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elliebyrrdwrites · 7 months ago

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14.4

THEO

“What do I do about my hair?” Hermione asked, suddenly, staring off into a mirror above the floo.

She had her hair wrapped up in a messy bun atop her head with her wand holding the bulk of it in place. There were stray curls falling down over her temple, the back of her neck, over her forehead.

Theo grimaced because hair really wasn’t his thing. To be honest, he and Hermione could be siblings if one was to make the assumption based on hair alone. “Uh…down?” He reached out and pulled the wand free. Releasing the curls, he watched as they tumbled around her, reminding him of living beings that seemed to have a mind of their own. Some sprang forward, others wanted to be pushed back. He wondered how she managed to keep them so smooth. Hermione snatched her wand from his hand and shoved it into a pocket she had transfigured into the dress.

He pushed several curls back behind her ear on one side and then strategically pulled two separate curls forward on the other.

“There.” He nodded as he readjusted the curls two more times.

The floo flared and Hermione stiffened as he laid a curl over her temple.

They both looked to see two figures emerging from the green flames. One tall, pale and blonde. The other, well the other was short, pale and raven haired.

Hermione choked on her indignation as Pansy Parkinson stepped out of the floor and into the room.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered her. All curves on a petite frame, her arms were toned and lean, her shoulders sculpted. Her green eyes flicked over him, noting the hand touching the temple of Hermione Granger.

Draco was staring at Granger, taking in the black dress she had put on at Theos insistence. It was a sleeveless number with a boat neckline and the soft, cotton fabric hugged her curves perfectly, the mini silhouette accentuating her hourglass waistline. Nothing but pure possession lay within his best friends eyes.

Theo cleared his throat and chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. “Good evening, boss.”

“What is she doing here?” Hermione demanded of Draco.

“I invited her.” He removed his wand holster, tossing it onto one of the chairs nearby.

Theo took the opportunity to run his eyes over Pansy. She was wearing a black tank top that showed off the milky white skin of her arms, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts and was tucked into a pair of black denim pants that stopped at her ankles, and then he took in the pair of white canvas slip on shoes she wore.

“Clearly you did, because I surely didn’t and I don’t see Harry anywhere around.” Hermione’s arms flew out to her sides, encompassing the space around them. “My question is why.”

“I’m here to train you, Granger.” Pansy drawled, her eyes flicking over to Theo. “What’s he doing here?”

“Train me?” Her laugh was derisive. “In what?”

“Self defense.” Draco replied, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves.

“I know how to defend myself, Malfoy.”

“Without a wand, Granger.” Pansy rolled her eyes and then turned to Draco. She threw a hand out toward Theo. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here.”

Theo cleared his throat and shuffled closer to Hermione. “She’s my principal.”

“Then why am I here? Just have Casanova over there train her.” She sneered over at Theo.

Draco shot Theo a knowing look before he answered Pansy. “You’re the best in one on one and you’re capable of taking down a man twice your size. I think it would be best if Granger learned from you.” He shoved both sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow.

Theo couldn’t help but notice that the tattoo on the inside of his left forearm was glamoured to appear unmarked. He wondered if Draco did that for Granger’s benefit or his own. Theo had noticed that Granger had a scar on her own forearm, which she covered with a glamour of her own when she saw his eyes flick to it earlier tonight.

Hermione scoffed. “I can defend myself without a wand.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to glare out the window.

Draco disapparated from his spot, only to reappear behind her. He banned his arms around her, pinning her arms to her chest.

Hermione growled. “Get off of me!” She thrashed in his arms, wiggling her body against his, trying to throw the back of her head against Draco’s mouth and kicking her heel into his shin.

“Careful, Draco.” Theo sniffed. “She bites.”

Pansy threw an acidic glare in his direction.

Hermione scraped her nails across Draco’s forearms.

“Come on, Pussy cat.” Draco murmured into her ear. “Fight me off, if you’re so tough.”

She growled and her nails sunk deeper into his skin. She lowered her mouth, which indicated, to Theo, that she was about to bite his knuckles before Draco repositioned it lower down. On her stomach, causing her to still against him.

“She’s useless.” Pansy scoffed.

Theo chuckled. “She’s feisty, though.” He shrugged. “And tenacious.”

“Oh, pull your tongue out of her ass, Theo.” Pansy hissed causing him to choke on a laugh that wedged itself somewhere towards the back of his throat.

“Why Pansy,” He placed a hand over his chest. “Are you jealous of my relationship with Granger?”

Pansy bit out a laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please. Only an idiot falls in love with his principal.”

“In love?” His brow lifted. “You’re assuming the worst of me, Pans. Hermione’s safety is my number one priority. No matter how I may or may not feel about her.”

Pansy’s cheeks flared a delicious shade of pink that spread to the tip of her nose.

Her anger was volatile and really, Theo should have been more careful but how could he resist sparking the flame inside of the witch.

