would be difficult to understand his underlying message just by looking at the painting. The portrait simply resembles a maid lifting up a rug to sweep under it, but the portrait does not convey emotions of frustration or any particular issue that Banksy was aiming to address in itself. When I looked at the painting prior to reading an explanation or receiving any context, all I could conclude was that the image is of a maid cleaning. The colors also do not help convey the intended message; the black and white contribute to the simplicity of the portrait, but it is difficult to interpret the underlying meaning because black and white are associated with blandness and neutrality. The color scheme makes it difficult to feel the painter’s frustration through the image. A color like red would have been good to include in the portrait to express anger. Also, the maid’s facial expression could have been used to express emotion through the image. Overall, this portrait is a good example of visual literacy, but the painter did a mediocre job in conveying his exact message through the image.

My classmate, Khawla Elnour, is also a fan of Banksy’s work, but she seems to appreciate the simplicity more and discusses the power of his art. Elnour stated, “As someone who has never developed a deep interest in visual arts, Banksy has always been the exception. I have always seen his works circling around social media and thought they were amazing. I have always been especially attached to this piece in particular, “Sweeping It Under the Carpet”. Like the rest of his works, it is simple, but holds great meaning. Banksy uses this painting to make several statements. Here he is calling out the inability of government authorities to acknowledge and act upon the injustices people face worldwide. I resonate with this message because I constantly find myself frustrated with this lack of action. The witty manner in which he conveys this message is very creative. By having a maid pictured sweeping under a rug, he speaks against the people who spend their lives purposely ignoring and dismissing major issues. Overall, I have an appreciation for Banksy’s unique application of literacy. The art silently protests in a way traditional words cannot. In this case, his art is used as a platform of literary expression rather than a means of monetary gain or to create something that is just beautiful. Every aspect is significant because these are what serve as the supporting details and evidence of his work.”

A Fictional Interview with Khawla and Dr. David Kirkland (in the form of a televised talkshow)

Ofe (announcer/producer/technician): Welcome to another night of “Khonversations with Khawla!” starring Khawla Elnour! On tonight’s episode, we have a very special guest! He is New York University’s Metropolitan Center for Research on Equity and The Transformation of Schools Executive Director, and he wrote an article about literacy through tattoos, the black community, and the adoption of a new English Education! Everyone give it up for Dr. David Kirkland!

Audience cheers

Khawla (host): Welcome Dr. Kirkland! How are you tonight?

David (guest): Oh please, call me David. I’m doing swell!

Khawla: We love to hear it. I understand that you worked with someone named Derrick Todd to learn about he tells his story through his tattoos. Do you think there are other forms of literacy that capture stories without using the typical paper and pencil?

David: Of course! I think paintings, drawings, sculptures, statues, and even memes use artistic methods to tell stories, and these types of works definitely should definitely be considered to be forms of literacy and discussed in English courses.

Khawla: That is so true! Speaking of paintings, I have been interested in this painting for years now! It’s called “Sweeping it Under the Carpet.” It’s by this anonymous street artist in London who’s known as Banksy.

David: Wow, I LOVE street art! It is a form of literacy that serves even more public purposes than tattoos do! It is an amazing way to truly get your story out there! Let me take a look at it!

Khawla pulls up an image of the “Sweeping It Under the Carpet” painting on her phone, and Ofe displays the same image on the large screen for the audience to see.

Audience murmurs in confusion

David: Um...so...what is it?

Audience laughs

Ofe inserts this image on jumbo screen:

Audience laughs hysterically

Khawla: With all due respect, what do you mean by that?

David: All I see here is a woman lifting up what I’m assuming is a carpet.

Khawla: There is so much more to it!

Ofe inserts this image on the jumbo screen:

Audience breaks out in laughter

Khawla (facing Ofe, angrily): You know, we can change the name of this show to “Khonflicts with Khawla” if you want to!

Ofe: Hey, I’m just doing my job.

Khawla: Anyway, the painting has a significant meaning behind it. Banksy made this painting of his maid from a hotel he stayed in sweeping under the carpet. The artwork signifies how the western world sweeps many worldwide issues under the rug, such as the AIDS crisis in Africa. Banksy used his art to express his frustration about the situation. I personally resonate with this message because I am also extremely frustrated about the lack of action!

David: Did you read a summary about the painting?

Khawla: Yes.

David: Of course you did. That meaning is powerful, but how was I meant to get all of that out of a black and white image of a woman cleaning? I couldn’t feel the struggle, pain, and frustration through the painting at all.

Ofe inserts this meme on the large screen:

Audience, collectively: Oooooooooooooooo

David: I do love the painting, and I believe that it is a great form of literacy because Banksy intended to express his views on a very valid and important issue in today’s world, but there was a lack of emotion in the image. The painting is black and white, and the expression on the maid’s face is extremely neutral. This painting is beautiful, but it gives me a vibe of neutrality and emotionlessness, not frustration. Like honestly, how was I meant to figure out the underlying message in that painting?

Khawla: I guess you are right, Dr. Kirkland, but you do have to say, once that message is uncovered, the painting is ten times more powerful

David: Certainly! Thanks for having me!

Khawla: Thank you for coming to converse with me, and thank you all for tuning in to “Khonversations with Khawla!” On the next episode, I will be interviewing Megan Thee Stallion to see how she feels about the recent tweet that Howard University’s professor, Dr. Gregory Carr, posted regarding her performance. You won’t want to miss it! I love you all. Remember, if you want to be “khool, khome khonverse with Khawla!”

Audience applauds

Curtains close

A Video about Art as Literacy

youtube

This video is about a school that teaches art as literacy where the students learn how to read and understand images. From 1:49-2:05, one of the students discusses how color helps her to interpret the mood in a piece of artwork. This shows that simple elements in a piece of artwork such as color have a powerful impact on the message that the art conveys.

Important Questions to Consider

Can one measure proper attribution and citation in writing formats that borrow heavily from non-peer reviewed sources?

A non-peer reviewed source is a work that was published by a single author without other people’s revision. These types of sources will rarely be found in publications that are meant to be peer reviewed. Examples of non-peer reviewed sources include editorials and opinion pieces. Some editorials found in newspapers have no author or are written by an “Editorial Board.” This means that it may be difficult to measure proper attribution in non-peer reviewed sources; people can only give as much credit as the author gives, and people do not always know who the author is. If the author of an editorial does not cite the sources used to make his or her conclusion, then the only person who will receive proper attribution is the author. If the specific author is not known, whether it was written by an anonymous author or an editorial board, then readers do not know who to credit for the opinion. Writers who borrow heavily from non-peer reviewed sources can only give as much attribution as their sources provide.

What responsibilities are most important for writers? To adhere to the conventions and   expectations of their disciplines and professional communities? Or to address and persuade   mainstream readers of the perspective each writer values most?

Writers have many responsibilities, and it is important for writers to consider which responsibilities have the most weight and which rules can be bent when they are writing their works of creative expression. Many writers believe that it is crucial to adhere to the expectations and standards set by their professional community, but others believe that the most important duty in writing is to convey their message and persuade the audience of their perspective, no matter how they do it. I believe that the most important responsibility of a writer is to get their message across, even if the most effective way of doing so is to break away from the standard conventions and formats. Adhering to certain rules while writing can be very limiting, but using formats and modes of expression that are not considered standard in literacy allows writers to convey their messages in a way that’s easier for the readers to grasp and more fun to read. An example of a writer who breaks away from the standard essay format who I still consider to be professional is June Jordan. In her article, “Nobody Mean More to Me Than the Future Life of Willie Jordan,” she used multiple formats to convey her message; she included a dialogue from Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, letters, prayers, lists, and a dialogue from Ibsen’s A Doll’s House while discussing black English in the classroom. Her use of various elements in her writing made the essay more exciting and interesting for the reader and helped her to convey her perspective effectively.

Can writing ever be too neat? Too organized? Can writing with too few sources still be considered critical?

Many writers strictly adhere to the “proper” organization of essays by building on points that other people made in their writings and leaving out certain points. Although it is very common for writers, especially high school and college students, to try to perfectly follow the expected organization, I believe that writing can often be too neat. If a writer is so focused on organization, he or she is less likely to be focused on the actual content of the essay or piece of writing. This could result in a writer not fully expressing all of his or her views because they are afraid of ruining the organization or breaking from the standard writing format.

Works cited

Jordan, June B.. “Nobody Mean More to Me than You and the Future Life of Willie Jordan.” (1988).

Kirkland, David E. “The Skin We Ink: Tattoos, Literacy, and a New English Education.” English Education, vol. 41, no. 4, 2009, pp. 375–395. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/40607891.