Theo looked over to find that Draco was still curled around Hermione, rubbing his chin across her shoulder blade while her eyes eyelids seemed to grow heavy. She was panting, and her cheeks were aflame. Draco dropped her arms from around her and pulled his head off of her shoulder.

“You have claws, love.” He murmured. “Just like a puss-” She spun around and planted her hand over his mouth, cutting him off.

They stared at each other for several moments, Draco’s eyes heated and bright. “Stop saying that word.” She whispered.

Draco nodded once in understanding and she pulled her hand away. “Whatever you say, kitty cat.” He amended before winking at her.

Theo sent a pointed stare at Pansy who raised her brows in return. “Well, that was cute and all but can we go ahead and get on with this meeting? I have plans.”

“Plans?” Theo mused with a curious lift of his brow.

She shrugged and observed her fingernails, an obvious attempt at making him wonder what her plans entailed. Another man, possibly. She could just be trying to make him jealous. It might be working.

“Why her? Why can’t Theo train me?” Hermione looked to Pansy. “What makes you more qualified than him?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Other than the reasons Draco already listed?”

When Hermione nodded, Pansy uncrossed her arms and twisted away from Theo for only a second. Before she jumped and did a spinning kick. Only, instead of planting her feet firmly into Theo’s face or chest, she caught him by the neck with her legs before she finished spinning. Theo was forced forward and over, flipping hard onto his back before Pansy landed in a crouching position beside him.

The air was forced violently from his lungs upon impact. His lungs contracted, his throat worked as he wheezed and gasped.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “Well, that was quite impressive.” Theo coughed on a sliver of air that finally made it back into his lungs.

“It was brilliant.” Draco sounded absolutely tickled.

Pansy was smiling down at him.

Theo managed to hold up his middle finger to the room at large, narrowing his eyes in on the beautiful witch above him.

“She’ll train with you.”

Hermione scoffed.

Pansy stood from her position above Theo and dusted her hands off. “We start tomorrow morning, seven sharp.”

“There’s a room at the DMLE you two can use.”

“I never agreed to this!”

“Perfect. Bye, Granger. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Theo watched as Pansy stepped away and disappear from his peripheral. The ceiling flashed green as she departed.

Draco appeared above him, his hand already outstretched.

“Still want to tell me that there nothing going on between you two? Nothing you want to tell me?” He asked as he pulled Theo to his feet.

He sniffed and rubbed at his lower back. “We had a rather mind altering night several months back.”

“Oh?” Draco slid his hands into his pockets.

Theo nodded. “I dipped out before she woke up. Haven’t called her since.”

“Oh.”

“It must be a Slytherin rule.” Hermione scoffed. “Abruptly work your way into a witches heart and, just as quickly, forget all about her.” She spun and left the parlor, disappearing into the kitchen.

“You might want to go after that one.” Theo pointed toward the kitchen. “You kind of fucked up, not telling her why you were coming over.”

Draco glanced toward the kitchen with a frown. “She would have said no if I asked her to talk and work with Pansy.”

“She did say no.” Theo turned to the Floo, desperate for a stiff drink and a soft bed. “And honestly,” He shook his head as he shuffled into the fireplace. “A warning would have been appreciated.”

#dramione #dramione fanfic #fanfic #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #draco x hermione #idiots in love #pansy parkinson #theo nott #dramione blurbs #dramione ship #dramione fanfiction #dhr fanfiction #dramione fandom #dhr

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infintasmal · 1 month ago

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@librarivs : 📂📂📂📂📂📂📂 sends them all for rakan bc hehe Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

Rakan cannot read the human languages. He has picked up a few recognizable words ('that place sells food' kind of things) but otherwise can't read. In his own language he's functionally illiterate and struggled learning to read and write and later became disinterested in doing so. It comes out more in his modern verses but he is dyslexic and has ADHD which made school very hard for him. He ends up dropping out of high school.

He was raised by his grandparents. His parents died when he was still young and he doesn't remember them much. His grandfather is the one who taught him to dance and Rakan resembles him most. His grandmother taught him to sing and cook. He misses them.

When he was labeled mu'takl, he was ostracized for his interest in humans. While his grandparents didn't necessarily agree with his choices, they loved him. But it took a toll on them as others wondered how they could raise such a man. While he will claim his motivation for leaving was out of boredom and a desire to stretch his wings and travel, he also wanted to alleviate the strain on his family.

Lhotlan molt their feathers (more so when they are in full form). When Rakan is molting he is pathetic about it. He gets very self conscious and itchy and whiny, like a child with a tummy ache. A lot of his self worth is in his appearance so this is a tough period for him. But once his new feathers grow in you better believe he's showing off more than usual.

On a similar note, he loves preening, either himself or others. Especially Xayah. He loves any form of physical connection so when she lets him, he's the happiest bird ever.

Rakan emotes with soft bird noises. He purrs, trills, warbles, especially when he's content or angry.

In any iteration of his modern verses, Rakan is the type to wear sleeveless crop tops or baby tees, usually with dumb or funny sayings or prints like 'i support my wife's bad decisions because i'm one of them' or 'i'm too pretty to pay taxes' usually paired with low rise harem pants. he definitely has a pair of 'Juicy' trackpants. he would describe his style as 'slutty anarchy'.

#u give me choices as if im not going to do both charas #librarivs #rakan tbt #∞࿚ rakan ( asks. )

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chained-to-the-mirror · 2 years ago

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I looked through my notes and apparently last time I sat down to write my thoughts was in February. I had been struggling with my body image and had a nasty nightmare. I’ve not had very nasty nightmares now, but the body image thing is ever present.

I recently bought swimwear for the first time since my early teens. (Let it be noted that I’ll be 43 in a month.) It was inspired by a friend who is coming to visit and wants to go swimming. I was so nervous to even try on a swimsuit… but I did it. I now have two swimsuits/swimwear. I wonder how it will be to actually go out in public wearing them - not easy, probably, but hopefully it will be at least somewhat enjoyable in the end.

Also a new thing is that I’ve been wearing shorts now. It’s almost 30 degrees here and suddenly I’ve noticed I don’t care what others think. I even wore an almost sleeveless top! Who am I?! I think this is due to age, and running out of fucks to give. I mean, does anyone really care what I’m wearing? I don’t think so. I just want to be as comfortable as possible.

I’m putting my outfit from yesterday here - I would never have been able to wear this a year ago, no matter how hot it got. I’m surprised at myself. Also shocked at how comfortable I was eventually! There was no panicking, no distress. I see all the flaws, but it just matters less and less. I undoubtedly sound like a broken record, but I’m just so surprised.

I don’t think I would be at this point without my dear friends. They keep me sane, truly - and they never seem to get tired of shooting down my negative self talk, which matters more than anyone would guess. I love them all very much.

Another thing that’s helping is plants. I’ve become a full time plant parent, and it feels good to see things growing under my care. I’ve never been able to really do this successfully until now. I’m currently sitting on my balcony, surrounded by my green babies, and I feel calm. It’s no small thing, to feel calm! The plants also help me practice being patient. My huge tomato is testing me - there are so many flowers, but no fruit. Not even beginnings, apart from one that’s smaller than the tip of my pinky. I’m told it takes time, but I just worry. I am doing my best though, and that will have to be enough.

I don’t know where I’m going with all this, except nowhere. I suppose this is my blog, and I can go nowhere as much as I wish. I was going to write something the other day, but when the time came, I found I had no words anymore. Much like now! But I was thinking a lot about my active ED years for some reason. I used to be one of the moderators on a pro ana forum - one of the nice ones, one that helped me keep myself together for a long time. I was close to several people on there - I wonder where they are now? I kept in touch with a couple even after I was discharged from my first hospital stay, but these days I have lost contact with them. I hope they have found their own ways out. We were all sick, and brought together by being alone in our respective sicknesses.

I kept a journal on the forum - it was full of misery and wallowing, so I’m sort of glad I have no access to it anymore. In fact, I don’t even know what became of the forum after I left. I’ve tried to find it again, but nothing comes up on google at least. It was always a very private, invitation only forum. Everyone supported everyone, in both sickness and recovery (whichever way any of us went at the time). I think I’m - ironically - alive because of those girls. (I say girls, because it was all girls. I think there may have been one boy at one point, but he was not very active.)

It’s such a weird experience, and I can’t really explain it to anyone who hasn’t been a part of a place like that. I tried to explain it to the nurses and the doctors at the hospital, but I don’t think they got it. They saw it as harmful, and probably fairly. In fact, the whole thing made me realize how futile group therapy would be for eating disorders. It can go wrong in so many ways! I’ve only had personal therapy so I can’t be sure of course, but it just feels suspicious. At least for me. I think that you have to be mostly in recovery to really be able to get any help from a group. I think that I might be able to, now - now that I’m mostly recovered. But of course it’s not something that’s available for me anymore. The EDs are not even in my diagnoses - not the main ones anyway. You’d have to dig pretty deep.

I guess this is what I wanted to get out. I’m not proud of my involvement in a thing like the pro ana movement, but I can’t fully bring myself to be sorry either. These things happen for a reason, and the reason was to keep me alive. I’m grateful for that.

It’s time to stop writing. My plants around me are telling me to wrap up the day, and they are right. I only need a shower and then I can fully relax. Thank you to anyone who read this, it’s a mess!

#personal #ok to reblog though #tw eating disorders #tw weight #tw body image #let me know if I should tag something else and I will

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dribs-and-drabbles · 2 years ago

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Chains of Heart ep 7

So yesterday really was a bad day to publish my eps 4, 5, and 6 posts 😄 I guess something else seemed to make tumblr collectively lose their sh*t...can't think what now 🤔 Anyway, the links are at the bottom of this post in case you're interested and missed them.