O'Neill, Brendan. “Backstory: A London Scene Set by Guerilla Art.” The Christian Science Monitor, The Christian Science Monitor, 9 Jan. 2007, https://www.csmonitor.com/2007/0109/p20s01-alar.html.

Links to Images

***all memes were created using https://imgflip.com/memegenerator

https://www.canvasartrocks.com/products/banksy-maid-sweeping-under-the-carpet-wall-mural-wallpaper

Links to other sources

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esUawrdkxEo

#literacy #art

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primrooks · 5 years ago

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Wands of a Feather: An Elena of Avalor/Sofia the First Crossover

[Chapter 1] AO3 link here! *This was a chonker of a chapter, so I had to split certain events into two. There's still a lot to come, cuz it's gonna be one packed weekend for our two magic boys. Chapter 2: The Conjurer’s Conference

“With each deed performed, for better or worse, a power is granted, a blessing or curse.”

Cedric repeated the words in his head as he finished drying off his face and replaced the towel by the washbasin. Weeks had passed since he last thought about the Amulet of Avalor; odd how some years-long obsessions could simmer like a soaked bonfire.

In one corner of the room, Quarry, his new eagle-owl familiar, still dozed soundlessly in his perch, peaceful as could be. Back when Cedric was scouring the local aviaries trying to find a suitable new companion, Quarry endeared himself immediately with his permanently-set scowl. The owl himself was actually very sweet and made for an eager assistant, but the dark brow lines extending from his ear tufts always made him look comically offended. The sorcerer smiled and scratched softly at Quarry’s black-and-white crest, knowing that he would be up soon. They had one more round of practice before the Tri-Kingdom showcase that afternoon, although by all means they were ready to give their audience a good show. But Cedric hoped, against all rational thought, that he wouldn’t run into that Mateo boy again. He was still annoyed at himself for that graceless display of shock when he realized the boy’s identity, but then he had to get carried away and introduce himself on top of that. As if the boy wouldn’t have heard from Princess Elena about the Amulet of Avalor’s history, including some of its less-than-rightful holders. He was fortunate enough that they’d parted ways soon after, and that Mateo didn’t recognize him instantly. Perhaps Princess Elena ultimately didn’t register Cedric as a threat. All of the ruckus from the last Conjurer’s Conference happened after she had been freed from the Amulet, and Sofia told him that she was keeping correspondence with her, though the Avaloran princess was understandably rather occupied in other matters. Yet if there was anyone who could spin his story in a positive light, there was no one else whom he trusted more. But that told him nothing about what Mateo might think of him, and how the young lad would feel about someone like Cedric being stationed so close to his country’s most valuable magical artifact. He thought that this year would be a nice do-over of last year’s fiasco, but now all he wanted to do was get through this conference without a hitch and return to his tower in Enchancia. He’d just put on his robe when Quarry flew up to the crook of his left arm. The owl hooted hesitantly, his amber eyes curious and alert. Cedric smirked, recalling how Sofia described Quarry’s voice and speech patterns as boyish, even though he was an adult bird. Even without magical animal speech, Cedric could gather that his familiar was nervous; today would be the first time he’d assist in a magic show in front of an audience. “Let’s not get cold talons now,” he admonished. Quarry replied with a quieter hoot. “I’ve been there before many, many times, and I will say... I can’t guarantee that it’ll go perfect.” The owl gave a fearful “H-hoo?” “But I know you’ll be marvelous, Quarry,” said Cedric, stroking his crest again, right up to the sweet spot on Quary’s head. If a bird of prey could somehow purr, he had no doubt Quarry would’ve done so. It surprised Cedric how quickly they had taken to each other, especially with all the bitterness left in the wake of Wormwood’s betrayal. But he knew that Quarry was his chance to start anew, to once again have a companion he could trust with his work and his life. “Now come along, we’ve still got an hour left before the show starts,” he reminded him. Quarry gave a trilling hoot, flying in place as Cedric went over to his armoire to collect the rest of his supplies. The conference site was about a twenty-minute walk from their villa, but outside was a perfect balance of blue sky and cloud cover. Hopefully the rest of the weekend would carry on with that same clement level of pleasantness. +++ Mateo had painted in his mind what the Conjuror’s Conference would look like once he finally stepped through the gated entrance, and the real thing didn’t disappoint. The spacious front lawn of the estate was already packed with stalls touting charms, familiar care kits, designer robes, sample wands, and enchanted toys and art pieces. Further down the lawn, the air grew rich with the heady scent of rare herbs and incense pots, and several stalls were just focused on selling gardening supplies for the aspiring apothecary. There were even a couple of sigil tattoo stands, showing off elegant designs of mystical animals, constellations and summoning circles. Mateo didn’t even have any interest in getting one, but he was still intrigued to see what designs were popular. He knew his mamá would have given him some serious side-eye for even looking at these kinds of stalls, but so long as he was by himself, he practically had the run of the place. And that was just the outside. Past an elegantly carved set of dark oak doors, the rose marble-floored foyer of the estate’s main house was where mages gathered to mingle, while the translucent hands of invisible servants went around with trays of finger foods and tea cups. Mateo noticed some enchanted portraits hung from the beige walls, displaying curious fairies, unicorns and dragons looking down at the assembly. It seemed as if spellcasters of every nation from Norberg to Khaldoun were present, and he could see the experience etched into their sharp eyes and deep laugh lines. Mateo had seen the day before that most decorated mages were close to Cedric’s age or older, but now he noticed something else: many of them were followed around by apprentices not much younger than himself. They ran the gamut from eager, wide-eyed children to nervous teenagers, and they stuck to their masters like ducklings waddling after their mothers. In their arms they held satchels, staves and familiar carriers, if those familiars weren’t perched on their masters’ shoulders or sitting at attention at their feet. These apprentices were obviously dressed for a public event, their robes spotless and fitted with not a wrinkle out of place. As he stood taller and carefully straightened out his maroon robe, Mateo felt a harsh bump against his hip. “Hey!” he cried. “Oh, pardon me. Maybe you shouldn’t be staring off into space so close to the doorway!” retorted a bratty voice somewhere around Mateo’s waist-level. He looked down to see a blue-robed boy no older than twelve, his freckled face pinched into a condescending smirk. “Wendell! That is no excuse for such behavior!” scolded a fancily made-up woman in white storming up to them. The boy’s smirk vanished, and he meekly ducked his head as the woman towered beside him and crossed her arms. “Well, Wendell?” she prodded. Wendell’s brow was set to a harsh V as he looked back up at Mateo, but he managed to eke out one “I’m sorry.” Mateo was just as eager to move past this as he was. “It’s fine. But I appreciate that you apologized,” he said, his tone more gracious than he really felt. “Please pardon my son’s behavior,” said Wendell’s mother. Her eyes then took on a discerning light, just as Cedric’s did. “And, beg pardon, young man, but I can’t recall seeing you last year. Have you just taken on your apprenticeship?” she inquired. Mateo blinked. “Oh... well no, I actually never was an apprentice. Where I come from, there weren’t any wizards around to teach me.” As soon as he said that, both mother and son stared as if Mateo’s hair suddenly turned green. That… was that the wrong thing to say? He’d only spoken the truth, but now he realized that he didn’t have time to go over Avalor’s troubled history with magic. “Wait, no! That’s not a hundred percent true,” he exclaimed. “I took a lot from my grandfather’s old writings and books, so I did have a master wizard to learn from, and.. well, circumstances being what they were, um...” What was he doing? He should have his introduction down pat! “You’re a self-taught wizard? Now that’s something you don’t see everyday,” the woman remarked. “That’s just how it worked out.” Maybe if he just kept his answers short and neutral enough, she’d lose interest. “Who is your grandfather then?” she asked, busting any wishful thinking. A short and neutral answer wouldn’t stop her reaction from being anything but. Mateo took a deep breath. “He’s Alacazar. The... the former Royal Wizard of Avalor,” he replied. “Avalor? You mean the country where-Oh, goodness!” she gasped. “I heard about you! You broke a painting spell, and helped save the whole royal family!” Wendell’s scowl vanished as he looked back up at Mateo with astonished eyes. “Lissabeth my dear, is something the matter?” asked an approaching enchantress in a silken yellow gown, accompanied by a small group of mages. Oh great, an audience. “I happened upon this remarkable young man. His grandfather was the last Royal Wizard of Avalor!” Lissabeth proclaimed. A middle-aged sorcerer in green laughed in surprise. “I’d heard through the grapevine that we had a guest from Avalor this year, but I’d taken it for the usual claptrap.” “Er-“ Mateo tried to answer, but Lissabeth interjected, “And he just told me that he learned all that he knows about magic by himself.” “Hm. That’s rather unorthodox, but given the circumstances, it probably couldn’t be helped,” said another sorcerer, stroking his short black beard. Mateo tried to laugh it off. “It’s funny, I was just saying that-“ “But wouldn’t some measure of qualification be needed? There should be records kept of the boy’s progress,” interrupted a younger woman in a shimmering dragonscale shawl. “Doesn’t that seem rather belated at this point, Professor Willough? There are only so many schools who’ll take in wizards his age, not to mention all the rigmarole involved in getting into magics universities,” said Sorcerer Shortbeard. “How about a kingdom-issued exam?” suggested one wizard that Mateo couldn’t even see. “Do they have any qualified individuals to oversee that in Avalor?” asked another. “We might be able to find someone within the Ancient Arts University Association,” said the first enchantress to approach them. “Would you be interested, young man?” asked Lissabeth, addressing Mateo as if he hadn’t been overridden in this exchange. “I…” Mateo’s left hand gripped the satchel holding his tamborita like a lifeline. The only way out of the deep end was to say something . Preferably something astute. Or at least coherent. He crossed his hands behind his back, straightened his knees, and tried to recall the last time he watched Chancellor Esteban or Gabe speak in public. “I hadn’t put all those factors into consideration. I only took on the title of wizard officially just last year.” That’s it, he thought. Short, neutral, but stay alert. “How has that been, lad?” Shortbeard asked with a kind smile. “I’ve learned a lot just from experience, and it helps that I have so much support back home,” he responded. “Er, how long have you been studying magic on your own?” asked Professor Willough. “Basically for as long as I can remember. Close to twelve years, maybe?” “I’d say he has the experience to at least speak with a university board member. I do know a few who should be about,” she said, looking around the foyer. “I’ll think about that after the conference,” Mateo added quickly. “It certainly would help to have something on paper.” And get all of you off my back, please. “Why don’t you come over to the soirée on the estate rooftop tomorrow evening? It’ll be just like this, only with a more casual atmosphere. I think it would be a lovely opportunity for you to get acquainted with more of the wizards here, and bounce off more ideas for potential decisions,” suggested Lissabeth. Something that was even more of this? “That’s very kind of you, my lady, but I’ve hardly packed anything suitable to wear for a soirée,” said Mateo, exerting considerable control to keep his voice from shrinking. “Oh tish tosh, like I said - it’ll be a casual affair. And rest assured, we’ll all be looking out for you, making sure you’re not bothered by some of the more talkative elders,” she breezily assured him. Not wanting to dwell on that statement, Mateo decided now was his time to bow out. “That sounds amazing, thank you. It’d be great to meet some of the people I see at the showcases and seminars today,” he said, praying that someone would take the hint. “Oh, we do hope to see you there, my dear boy!” “You have a wonderful day now!” “Would you mind stopping by the enchanted gardening stall this afternoon?” Mateo responded with as many “Yes”s and “Thank you”s as warranted, careful not to look anyone in the eye for too long as he ducked and wove his way across the foyer and into the main hallway branching off from the left. “Oh, Lissabeth dear, did you happen to catch the boy’s name?” asked Shortbeard. By the time they looked back, Mateo had made himself scarce. --- The doors leading to the courtyard were just within reach, and any second thoughts about slipping away scattered with the bracing scent of the sea. Turns out, when a former tourist attraction’s featured highlight was its expansive range with an ocean view, all of the event’s main attractions would be lined up there. As crowded as the foyer had been, this was where all the action was. Everyone here scattered in groups or as individuals, taking in live demonstrations of new illusions, mystic menageries, a cadre of fortune-telling tents, game booths, and a hedge labyrinth that took things to the next level with enchanted climate simulations. And no one could miss the focal point of the conference: a whole quarter of the great field was dedicated to a gigantic beige tent with a green banner flaunting the name “Marvels of Tomorrow” in shimmering white letters. Red, blue and green curtains coated the sides of the tent, and a length of red velvet carpet led up to the entrance. Mateo didn’t know what to expect as he stepped into the tent, and he was immediately struck by how vibrant everything was. The inner perimeter was bedecked with decorative flowering plants and towering tropical trees, creating the illusion of a jungle growing around the cleared expanse containing the booths and smaller tents. The effect was heightened by the tallest trees reaching the roof of the pavilion, though enough bare area was left for sunlight to filter through the tan canvas. Flittering across the trees were automated toy birds, lovingly crafted with silver and bronze filigree on their wings, tails and beaks. Their trilling songs echoed throughout the pavilion, carried over the bustle of the conference attendants. The spectacle before him drove off all his earlier unease from the foyer. This felt overwhelming in a good way; a surge of excitement that lit his eyes and powered his gait as he made his way to the showcase theater. The pavilion was split into two large circular areas, not unlike circus rings. The theater area was a raised wooden platform located in the second, larger circle, placed flush against the farthest end of the tent, with six rows of low wooden benches for the audience. A magenta curtain patterned with stars covered the stage proper. There was already a considerable crowd lounging and mingling on the benches, but thankfully, it wasn’t difficult for Mateo to find a good spot in the middle row. “Attention to all our esteemed guests and attendees: the Tri-Kingdom Sorcerer’s Showcase will now start in ten minutes,” announced a booming voice speaking over their heads. “The showcase will be the first of many displays of wonder that we’ve in store as part of the Marvels of Tomorrow exhibit, and we indeed hope you have a marvelous time during your stay. Thank you.” “You heard him, you majestic mages! Let’s find our seats and get ready to start the show!” shouted a perky voice from the stage. In a puff of violet smoke, a young woman with waist-length light pink hair, a pearl-studded diadem, and a flashy blue-and-white dress robe appeared before the curtain, raising a thin golden wand. With a flick of her wrist, she gathered the errant smoke into a floating ball, and then tossed it into the air. The smoke-ball spiraled upwards for a few feet before it burst into a shower of sparkling lights, and Mateo applauded along with the crowd. “Welcome, and what a wonderful morning to see you all here on the first day of our Conference! I am Isadora the Illustrious, your humble host!” shouted the sorceress. A few loud hoots and whistles pierced from the younger attendees, though they were met with reprimanding looks from their elders. Their host, however, paid no mind as she tucked her wand back into her sleeve. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce our esteemed line-up of Royal Sorcerers, because they’ve prepared quite the eye-popping show to get this weekend started! But before we get that going, a few points to keep in mind: we’ll want our sorcerers to give you the best show they can, so let’s keep our familiars at their best behavior.” Isadora went on to list some standard bits of protocol, none of which surprised Mateo save for the point about errant demon summonings. “But well, I think we all know what to do there, now don’t we?” jested Isadora with a knowing smirk. A handful of mages laughed in response, though Mateo felt the joke slip through his grasp like a hard-flung china plate. “Alright, let’s not keep you or our panelists waiting!” Isadora drew up her wand again, and with one dramatic flick, a mysterious violet light flooded the theater area. Everyone in the audience held their breath as the curtain began to rise on its own. Mateo’s smile grew, and his hands gripped at his knees as a silhouetted figure stepped forward.