But on to ep 7!

Of course the dodgy doctor, who knows Lue is Din, is wearing green to come and rescue him. I'm curious to know whether his tattoos are important since the camera fixed on them for a moment or if they just add to his 'look'.

OMG I just noticed in the ep 6 recap that the grey sleeveless top Ken was wearing when he rejected Lue in ep 6 has a small figure in black (possibly a fighting figure?) over his heart - maybe indicating that he will eventually open up to the MiB (i.e. Lue). Incidentally, this is also the shirt Ken puts on when his friends show up after he's woken up in bed next to a naked Lue in ep 7.

Anyway... It's also interesting that Hin is looking up information about Lue on a green tablet, whilst Payu wears a green tie. I wonder if all the beige comes from the original Lue's wardrobe. The beige sofas are a nice complement here then. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY DOES NO ONE ELSE TALK ABOUT LUE'S CHILD?!

Ken is emphatic that the MiB is Din and he's still alive...and his passion seems to be supported by the burgundy in his clothes, the red vase he's stood behind, and the red light in the bedroom. But it could also indicate that he'll eventually come around to Din being Lue once the truth comes out. The friend group is once again colour co-ordinating with the blues/greens/reds and again I wonder if these colours will correlate to who knows that Din = Lue in the end...

...these three especially below - three doctors, I think. We now know the one on the left (in the left photo) is potentially a psychiatrist, the one on the right has visions of the future (!), but the one in the middle stumps me still. He returns with Hin, Payu, and Boon later and it's incheresting that Hin/Sai/Ken's extended friend group seems to be losing the green and gaining the burgundy (whilst keeping a stable base of blue) 🤔

Ken rushes off to meet Deedee (still suspicious if you ask me, even in his blue t-shirt) and I love that Lue is wearing Ken's blue whilst Ken is for the first time in Lue's burgundy. Also note the blue curtains on the red wall - it's not going to take much for Lue to be shut out of Ken's world...and we see that very shortly after as Ken is shut away inside the blue cab.

Ingpha again wears the blue waistcoat and green shirt combo...this time he's livid about the MiB trying to kill him and wants him dead. (He also wore it when paying his respects to Din's family when the body was found and when he met Lue for the first time. I currently can't see a red thread connecting these (pardon the pun) since when he goes to tell Din's parents that Din is most likely alive he's in the red waistcoat again. Maybe he only has 4 different outfits that he rotates through 😄).

Ah the fabulous green and red dramatic lighting for the street fight.

I loved that, underneath his blue suit, Lue had a green scarf that gradually got revealed over the course of his scenes and finally got removed in Ken's living room - his hidden old-self cannot stay hidden once he loses control. Also that he was put down onto a green seat...and the leather sofas in Ken's apartment are green.

And more dramatic use of the red and green lighting...this time the red on Lue as he sleeps, reminding Ken of memories of Din, then the green in the hallway as Ken passes the huge photo of Din, then the red in the bedroom as Ken collapses under the weight of his grief.

But then this...the red light connecting Ken and Lue in the morning when they almost kiss. Delightful!

Din's mum wears more green as she comes to the realisation that Din may not be dead...although I don't think the visitor to Din's room this time round was Lue. I think it was probably Nok trying to find the video camera. But it made Din's mum question and that's all that matters.

Then Lue is back to his beige for his meeting with Ae - hiding all his colours - and Ae is once again in blue. Maybe this is her mask...or maybe she only has a certain number of outfits like her brother (despite their wealth!).

But this shot in particular is delicious. I love the line separating them, how it's not fully there (indicating how they're coming to some agreement about the illegal trade but for Lue it's only to uncover their shady business), and how they eventually drive away in different directions and in opposite coloured cars. Magnifique!

[ep 1] [ep 2] [ep 3] [ep 4] [ep 5] [ep 6] [ep 7] [ep 8] [ep 9] [ep 10]

#chains of heart #chains of heart ep 7 #going through the episodes like this has been enlightening #I might try to get ep 8 done tonight too...#chains of heart colours

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quailfence · 9 months ago

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[Image Description taken from alt: Watercolor doodles of a slightly older Lake from Infinity Train wearing punk-like clothes. On all pictures they're almost all dressed in black with little chains here and there. 1) Jacket with a patch saying "dive into the void", a t-shirt saying "don't talk to me" and baggy trousers with a patch with a knife and "call me cute one more time". 2) Leather jacket with a starry skull and "future dust" in the back. Note: "this is my leather jacket actually. I just thought she (they?)'d look cool in it". 3) white tank top saying "I got my top surgery done at aperture labs". Note: I stole this joke from user "scorchedcandy"". 4) Sitting on a grassy hill and looking at the sky, wearing a sleeveless vest with a toad patch, a deer patch, a "ask me about my trauma!" one, and a mirror-like one in the back with "shadow self" at the top and "what survived may not be kind but it's me" at the bottom. End description.]

Infinity Train Book Two took a full rewatch to grow on me but it grew on me a LOT

let's just say that the mental process it took for me to love Lake and want to protect them at all costs is the same process it took for me to be able to think back to myself as a teenager, aka an edgy little jerk who either wants to die or burn down the whole world, and say "well, that was a kid, don't judge your kid self as you would an adult" instead of wanting to strangle my 14 y.o self

anyway here's a slightly older Lake wearing punk outfits including my own leather jacket

the Aperture joke is from this post btw

#described #art #fanart #infinity train #lake

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recycledmoviecostumes · 4 years ago

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Goodness do I have a treat for all of you today. Larry McQueen, owner of The Collection has sent me a lovely sighting filled with detailed information. Because the detail is frankly incredible, I decided not to edit it and present Larry’s notes in full below:

In 1936, Travis Banton, head designer at Paramount Studios, began work on the last film he would design for his favorite clotheshorse, Marlene Dietrich. The duo had worked closely together on all her films at Paramount and created the “Dietrich style”-- a look of lavish, smoldering, hard-edged sophistication that was instrumental in creating the Dietrich legend.

Dietrich had one final film to complete her contract at Paramount and was cast in a typical Dietrich vehicle Angel, a sophisticated Lubitsch melodrama with her in the role of an ignored wife of means who has an affair with her husband’s friend. Banton designed the most opulent dress he had ever created for the star for the under-five-minute opera sequence and preceding scenes in the film. The ensemble was to become known as the “Faberge” gown and consisted of a fitted long-sleeve bodice with peplum, a matching long skirt with train and a six foot stole bordered with sable. The fabric was solidly embroidered with gold beads, pearls, rhinestones, gold bullion, gold sequins and faux ruby and emerald stones in geometric designs. According to W. Robert Levine in his book “In A Glamorous Fashion,” the costume was cost-listed on the wardrobe records at $8,000.00, an exorbitant price in the post-depression era and a price that would be over $100,000.00 by today’s standards. The expense must have caused stirrings in Paramount’s upper management in a time when the government was asking the studios to scale back the unnecessary lavishness in costume design. Banton himself once said it was the most expensive gown he had ever designed.

The ensemble is given credit in many film costume books as the most spectacular gown ever created. Diana Vreeland, one-time curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art said of the costume in the book “Hollywood Costume– Glamour! Glitter! Romance!” “When I think of detail, I think of Travis Banton’s marvelous beaded dress for Marlene Dietrich in Angel—like a million grains of golden caviar. That is one of the most beautiful dresses ever…”. Margaret J. Bailey in her book Those Glorious Glamour Years describes the dress “It was simple in lines, of Persian design, and looked like a piece of woven jewelry…” and “… caused no little trauma on the set when producers refused to give it to Dietrich for her private wardrobe.”

Dietrich had loved the gown and asked the studio if she could keep it. It is said she was so angry of being refused by the company she help save, she stormed off the set. The incident no doubt added to her disharmonious departure from the studio. She left the studio and did not return until a decade later. Acquiring gowns and props from her films- by whatever means- was a general practice of Ms. Dietrich. After her death, The German Film Archive Foundation (die Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek) and The Berlin Film Museum acquired her estate in 1993, which consisted of five different storehouses in Europe and the USA. In the collection were thousands of items from her career including fifty of her most famous film gowns. Her daughter, Maria Riva, once told the curator of the Frankfurt Film Museum, her mother was always in constant fear the studios would someday try to take back her collection and had kept the fact of its existence well hidden.

Paramount, however, retained the piece and began to put it to use. Re-using costumes was a common practice by studios to maintain an opulent look to secondary and background characters without the expense of making new ones. It is unknown exactly how many films the Dietrich gown was used in, but from photos found, it is obvious it was put to work and went through many transformations in the process. Mary Astor wore it, without the stole on the set of Midnight, 1939. The front was reworked and worn by Rose Hobart in the film A Night at Earl Carrolls, 1940. It was used in publicity photos as in that of Loraine Day circa 1944. With the sleeves removed, the stole without the fur was added to the front of the bodice as draping, it was worn by Felicia Atkins in The Errand Boy, 1961. The stole was cut in half to be used as a turban and worn with a sleeveless altered bodice by a model in A New Kind of Love, 1963. In 1974, the bodice was put back together and used by Diana Vreeland in the MET exhibition of films fashion and in 1985, the gown and stole was returned to its original configuration and worn by Barbara Hershey in the TV movie My Wicked Wicked Ways.

With all the different uses, the pieces took a beating. Many of the “re-workings” were fast and crude and some of the attempts to repair the gown involved covering damaged areas with large gold sequins. One previous ‘restoration’ involved applying glue to areas and pushing the beads back together and letting it harden. The fine chiffon backing was weak and starting to split and the patterns were separating. The costume was so fragile, it could never be worn again, but it is amazing the pieces stayed together.