#wands of a feather #elena of avalor #sofia the first #fanfic #disney fanfic #mateo de alva #cedric the sorcerer #cedric the sensational #eoa #stf #rooks writes #my writing

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demonsonthemoon · 6 years ago

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The In-Between Moments

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairings: Jehan/Grantaire (background unrequited Grantaire/Enjolras) Word Count: 3069 Summary: Jehan and Grantaire find each other in those in-between moments between love and friendship, between real life and a dream. So no, it isn’t love, but it burns like it, until they soothe the flames away with a touch. So maybe it’s love still. Note: Five years ago, @anastasiapullingteeth posted a Jehan/Grantaire fic on Valentine’s Day. I absolutely loved it, ans started talking to her thanks to it, and we’ve been super great friends ever since. So this fic is a gift for her in celebration of that, and of one of my favorite OTPs still.

Also available on AO3.

Jehan watched Enjolras talk. He was listening as well, although the words weren't what he was focused on. Something about the article Joly had promised to write for the ABC's blog, and what exactly he was to include in it. It wasn't immediately relevant to Jehan, so the young man didn't feel bad for being inattentive.

Instead, he watched the person in front of him, mapping the lines of eir face, the waves of eir golden hair. Most fascinating of all were eir eyes, their sharpness and focus as ey intently listened to one of Joly's comments. “Fire in eir eyes” was an overused phrase, but there was a reason some phrases stuck around. Looking at Enjolras' face was like looking into a flame. Just watching em would make warmth rise up in your body, until all you could think about was to reach out a hand despite the certainty of being burned.