In December of 1990, Paramount put the gown up for auction at Christies New York as part a larger collection of ‘star wardrobe.’ Larry McQueen and his late business partner, Bill Thomas, who were respected experts in the field of film costumes and had compiled one of the finest collections of the medium under the name “The Collection,” were retained to help inventory, authenticate and price the collection and were overwhelmed to see, what they believed to be, the most exquisite film costume ever created. They were successful in purchasing it for a total cost of approximately $23,000.00, one of the highest prices at the auction. As excited as they were to own the gown, the reality of its condition soon set in. Due to the age of the garment, poor storage and multiple alterations, it could never be dressed on a mannequin because it would not support its own extreme weight.

In 1999, four years after Bill Thomas died, Larry McQueen began the process of restoring the costume. Museum experts in preservation and restoration were consulted and much debate occurred as to whether the integrity of the gown- however poor that integrity was- should be tampered with. It was finally decided by Mr. McQueen that instead of leaving it as it was- a box of un-showable beads- the ensemble should be restored. Getson/Eastern Embroidery, who was then owned by Annie Dernderian, was approached with working on the gown. The firm had worked on the original costume and luckily had many of the beads, sequins and stones used on the original construction.

But, restoration of the garment proved far more difficult than planned. Even though the gown had only taken weeks to create, it would take years to restore. Every inch of the beadwork would have to be attached to new chiffon backing and the patterns pulled into shape and lightly tacked. Then the patterns had to be permanently hand stitched, replacing any missing stones or beads. Previous poor repairs would have to be removed. Missing areas or areas that had been glued would have to be replaced. Many of the original silk threads that attached the beads were breaking and would have to be reinforced with new silk thread. The stole, which had been cut in half and then stacked on top of its self and re-sewn, had to be taken apart, attached to a new backing and the beading attached and corrected. Photographs of Dietrich wearing the costume were enlarged to determine what was an original pattern and what had been changed. Luckily, the patterns did repeat themselves, so where a pattern was missing, a template of an existing pattern was made to re-create the missing one. The task would involve going inch by inch and would involve thousands of hours and great expense. But, determined to see the gown restored, Larry McQueen had the work begun.

The gown could not be taken apart and beaded flat as it was originally constructed, so a special frame with a sling had to be constructed to allow access to the inside of the garment to work from the front and the back of the fabric. Beads and sequins that had to be removed were sorted and reattached in to same location if possible. Only a four-inch area could be worked on at one time and each area was photographed before and after to document the work done. The project was daunting.

The entire fabric of the costume is composed of repeating geometric shapes somewhat like a paisley pattern. Each shape is outlined with small pearls or faceted rhinestones. Beads, pearls or sequins in different combinations fill the center portions of the design. Throughout, are patterns that contain a small grid work of bullion threading and each square filled with small pearls, sequins or a combination of sequins and gold beads. The background is of solid gold rocaille beads and the gown is sporadically studded with emerald and red glass beads. Literally millions of beads were used to create the fabric of the ensemble.

After one year, only the bodice was approaching completion, most of the work done by Annie Denderian. But the expense was mounting and it was becoming impossible to find qualified people who had the patience and time to spend on the garment. Mr. McQueen decided that if the costume was to be completed, he would have to take over the bulk of the hands-on restoration. Having the background and more importantly the motivation to see the gown completed, he was mentored by Ms. Denderian, learning and perfecting the techniques to painstakingly re-attach the patterns and began work on the dress. Almost one year to the date of beginning the work- working faithfully five to eight hours a day- the skirt and the stole were completed. To add strength, bias tape reinforcing and a new silk chiffon lining was added by the costume house of John David Ridge and the stole was re-bordered by using existing sable by Judith Moss at LA Fur Center.

McQueen stated that he probably would have reconsidered restoring the gown had he know the time, patience and expense it was going to take, but then quickly adds that he would have done it anyway. It was just too important. In working that closely with the piece, McQueen was amazed how in touch you get with the people who originally created the garment (a process difficult to understand unless you have restored someone else’s creation). You could tell when someone was having a bad day and cutting corners. You could tell when someone was struck with genius. You could see the differences in workmanship and technique between the various beaders. You could see the time spent on details in areas that no one would ever see. You become very close to the garment and understand it.

The gown is truly a testament to the artistry of early Hollywood. Mr. McQueen is confident the care, attention and over 3000 hours spent in its restoration would make its original creators proud. He hopes that if he leaves any legacy to the field of film costumes, one of his main accomplishments will be the “Faberge gown” survives in the splendor it was originally created and will be shown and appreciated for generations to come.

Costume Credit: Photos, copy and all the above incredible info provided by The Collection of Motion Picture Costume Design: Larry McQueen

E-mail Submissions: [email protected]

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest

Note: If you’ve not checked out Larry McQueen’s The Collection, I highly suggest you do so. It’s incredible!