Some people were just naturally like that. Naturally bright and meaningful. Others had to scrape by. Hustle. Fake it for so long that people didn't remember a time when you hadn't been so interesting, promising, wonderful really. Jehan saw himself strictly stuck in that second category. He didn't put himself down, not really. He really was an interesting, even fascinating person. But he worked for it. He worked for it day and night. Cultivated himself, his words and his gestures.

Unlike Enjolras.

Jehan let out a melancholy sigh. The worst thing about Enjolras was perhaps the fact that it just wasn't possible to be resentful of eir charisma. That was the depth to which this quality ran in em. Desire, yes. Envy, yes. Resentment? Never. Enjolras was too pure for a thing like that. Ey created admiration. Sure, you wanted what ey had. Maybe you even wanted em. But you never felt like ey didn't deserve who ey was. You couldn't even think about stealing it. Instead, ey made you want to become this wonderful person by yourself.

The topic of conversation had changed. Grantaire had entered into a debate with Enjolras, about something or other. Jehan was still only half-listening, prefering to watch their facial expressions instead.

Enjolras was frowning, struggling to stay calm and neutral. Grantaire, on the other hand, was smiling sardonically, playing with his pen. He looked like he had not a care in the world, though Jehan knew better. Grantaire was like him. He built himself a persona and stuck to it. That didn't mean he wasn't real, that he was lying or being someone other than himself. Not really. Both of them just worked hard to present an image to others that was as close as possible to the best self they could imagine themselves to be.

You couldn't say that Grantaire was lying when he was like this. You couldn't possibly say that when you saw how bright his eyes were, how he was leaning forward ever so slightly, despite trying to appear nonchalant. How, whenever Enjolras responded particularly pointedly to one of his comments, his smile would take on a sharper edge, one that could only be recognised as pride if you knew Grantaire well enough.

Grantaire wasn't lying. He was alive. He retreated behind a distant wall and pretended not to care so that, within himself, he could enjoy the brightness of the people around him to its fullest. He loved this so much that he could only ever do it half-heartedly. That was the only way not to get burned, not to be destroyed.

And so, for this too, Jehan had no resentment. He could envy the pure love radiating from Grantaire as he argued with Enjolras. He could long, yearn for it. But he couldn't resent it. Because that would mean resenting a whole part of Grantaire. And Jehan couldn't do that. The most violent thing he could do was hate. He could hate parts of Grantaire, sometimes. He could even hate Grantaire as a person, as a whole. It had happened before. But he couldn't hate the fact that Grantaire existed, couldn't hate him to the point where he wished he wasn't there. It just wasn't possible. There was too much meaning attached to everything Grantaire was for Jehan to resent him.

And so Jehan longed. He yearned. He desired, and he envied. And in the end he was glad for it because that, too, was one way of being alive.

And, at the end of the day, when Enjolras and Grantaire had finished their argument, either because someone else had intervened, or because they had come to a stand-still on their own, at the end of the day, Grantaire would turn towards Jehan. He would turn towards Jehan because he too was longing, yearning, desiring and alive. He would turn towards Jehan and his pupils would be dilated, there would be a blush starting to crawl up his neck, and the two of them would share a smile. That smile wasn't a secret, not really. None of it was a secret. It was just that most people didn't care about finding out these kinds of things about each other, and so they didn't know.

Everyone always lingered in the café even after the meeting had officially come to a close, because they all enjoyed each other's company. The conversations shifted from politics to personal lives. Classes, family drama. Movies and books. Jehan participated more actively in those conversations. It wasn't that the political debates didn't interest him, on the contrary. He just needed more time than others to absorb arguments and form his own opinions. But when it came to books! He had so many opinions about those, well-formed if not always coherent, and he could have talked about them for hours.

Besides Grantaire, Marius was his favorite person to speak with. He, too, wasn't always sure of what he thought, even if in other ways he was more like Enjolras than Jehan. Marius didn't even think of hiding behind an act because, to him, creating a persona was much harder work than just being. Jehan liked him for that, for bringing nuance to the admiration he had for Enjolras' way of being. He also liked him because Marius was kind and open. And because they talked about books, about languages, about love and about life.

During those conversations, Grantaire was sometimes the one to take his turn to watch. He would nurse a bottle of wine and stay silent, or offer a few quips in another conversation, but his gaze remained on Jehan, even if just out of the corner of his eyes. The same kind of focus he would have when debating with Enjolras would then be displaced towards Jehan. It was a thrilling sensation, one that Enjolras sadly didn't seem to know how to appreciate. But Jehan did.

After too long of this game of trading gazes, both men would make their excuses, putting on a show of kissing everyone goodbye before they left. If nobody followed them immediately, they would trade one kiss, a deeper one, just beyond the door of the café, pretend that this was forbidden somehow, that it was the sense of danger urging them on and not just their own desire.

And then they would go home, whatever shape home took that day.

This time it was Jehan's flat, the better option since Grantaire was working on a new painting, which meant his own place was in disarray. Jehan's flat was small, about what you would expect from the kinds of places students can afford. At least, living a good half hour away from any campus meant that his rent was low enough that he didn't have to find a roommate.

It was small, kind of shitty, but it was Jehan's. As unmistakably Jehan's as the candles in empty wine bottles that littered his bathroom, wax sticking to the sides, or the pile of notebooks on his desk. There was a small portrait of him painted by Grantaire hanging on one wall, as well as bouquets of dried flowers on every surface that would hold them. It was one more way that Jehan had of playing at being himself. He changed the rooms to reflect what he wanted others to see inside of him.

Whatever anyone had to say about the choice of decoration, however, the flat was functional. The small kitchen was the only place always kept impeccable, because although Jehan would go to great length for the aesthetic, food poisoning was not one of them. And, more importantly, his bedroom held a queen-sized bed.

They entered the flat casually. They weren't in a rush, they knew each other. No one was going anywhere, and so they could take the time to hang their jacket and put their shoes away. There was no stumbling across each other, no item abandonned where it didn't belong because they couldn't be bothered to think about it in the other's presence.

Instead, Jehan offered a cup of tea, and Grantaire accepted. Waiting was half the game. It was all about building anticipation until they felt like they would burst, until looking at each other nearly hurt and touch was the only remedy.

While the water boiled, Grantaire flipped through the notebook on top of Jehan's pile, distractedly reading a few lines of several poems. The smell of tea soon wafted through the room, and Grantaire found himself rythmically tapping his fingers against Jehan's desk.

Jehan was smiling, carrying two steaming mugs. His short, wavy ginger hair was like a copper halo around his face. Looking at the old portrait he had offered his friend, Grantaire itched to get more details right, to give recognition to the way the light played with the young man's eyes or the slight curve of his jaw.

Jehan recognized Grantaire's gaze, his artist's focus. He recognized the way it made his skin tingle, how it made him feel powerful. Most of Grantaire's art wasn't about beauty, not really. It was about presence, about energy. His portraits didn't want to make their subjects beautiful – although they did – but they wanted to immortalize the power to captivate that Grantaire recognized in them.

After this evening, after all the waiting, such a gaze raised shivers up and down Jehan's body. It made him want to take, take, take.

“Working on anything specific?” Grantaire asked after taking a sip of his jasmine tea. He pointed at the pile of notebooks.

Jehan shrugged and sat down on one of his couches, a dumpster rescue covered by a brightly-colored crocheted quilt. “Mostly stuff for magazine submissions. I haven't found my next big idea yet.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “What about that modern epic thing?”

Jehan groaned. “It's just so much research! I keep getting lost on Wikipedia. So I'm... taking a break from it.”

Grantaire smiled knowingly. A big part of the notebook pile was composed of projects that the poet was taking a break from, just as Grantaire had a drawer full of half-finished sketches and preliminary studies for paintings. Inspiration was a fickle mistress.

Their conversation slowly tapered off as they both focused on finishing their mugs of tea, as well as on looking at each other. Even Jehan couldn't find words worthy to be added to the heat in their gazes.

The poet had barely dropped the now empty mugs into his sink that Grantaire was tugging on his wrist, half-dragging him to his bedroom. Jehan couldn't help but smile, and slid his fingers in-between Grantaire's before letting himself be carried off.

Grantaire stopped as soon as he had entered the bedroom, so Jehan took the lead. He climbed on the bed and tugged on Grantaire's hand until he followed, stumbling onto the mattress. This brought the both of them close together, and Jehan raised his gaze to meet his friend's. “Hey stranger.”

Grantaire smiled. “Hi,” he whispered just above Jehan's lips before leaning in and kissing the other man.

This kiss wasn't the same as their stolen kisses outside the Musain. It was thrilling in new ways. Not because it was forbidden but because it was such a known territory. The kiss was deep and intent. Jehan bit down slightly on Grantaire's lower lip, like he knew the other liked, and Grantaire responded by splaying his hand across Jehan's ribs under his shirt.

They knew each other, knew each other's bodies. If any touch was exploratory, it was because they wanted it to be, not out of necessity.

They broke away to catch their breath, letting their forehead touch so that they kept on breathing the same air. This was Jehan's favorite part of it all. These little in-between moments of pure intimacy, where none of them was actively pursuing their pleasure, instead just relishing in the easiness of the instant. Jehan breathed. Grantaire breathed. And, in that moment, that was enough, and it was perfect.

Then Jehan put his hands in Grantaire's hair and pulled, dragging a moan out of him and swallowing it in the same movement. The heat spiked up again between the both of them. Their bodies were clearly telling them that they had waited long enough.

Grantaire moved one of his knees up, straddling Jehan on either sides of one of his thighs. Jehan immediately took advantage of that position to buck his hips against him, which made Grantaire chuckle. He gave Jehan another quick kiss before pulling away and starting to unbutton the other man's shirt.

A second advantage to button ups – besides the fact they looked stylish as heck – was that they turned undressing into a drawn-out, intimate process. Grantaire still made quick work of the shirt, considering. Jehan sat up to let him peel the garment from his shoulders. Once that was done, he buried his hands in Grantaire's curls once more, and the other man immediately folded in against him, kissing down from his cheek to the junction between his shoulder and his neck.

Jehan let his breath come out in a sigh, smiling as Grantaire began to suckle at his skin.

“Do you know how hot you looked earlier?” Jehan said. He grinned at the way Grantaire shuddered. He always did, when Jehan talked like that. Grantaire himself mostly kept quiet during sex, letting out only moans and curses. But he loved hearing others talk. And, well, Jehan was a poet after all. Wielding words was his job, although this situation called for a different vocabulary than what he was most used to.

“You get this little self-satisfied grin when you counter someone's argument, and it drives me insane.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked, looking up with pupils blowned wide.

“Mmh-mmh,” Jehan replied around a chuckle. “You forget to be self-conscious when you're like that.”

That comment earned him a frown. “Are you talking dirty or psychoanalysing me?”

Before Jehan could open his mouth, Grantaire had put one of his hand over it. “Don't answer. I know you'll say why not both and I would really rather not talk about my daddy issues in bed.”

Jehan shrugged, entirely unapologetic, and Grantaire and him dissolved into giggles at the same time. Jehan felt light and carefree, out of his mind in the best of way.

And then Grantaire went in with the tickles.

And then war was on.

Jehan immediately pushed Grantaire off him. Not undressing Grantaire immediately had apparently been a tactical mishap, since he couldn't reach the extremely ticklish spot on the back of Grantaire's knees. Grantaire – on the other hand – has easy access to all of his chest and his armpits, and made good use of that advantage.

They play-fought for a few minutes, tickles evolving into a struggle to push each other off the bed. And then Grantaire managed to grab Jehan's wrists and hold them over his head while he kissed his nose, and all fighting instincts rushed out of Jehan in one breath.

He wrinkled his face. “Stop being cute, I already like you too much.”

Grantaire grinned. “I feel like that should be my line, every single day.”

He bent down helpfully, allowing Jehan to pluck the compliment from his lips.

This brought them a step back to their earlier mood, although much of the anticipation had been dissipated. Neither of them really minded.

Still, Jehan was quick to remedy his earlier mistakes, and broke away from the kiss to pull Grantaire's shirt over his head. He ran a hand across the other man's chest like it was still a privilege to do so. After all, it was. And then he used the other hand to scratch his nails down the whole length of Grantaire's back.

“Oh fuck,” Grantaire groaned. His hips bucked forward involuntarily despite the fact he was barely half-hard. Jehan took it as a victory.

“Yeah, that's kind of the plan.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, still hovering above him, his weight on his hands on both sides of Jehan's face. “That line is the biggest of clichés. You're a poet, you can do better.”

Jehan tried – and failed, like always – to quirk an eyebrow. “I know you've read my poetry. Do you really think talking about existential anguish would be a more effective way to woo you?”

“Wooing? Is that what you're doing?”

“Well, I would be, but you're making it really hard.”

From the glint in Grantaire's eyes, Jehan knew exactly what he was going to say.

“I thought that was the point?” He punctuated that sentence with a press of his hand against Jehan's crotch.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you still-”

Jehan interrupted him by pushing him on his side and then immediately drawing him in for a kiss. Grantaire opened his mouth to it enthusiastically, settling one hand on Jehan's lower back to bring him impossibly closer. Grantaire's lips were always chapped, but Jehan didn't mind. It had become part of the habit, and he liked the habit very much. It was a part of Grantaire, and he liked Grantaire very much.

And maybe that wasn't the same as the way Grantaire loved Enjolras. Maybe it wasn't the same as the way romance novels talked about love. But Jehan did love Grantaire, and he let him know that, as clearly as he could, with a press of his tongue and a tug on his hair.

“I think you should take your pants off,” Jehan added aloud. “I really want to get my hands on you.”

#Meeni writes fics #Jetaire #Jehan/Grantaire #Grantaire/Jehan #Jehan x Grantaire #Grantaire x Jehan #anastasiapullingteeth #OTP: Words Unsaid #Les Mis

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gooseghoul · 6 years ago

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make me dream bud, for the ask meme: Snape, Lupin and Lucius !

put 3 characters in my inbox and I’ll tell you who I’d slow burn/fake date/enemies to lovers with

thank you bud

Snape, Lupin and Lucius

putting this under a cut bc i accidentally wrote 3 feature length films of self insert fanfic.

honestly, lads, skip to the end for lucius. it’s the highlight of this post.

slow burn: snape.

so, it’s not that we’re not friends at school. bc we’d talk in potions (or, I’d talk and he’d glare), we’d trade transfiguration notes (he hated that I wrote everything mcgonagall said down), and he’d best me in defence (the only time I’d ever seen him smile). we weren’t friends, but we weren’t not not friends.

he went off the deep end his last two years in school. i’d still speak to him but didn’t seek him out. slytherin pride and all that. gotta stick together. gotta not get murdered by the dark lord.

he wasn’t the type to keep in touch post hogwarts. but with where he was headed in life, the most i was hoping for was that he’d have a “meh” opinion of me. so, if he was ever tasked with murdering me, he’d at least be somewhat quick about it.

the war ends and I run into him. he’s a mess. full mourning dress, looking a little bit queen victoria, absolutely brooding. don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate brooding. but man, sometimes you just need to pull yourself together. we’re not friends exactly. but he sees that i still see him as the angsty kid i went to school with and not the death eater he became. most other people have tainted views of him. i knew too much of his anger, too much of his teenage fear and hate to despise him. i’d seen him laugh in the common room with mulciber, in the courtyard with the girl whose death ended the war. i’d seen him that one christmas i’d stayed at hogwarts. seen him with no presents under the tree. a stocking empty.

how could i hate a kid i’d seen come to school with at the start of term bruises on his arms? i hated what he’d become, the direction he turned to, but as a slytherin i knew he had little choice. he didn’t have the means to say no. not that i’m sure he’d have wanted to. the boy was a bastard at times, cold and malicious, but he wasn’t evil. he didn’t have the heart to be evil.

he owled me every month from hogwarts. then, after a year, every fortnight. then every week. then every other day.

the month harry potter came to hogwarts i received no owls. no frantic floo calls. nothing but radio silence.

then he showed up at my doorstep unannounced, fire whiskey in hand, ranting about how the boy was just like his father. it was awful to listen to, but listen i did. because snape had been through this before: the torment at potter’s hands (although this time unintentional, possibly imagined), the need to fight back, to be drawn into something bigger. the cycle has begun again.

snape was cruel. ugly. an awful, vindictive man.

but i couldn’t shake that christmas morning from my mind. i couldn’t shake the sound of his laugh.

i’d see him in person more often. whenever he had a free weekend he’d floo in. mostly he complained about potter, but i tried to drag him away from that topic after a few weeks of nothing but anger. potions was a good bet, but even that devolved into how incompetent potter war.