#Marlene Dietrich #travis banton #mary astor #larry mcqueen #the collection #costume drama #costumes #period drama #fallen angel #midnight #a new kind of love #the errand boy #my wicked wicked ways

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alchemist-of-chaos · 2 years ago

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wrong reflection

warnings: gender dysphoria, general low self-esteem

characters: Eijiro Kirishima

author's note: dedicated to @kiriiqt , i luv u bro <3

wrong. you looked wrong.

yet again, you were stood in the middle of your room, watching yourself in the mirror. you turned to the side, throwing daggers at your reflection. tears were stinging in your eyes as you tried to hold them back, not wanting to cry yet again.

it was a battle that you were fighting for a long time already. a battle with your own body.

it has been some time since you realized. your body didn't seem like the one you wanted. not because of your curves being too small, or too big. it was because of your curves existing. everytime you entered a gym, you stared longingly at the flat chests of the boys around you, wishing you could just shapeshift into a form that felt more real, more yours.

it was something you struggled with a lot. not a lot of people knew about it, as you felt unsure of how possible this longing of yours even was. you were scared. scared of being judged, scared of not meeting expectations of others on what you should be, how you should act.

you hiccuped, no longer able to hold back the stream of tears that were now cascading down your face. you scuttled over to your wardrobe, grabbing your biggest sweatshirt and burying your unwanted curves behind it. there. now you can't see the curves that were not supposed to be there, not if you wanted to feel like who you really are.

there was a light knock on your door. you startled, hastily wiping away your tears before calling out for the person to come in. kirishima opened the door, the smile on his face almost blinding.

“so, how does it look?” he asks eagerly before letting his gaze fall on you. his smile vanishes, his face contorting into an expression of surprise before realization seemed to flash in his eyes.

“oh no, come here,” he ushers you softly, jogging up to envelop you in his embrace. his arms seemed to envelop you firmly, as if sure they could carry all of your feelings away and hold you, that was broken into pieces, together.

it was an unfortunate situation. kirishima was one of the few people that you trusted with your troubles and he was nothing but supportive. he went through all of it with you- buying your first binder, learning how to contour your face to pass more convincingly. altough you weren't ready to be very public about your attempts yet, outings with kirishima were different. being with him seemed to embolden you and you felt safe to try to be the real you.

and he supported that immensely. as it was, he bought you a gift- a piece of clothing, men's clothing, that you always wanted to wear but were too scared to. sleeveless top. unfortunately, it went exactly as you suspected. your binder didn't help much in concealing your unwanted features and your arms seemed to stick out, long and slim instead of the sturdy hands that you longed for.

that is precisely why you found yourself falling apart in kirishimas embrace, your biggest supporter and someone who you longed to be like. his hand gently caressed the back of your head while he kept uttering comforting words, letting you pour your feelings out.

it was a while before you felt safe enough to leave his embrace and as you did, his gaze immeadiately met yours.

“we will try again.”

“what?” you uttered, your voice still horse from the sobs thar were wrecking your body just a while ago.

“we will try again and we will succeed. we will make you comfortable with yourself, because, who doesn't deserve that?” he continued passionately, hands gesturing wildly,“ you certainly do!”

“i don't know kiri, just look at me. i can't be-”

“you certainly can. you already are. don't let your doubts get to you, bro.” he stated firmly before grabbing your shoulders to turn you to face him.

“ you are the manliest person i know.”

your breath seems to get stuck in your throat.

“besides you.” you choke out, your voice dissolving into a chuckle. he chuckles in response.

“exactly! that's coming from me, so you can trust me. my word is law.”

you laugh, a weight seeming to come off your shoulders.

“so that means i'm the second manliest man tho.” he hits your shoulder.

��oh shut up, bro.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima comfort #mha hurt/comfort #mha comfort

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etherealeeknow · 4 years ago

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touchy-feely

• rated m for mature

• pairing: best friend!minho x fem!reader

• wc: 1.523

• tw: groping, slight nipple play & edging, explicit language, fingering & oral (f receiving), - i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: I FINALLY POSTED HELLO. this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry for any mistakes! i’ll get to it tomorrow (hopefully 😂) and i hope you’ll enjoy it! also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.

—

“minho despises skinship, but with you it’s an exception.”

it was supposed to be the typical saturday afternoon for you and minho, but thanks to what jisung said earlier, you were now left on the couch, laying there with what if’s relentlessly running on your mind. you didn’t even hear when he called you from his kitchen that he had to come and poke your side, making you jump. “chill, y/n. do you want extra caramel or nah?” minho shrugged when you shook your head and put the bowl of popcorn on the table so he could lift your legs up, sit down, and place them on his lap. “uh, what are you doing?” you asked when the guy took back the bowl and rested it on top of your tummy as support. “uh, making myself comfy for the movie? duh?” he answered and pressed play.

when you asked him to sit on the other couch, he shot you the most questioning look ever. “you nuts, y/n? you want me to sit alone through this horror torture? of course you don’t. now shush. it’s starting. aaa~” minho didn’t even wait for you to open your mouth properly; he shoved the popcorn into your mouth and continued feeding himself in peace, eyes now glued to the screen despite his claim that horror movies weren’t his cup of tea. you shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to immerse yourself in the movie, which you eventually managed to.

things went by as usual—since both of you preferred discussing over movies after they ended, the living room was filled with nothing but the eerie and daunting sound from the TV. your body was no longer tensed and you didn’t even realize minho had been feeding you popcorn from time to time. it was until the jump scare popped out that you became self conscious once more upon minho’s touch. though his eyes never left the screen, his free hand was gripping tightly on yours.