so i put a “potter” jar on my mantelpiece and made snape pay a knut every time he even thought about the kid. after two weeks, the jar was half full and snape started insisting we meet in hogsmeade instead. neutral territory. easier for him. as far away from that damn jar as possible. but the point had been made. potter was mentioned no more.

i didn’t see him when the mark burnt black on his skin. not for a good week. then snape was tumbling into my hallway numb from the torment. in all the time i’d known him, he’d never been so quiet.

i lead him to my bed and he fell asleep there. i took the sofa. it was the first time he’d stayed the night. it wasn’t the last.

it was weird how it progressed. how it went from cups of tea wordlessly granted, to stolen looks, fingers lingering too long, touches that weren’t there before. he didn’t like me like that. didn’t love me like how he’d loved that girl from before. i knew that in my heart. knew i’d always be second best. knew he didn’t truly have it in him.

but i was there and one touch led to another. one barking laugh at something i’d read in the paper. one christmas morning spent away from the castle. one fire whiskey too many.

a year and a half of normal. of the something between us being more than friendship and slightly less than love.

then the end of harry potter’s sixth year. the end of dumbledore’s tenure. i couldn’t look at him. couldn’t speak to him. couldn’t touch him.

that last year I wish I could live again. my family and I were safe. though we weren’t death eaters we were purebloods, slytherins, good people who’d never gone out of our way to say anything about muggles. snape wasn’t part of that year. was part of that awful regime.

I regret it. now that Potter’s story came out. now that the truth of Severus Snape had reverberated throughout the wizarding world. even i, one of the people closest to him, who had known and loved him the longest out of all, had believed him a monster. but snape was dead. gone. and he had died for love. so confusing a concept that at times i didn’t think him capable of it.

(but the way he’d talked of potter. how he ranted and raved – that was love, wasn’t it? love of the mother, hatred of the son.)

he was dead but not completely. i see him there, in the flash of a student’s cloak; black like the mourning robes he never shed. there, in the biting remark spun in the air over a pint at the bar. and there, in the ugly sun which rises now over the wizarding world. it is a world not free from hate nor vitriol, but one recovering from a war which would have been fateless without him.

fake date: lupin. sirius black cannot stand anything slytherin. to him, understandably, slytherin is the epitome of all that is wrong with the world. certainly all that is wrong with hogwarts. sirius black hates the fact that lupin is on civil terms with me and actually kind of friends. we sit together in potions. while we’re not the best students, slughorn thinks we work well together and refuses to separate us.

so, The Prank has just happened. I’ve no idea what went on, but that weird Snape kid in my year looks shaken up. Sirius Black looks actively guilty. And Remus Lupin is angry. I don’t think I’ve seen Lupin angry in my life. Lupin is so angry he misses our study group, and almost puts the flobberworm mucus in the potion too early. but he doesn’t care that the potions could have gone horrifically wrong.

a week later he finally comes to the library. i ask him what’s wrong but he doesn’t say anything. eventually he hisses, “Black did something stupid. so fucking stupid. he doesn’t even see what he did wrong.”

he’s calling Sirius ‘Black’. Sirius Black is never anything but Sirius.

“I hate him. I’m never speaking to him again. I wish I could just— I wish I could show him how awful— do something that would make him see—”

he looks at me, a gleam in his eyes. “M. you’re a slytherin.”“er”“You’re a pureblood.”“eeeerrr”his eyes are beginning to look a bit manic. “you’re friends with snape”“friends is a strong word for knowing the kid’s name.”

“M. I need you to know that I mean this completely platonically. But I trust you and I think this could work. Will you be my girlfriend?”

platonic? girlfriend? “remus, you know—“

“sirius hates everything about you.” (thanks bud). “not you specifically. but everything you embody. pureblood. blood supremacy. voldemort”

“okay, listen, mate. just because I’m slytherin doesn’t mean I’m up for maiming some muggles.”

“no. but sirius thinks you are. he thinks you’re all the same.”

I think of regulus in the years below, and how, yeah regulus is a blood supremacist like most of us. but he’s not that.

“right. i don’t see what this has to do with platonic dating.”

“It’ll show Sirius how much he’s hurt me. that I’ve turned to you out of all my friends. that he didn’t even know I’d been thinking of you.”

so, Lupin is great. but also sometimes, just sometimes, he’s a bit of a dick. but you know what, if remus lupin wants to date you you do not say no. even if it’s platonic, strictly revenge dating. even if you think that maybe lupin should just talk through his feelings (his weirdly passionate feelings) with Sirius.

“fine. let’s do it.”

Sirius Black is pissed off. we start off small. walking to classes together. stopping by the gryffindor table to say hi to Lupin. we even let ourselves be caught holding hands in the corridor. how scandalous.

the slytherins corner me and ask what the fuck i’m doing with a gryffindor. so i tell them: I’m doing this to bring the blood traitor Sirius Black down a peg. I want to destroy him. Snape doesn’t look at me anymore. but honestly, his impact on my life was so little that I’d barely notice had one of the Black girls not pointed it out.

we’re in the corridor one day before lupin’s prefect patrol. stood by the gryffindor common room just talking while lupin waits for his partner (lily?) to arrive. lupin’s holding my hand, thumb running over my knuckles absent mindedly. no-one’s around, but you have to put the effort in, right? you have to believe what you’re doing to act it well, right?

“bear with me” lupin says looking behind me. and kisses me.

it’s weird. but maybe…. M, maybe you’re not as gay as you thought you were.

there’s a horrified sound behind you. a hissed word and a door (portrait?) slamming shut. but all that exists in the world is remus lupin.

he pulls away after a moment. utters a single word fuck before kissing me again.

after hogwarts we marry and have 15000000000 cats and my family is super rich so that skinny boy never has to starve again and we build a werewolf bunker under our country estate and all is well. (until his two best friends are murdered and their child survives them but grows up abused and not know who he is but y’know we can gloss over that part.)

enemies to lovers: lucius.

i was a couple years above draco at school. the malfoys hated my family as we were both slytherins and blood traitors (lmao at me pretending i am in anyway a pureblood). post war the malfoys are trying to redeem themselves. draco and i go to the same university (st andrews school of magic), we run into each other in the classics dep and start talking. we become slow friends and i stay at his house over summer. his mum’s house, bc lucius and narcissa divorced post-war.

lucius is there one day, sees me, spits some vitriol and storms out. there’s a number of awful meetings with lucius, but draco isn’t willing to put his parent’s desires above his own anymore. bc he is not his parents. turns out, lucius resents me bc my family and i were good slytherins, so we didn’t get fucked over post-war. lucius and i have a number of mr darcy / elizabeth bennett style arguments with draco bashing his head against the table.

the next summer, i spend a couple weeks with draco at his dad’s place. there, lucius reveals he’s not a complete cock and is actually trying to repent but doesn’t know how. i’m kind of like, hey, so maybe this guy isn’t as bad as he seems. hey, draco, your dad’s kind of cool once you get past the whole being a death eater thing. slowly lucius starts spending more time around the house when draco, me and our friends are there. lucius starts talking to me like i’m a human being and not a rat.

hey, draco, you know your dad has great hair right? you know he’s actually kind of handsome if we ignore how stress has aged him. hey, draco —

cue a scene straight from clueless. one of lucius malfoy’s albino peacocks (because he smuggled some out from the manor during the divorce) walks behind me, a fountain suddenly starts spouting water.

“oh my god, draco. i’m in love with your dad.”

…

draco says, “no fucking shit you doorknob”

i don’t do anything bc lucius is a dick. he’s always been a dick. i’ve hated his family since before i could talk. he’s hated mine since before i was born. but he’s also….. kind of a dilf? draco thinks the whole thing is really weird, but also he’d rather me than some of the people who’ve been trying to court lucius. so like, he starts trying to hint at a possible relationship.

hint is a strong word.

“hey, dad, M would be a great step mum right?” “hey, dad, doesn’t M look like she could do with a sugar daddy to help her off her feet. if only we knew someone who had a lot of money.” “oh, hey, dad. don’t we have lots of money?” “hey, dad, i can’t be her sugar daddy bc I’m too young. the laws of sugar daddies disallow any relationship between us. if only there were another single man in this family with access to our fortune.”

meanwhile, the malfoy’s most recent house elf is trying to bash draco’s head against the table.

i get invited to the malfoy’s christmas party. i’m working on my postgrad and draco has just finished his first semester of honours.

there’s mistletoe. lucius is standing next to me. but there’s mistletoe. at the christmas party. at the christmas party where lucius is standing next to me. under the mistletoe.

we kiss. really awkwardly bc i’m about 5 gin and tonics into the night but also really eager. bc shit son. shit son. this universe’s M is str8 as heck for the absolute daddy that is Lucius Malfoy.(draco is head bridesmaid at our wedding. a single albino peacock is best man. it is a beautiful, if not visually confusing, affair.)

#i told myself i'd never write self insert fanfic again but here i am #and you know what? i liked writing self insert fanfic #i wrote the lupin and snape ones through an abdominal and head migraine #honestly skip ahead to the absolute blast that is lucius malfoy #thank you so much for this this made my evening so much more fun #the lupin one is meh but tbh we're all living for luscious lucius #hc #lupin #snape #lucius #fic #shitpost #relative shitpost #i can write better than this i swear #ask #thepotionsapprentice #ask meme

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garywonghc · 6 years ago

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Real Happiness

by Sharon Salzberg

Meditation is essentially a way to train our attention so we can be more aware of both our inner workings and what’s happening around us. It’s straightforward and simple, but it isn’t easy.

People have been transforming their minds through meditation for thousands of years. Every major world religion includes some form of contemplative exercise, though today meditation is often practised apart from any belief system. Meditation may be done in silence and stillness, by using voice and sound, or by engaging the body in movement. All forms emphasise the training of attention.

“My experience is what I agree to attend to,” the pioneering psychologist William James wrote at the turn of the twentieth century. “Only those items I notice shape my mind.” At its most basic level, attention — what we allow ourselves to notice — literally determines how we experience and navigate the world. The ability to summon and sustain attention is what allows us to job hunt, juggle, learn math, make pancakes, aim a cue and pocket the eight ball, protect our kids, and perform surgery. It lets us be discerning in our dealings with the world, responsive in our intimate relationships, and honest when we examine our own feelings and motives. Attention determines our degree of intimacy with our ordinary experiences and contours our entire sense of connection to life.

The content and quality of our lives depend on our level of awareness — a fact we are often not aware of. There’s an old story, usually attributed to a Native American elder, that’s meant to illuminate the power of attention. A grandfather imparting a life lesson to his grandson tells him, “I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful. The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene.” The grandson asks which wolf will win the fight. The grandfather answers, “The one I feed.”

But that’s only part of the picture. True, whatever gets our attention flourishes, so if we lavish attention on the negative and inconsequential, they can overwhelm the positive and the meaningful. But if we do the opposite, refusing to deal with or acknowledge what’s difficult and painful, pretending it doesn’t exist, then our world is out of whack. Whatever doesn’t get our attention withers — or retreats below conscious awareness, where it may still affect our lives. In a perverse way, ignoring the painful and the difficult is just another way of feeding the wolf. Meditation teaches us to open our attention to all of human experience and all parts of ourselves.

Meditation is pragmatic, the psychological and emotional equivalent of a physical training program: If you exercise regularly, you get certain results — stronger muscles, denser bones, increased stamina. If you meditate regularly, you also get certain results, including greater calm, and improved concentration and more connection to others. But there are other rewards.

You’ll begin to spot the unexamined assumptions that get in the way of happiness.

These assumptions we make about who we are and the way the world works — what we deserve, how much we can handle, where happiness is to be found, whether or not positive change is possible — all greatly influence how and to what we pay attention.

I was reminded of how assumptions can get in our way when I visited the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., to view a work of art by a sculptor friend. Eagerly I checked every room, peered at every display case and pedestal — no sculpture. Finally I gave up. As I headed for the exit, I glanced up — and there was her beautiful piece. It was a bas-relief hanging on the wall, not the freestanding statue I’d expected; my assumptions had put blinders on me and almost robbed me of the experience of seeing what was really there — her amazing work. In the same way, our assumptions keep us from appreciating what’s right in front of us — a stranger who’s a potential friend, a perceived adversary who might actually be a source of help. Assumptions block direct experience and prevent us from gathering information that could bring us comfort and relief, or information that, though saddening and painful, will allow us to make better decisions.

Here are some familiar assumptions you might recognise: We have nothing in common. I won’t be able to do it. You can’t reason with a person like that. Tomorrow will be exactly like today. If I just try hard enough, I’ll manage to control him/her/it/them. Only big risks can make me feel alive. I’ve blown it; I should just give up. I know just what she’s going to say, so I don’t really need to listen to her. Happiness is for other people, not me. Statements like these are motivated by fear, desire, boredom, or ignorance. Assumptions bind us to the past, obscure the present, limit our sense of what’s possible, and elbow out joy. Until we detect and examine our assumptions, they short-circuit our ability to observe objectively; we think we already know what’s what.

You’ll stop limiting yourself. When we practice meditation, we often begin to recognise a specific sort of conditioned response — previously undetected restrictions we’ve imposed on our lives. We spot the ways we sabotage our own growth and success because we’ve been conditioned to be content with meagre results. Meditation allows us to see that these limits aren’t inherent or immutable; they were learned and they can be unlearned — but not until we recognise them. (Some common limiting ideas: She’s the smart one, you’re the pretty one. People like us don’t stand a chance. Kids from this neighbourhood don’t become doctors.) Training attention through meditation opens our eyes. Then we can assess these conditioned responses — and if parts of them contain some truth, we can see it clearly and put it to good use; if parts of them just don’t hold up under scrutiny, we can let them go.

You’ll weather hard times better. Meditation teaches us safe ways to open ourselves to the full range of experience — painful, pleasurable, and neutral — so we can learn how to be a friend to ourselves in good times and bad. During meditation sessions we practice being with difficult emotions and thoughts, even frightening or intense ones, in an open and accepting way, without adding self-criticism to something that already hurts. Especially in times of uncertainty or pain, meditation broadens our perspective and deepens our sense of courage and capacity for adventure. Here’s how you get braver: little by little. In small, manageable, bearable increments, we make friends with the feelings that once terrified us. Then we can say to ourselves, I’ve managed to sit down, face some of my most despairing thoughts and my most exuberantly hopeful ones without judging them. That took strength; what else can I tackle with that same strength? Meditation lets us see that we can accomplish things we didn’t think ourselves capable of.

You’ll rediscover a deeper sense of what’s really important to you. Once you look beneath distractions and conditioned reactions, you’ll have a clearer view of your deepest, most enduring dreams, goals, and values.

You’ll have a portable emergency resource. Meditation is the ultimate mobile device; you can use it anywhere, anytime, unobtrusively. You’re likely to find yourself in situations — having a heated argument at work, say, or chauffeuring a crowd of rambunctious kids to a soccer game — when you can’t blow off steam by walking around the block, hitting the gym, or taking a time-out in the tub. But you can always follow your breath.

You’ll be in closer touch with the best parts of yourself. Meditation practice cultivates qualities such as kindness, trust, and wisdom that you may think are missing from your makeup but are actually undeveloped or obscured by stress and distractions. Meditation practice gives us the chance to locate these qualities so we can access them more easily and frequently.

You’ll recapture the energy you’ve been wasting trying to control the uncontrollable. I once led a retreat in California during a monsoon like rainstorm. It’s so soggy and unpleasant that people aren’t going to have a good retreat, I thought. I felt bad for the participants; in fact, I felt responsible. For a few days I wanted to apologise to everybody for the rain until a thought flickered: Wait a minute. I’m not even from California; I’m from Massachusetts. This isn’t my weather. This is their weather. Maybe they should apologise to me! And then the voice of deeper wisdom arose: Weather is weather. This is what happens.

We’ve all had weather moments — times when we’ve felt responsible for everyone’s good time or well-being. It’s our job, we think, to fix the temperature and humidity, or the people around us (if we could only get our partner to quit smoking, consult a map, stick to a diet). We even think we’re capable of totally controlling our own emotions — I shouldn’t ever feel envious, or resentful, or spiteful! That’s awful! I’m going to stop. You might as well say, “I’m never going to catch a cold again!” Though we can affect our physical and emotional experiences, we can’t ultimately determine them; we can’t decree what emotions will arise within us. But we can learn through meditation to change our responses to them. That way we’re spared a trip down a path of suffering we’ve travelled many times before. Recognising what we can’t control (the feelings that arise within us; other people; the weather) helps us have healthier boundaries at work and at home — no more trying to reform everyone all the time. It helps us to stop beating up on ourselves for having perfectly human emotions. It frees energy we expend on trying to control the uncontrollable.

You’ll understand how to relate to change better — to accept that it’s inevitable and believe that it’s possible. Most of us have a mixed, often paradoxical attitude toward change. Some of us don’t think change is possible at all; we believe we’re stuck forever doing things the way we’ve always done them. Some of us simultaneously hope for change and fear it. We want to believe that change is possible, because that means that our lives can get better. But we also have trouble accepting change, because we want to hold on permanently to what’s pleasurable and positive. We’d like difficulties to be fleeting and comfort to stick around.

Trying to avoid change is exhausting and stressful. Everything is impermanent: happiness, sorrow, a great meal, a powerful empire, what we’re feeling, the people around us, ourselves. Meditation helps us comprehend this fact — perhaps the basic truth of human existence, and the one we humans are most likely to balk at or be oblivious to, especially when it comes to the biggest change of all: Mortality happens, whether we like it or not. We grow old and die. (In the ancient Indian epic, the Mahabharata, a wise king is asked to name the most wondrous thing in the universe. “The most wondrous thing in the entire universe,” he says, “is that all around us people are dying and we don’t believe it will happen to us.”) Meditation is a tool for helping us accept the profound fact that everything changes all the time.

Meditating offers a chance to see change in microcosm. Following our breath while observing how thoughts continually ebb and flow can help us realise that all elements of our experience are in constant flux. During a meditation session, it’s natural to go through many ups and downs, to encounter both new delights and newly awakened conflicts that have bubbled up from the unconscious mind. Sometimes you tap into a wellspring of peace. Other times you might feel waves of sleepiness, boredom, anxiety, anger, or sadness. Snatches of old songs may play in your head; long-buried memories can surface. You may feel wonderful or awful. Daily meditation will remind us that if we look closely at a painful emotion or difficult situation, it’s bound to change; it’s not as solid and unmanageable as it might have seemed. The fear we feel in the morning may be gone by the afternoon. Hopelessness may be replaced by a glimmer of optimism. Even while a challenging situation is unfolding, it is shifting from moment to moment, varied, alive. What happens during meditation shows us that we’re not trapped, that we have options. Then, even if we’re afraid, we can find a way to go on, to keep trying.

This is not a Pollyanna sentiment that everything will be just fine, according to our wishes or our timetable. Rather it is an awakened understanding that gives us the courage to go into the unknown and the wisdom to remember that as long as we are alive, possibility is alive. We can’t control what thoughts and emotions arise within us, nor can we control the universal truth that everything changes. But we can learn to step back and rest in the awareness of what’s happening. That awareness can be our refuge.

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4rtmorelikef4rt · 4 years ago

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Animation Artists/ Bibliography

Artists

Mickalene Thomas

Mickalene Thomas is a multimedia artist that transforms her photography and collages into large scale paintings. She is known for her use of rhinestones, wood paneling, bright colors and 70s patterns and motifs that makeup the elaborate fabrication of her subjects and the constructed interiors in which her subjects are placed. Her representation of black women brings a nuanced perspective to the understanding of the black feminie experience, by placing her subjects in provocative positions that demand the viewer's attention. As someone interested in the combination of the digital and analog, I have enjoyed studying her image making process that begins with shooting her models in a studio, collaging the photographs, and finally making large scale mixed media paintings from the work. Collage-making and mixed media practice has inspired my animations, such as the ‘It Comes Unadorned’ gof series that incorporates my painting and analog drawings with found images and text.

Jessica Wheeler (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v31TAQSUDYo )

Jessica Wheeler is a filmmaker based in Manchester and creates work with the intentions of finding new ways to look at the queer experience through the combination of collage and digital animation. I found her work Euphorbia, when looking for ways to animate collages. The piece uses cut collage and stop motion animation to create an internal exploration of sexuality. I am drawn to the way that she is able to make such a fluid, captivating scene that unravels before the viewer's eye. Her use of symbolic imagery as well is very powerful and something appreciate in artwork that has such an intimate an personal concept

Sonda Perry

Sondra Perry is an interdisciplinary artist who works with video and computer based media. The themes within her work include blackness, African American heritage, the representation of black people centering on the way blackness influences technology and image making. She is also very big on net neutrality and making sure there is equal access to the internet and especially her work. She implements this care by using open software to edit her work and makes her projects available online for free. The use of technology for her installations creates an interesting between human nature and the digital world. Often using her own personal experiences with race and melding with digital work such as 3d renderings, Perry is able to express racial inequalities through a medium that is often withheld and inaccessible from Black people. Her piece Black Girl As A Landscape is a single-channel video, where in a camera pans slowly across the silhouetted body of a horizontally framed figure as she approaches or distances herself from the lens. As the camera zooms in we see the details of her fabric and and the eyes begin the piece through as the whites of the eyes contrast against the dark silhouette.

I am inspired by the experimentalism in film, the use of technology based methods to discuss the black experience and chronicle it from a woman's perspective.

Carrie Mae Weems

Carrie Mae Weems legacy as a contemporary artist working with photography, installation video, and print work. I have drawn inspiration from her Kitchen Table Series, a series that deeply resonates with me. Weems' series of self portraits sitting at her kitchen table while different life scenarios take place around her, featuring family members, lovers, friends and the most poignant ones only featuring herself, explores the representation black relationships and self, that I am working towards developing my work themes.

Kehinde Wiley

Kehide Wiley is an American portrait artist known for his naturalistic paintings of Africam Americans painted in the style of Old Master portraits. I have examined his work in my Fabrication as Race class and focused on how his representation of black people in a notable european art style draws to the forefront examinations of black representation and self perception. Similar to the way that Mickalene Thomas paints her subjects in positions of reclined nude women popular in european history. I have seen a few of his paintings in real life including Philip the Fair, 2006 in The Mint Museum in Charlotte, North Carolina and his 2018 portrait of President Obama in the National Portrait Gallery. His use of bold colors and patterned backgrounds draws the viewer's attention and is a way that he is able to extend the subject's identity through a decorative design.

Articles

Mickalene Thomas: Afro-Kitsch and the Queering of Blackness I have been studying multimedia artist Mickalene Thomas’s large collage acrylic paintings and her representation of assured black women from a feminist lense. This essay written by visual culture theorist, Derek Conrad Murray deconstructs the ways that Thomas’s identity as queer black woman, informs the ways that she portrays her female subjects and complicates the understanding of the black experience as it is perceived through the post-black art movement. The essay positions Thomas’s work within the greater post-black contemporary art movement, a movement that “articulates the frustrations of young African American artists (the post–civil rights generation) around notions of identity and belonging they perceive to be stifling, reductive, and exclusionary” (Murray). The essay analyzes a few of Thomas’s pieces and evaluates its effectiveness in reimagining black female subjectivity.

The Vasulka Effect ( https://sagafilm.is/film/the-vasulka-effect/ )

Watching the Vasulka Effect, I was intrigued by the couple's approach to video making and their role in creating a movement for new media art in the 1970s. As an individual interested in the music and art culture of the 70s, I was entertained by the name dropping of the artists that the Vasulka’s worked with. From Miles Davis, the Rolling Stones, and Jimi Hendrix, I admired the documentary work that went with bringing a new visual element to understanding music during this time. Their involvement with the drag community was also fascinating as I was able to see the connection made between experimental art making and underground communities. I think this also speaks to the use of the video medium as an effective tool to tell and showcase marginalized stories in an artistic manner. The way that Steina and Woody work with their video projects emphasizes the importance of collaboration. Their works are experiments, testing how to make sound information into a moving image. They attempt to make something that can not be seen visible, calling attention to how limited our senses are. One thing I loved about their process that Steina mentioned was how the two artists seemed to always “be playing around” and trying new alternatives to working with technology..

Petra Meyer and Katrin Kaschadt, “William Kentridge, Overvloed”

South African artist, William Kentridge's work features short animations made from large scale drawings using mainly back charcoal complimented by color pastel chalks. He is known for his technique that involves erasing, and changing parts of the drawn image and reworking the same frame. Leaving in the erasure marks visible through the process making the transformation of the image an integral part of the animation as a whole. “The animation comes into being therefore, by addition and subtraction, creation, and destruction” (Meyer, Kaschadt). Through this process, the markings and leftover tracings of the image become part of the animation and contribute to the artist's celebration of the imperfect relationship people have with change. His work was a rejection of the modernist aesthetics that placed importance on clean and “pure” work. His process and attention to the shadows reminds me of something that happens in printmaking called "ghost shadows”. These are images that are left behind on a plate or printing material and leave a light image behind on the new print. While there are ways to get rid of these and make sure they do not appear, some decide to keep them as part of their new print. I think the intentional use of these shadows and past images in work is very interesting and brings more texture and depth into the work when the marks left behind become as important as the blackest mark on the page. His work illustrates the relationship between South Africa's socio-political condition and history and the relationship between the individual and their landscape. .

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