“don’t be silly, ji. he has always been like that.”

“he has always been like that, yes, but only to you.”

rethinking over your conversation with jisung made you shake your head and because of that, minho loosened his grip to caress your hand softly, and it only made your eyes grow bigger. “w- what are you doing?” you asked for the second time that day, voice barely audible. “protecting you from the ghosts,” he replied as he put the empty bowl on the table and laid beside you on the cramped couch with his chin resting on top of your head, hands wrapped around your shoulders. before you got to call him out again, another jump scare came and the sound made you flinch, but minho was quick to run his hand along your arm, rubbing it soothingly and his soft touch sent shivers down your spine. “y/n, are you co-” you cut him off by standing up. the sudden movement made you lightheaded, but minho’s hand found its way on yours once again as concern was written across his furrowed eyebrows.

“have you always been this... touchy-feely?” you asked; confidence level so low but you managed to maintain eye contact as you waited for his answer. it had always been difficult to read what was going on in minho’s head, but it never bothered you, at least not until this second. after what felt like a year, minho let go of your hand and faced the ground while running his fingers through his hair. “did jisung say something?” he asked, finally looking back at you and you could only nod, scared of what might happen next. “what did he say?” he asked again, this time while running the back of his hand through your bare thigh and you swore you could feel your liquid gushing out just from the faint touch. “t- that you’re only touchy when you’re with me.”

“and do you agree?” you had so many thoughts, so many questions, but you could only nod. everything felt hazy just from the way his thumb caressing your inner thigh. “and do you like it? if not, i can stop.” when minho retreated his hand, you were faster than lightning, holding onto it as if your life depended on it, and your own action made you blush. “b- but we’re best friends,” you said and he chuckled, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “that’s not the question, love.” before minho got the chance to pull away again, you straddled his lap and could directly feel his growing bulge underneath you that made you even redder.

shaking your head, you told him, “please don’t stop.” although your voice came out in a whisper, minho could hear it loud and clear and he shot you a cocky smirk before leaning forward to meet your lips. your hands automatically found their way around his neck as he pulled you even closer by your waist and the two of you moaned in unison—both over the small amount of friction. the kiss deepened as no one wanted to give in, but minho was growing impatient, so he sneaked his hand into your hoodie, hiking your bra up to fondle your breast, pinching your nipple so he could hear you choking out your pretty little moans.

“off,” he commanded, breaking the kiss to take off his own sweater and sweatpants, dark eyes never leaving you. he quickly pull you towards him, hovering over you and began kissing you from your neck to your bare chest, then down to your belly, halting right above your undies. you shot him a pleading look, so desperate, yet your words wouldn’t come out. “i won’t stop if you don’t stop me,” he warned and you nodded almost right away. snorting, he added, “and i certainly won’t go further if you don’t say anything either. come on, what happened to the chatty y/n?” he teased, biting your undies to pull it down slowly until it reached your knees; the view made you roll your eyes back, shyness and eagerness all in one.

“minho, please,” you begged while facing the ceiling. “so i’m now a ceiling?” he mocked, a finger drawing circles on your outer labia and this time you sighed out loud in frustration. “for fuck sake, minho, ple-” you were cut off by your own moan when he rub your clitoris, spreading the wetness all over the place. the sensation of being pleasured by another person after months being untouched turned you on for the better, and for that person to be minho made everything far more exciting. you had lost count of how many times you had daydreamed for this to happen whenever he dropped by your apartment wearing nothing but a black sleeveless top after practicing or the way he came out of the shower, water dripping down his neck and veins popping out of his arm when he dried his hair with a towel.

just by having those flashbacks sent you over the edge and you managed to tell him you’re gonna reach your climax soon, which caused him to retreat his finger away and you grunted. “already? god, i barely touched you, y/n. are you that needy for me?” he chortled and you whined, no longer feeling embarrassed. the only thing in your mind was him. “i want you. i want you so bad, please,” you plead through your half lidded eyes, staring at him who was still below you. smirking, he shook his head in amusement and inserted one finger in you without warning, pulling it in and out of you right away before adding another; his lips came in contact with your aching core, his tongue playing its part, licking and sucking it.

you whimpered and spread your legs as wide as you could while bucking your hips, desperate for more. “fucking yes, just like that,” you said, followed with endless ah’s while your hand was squeezing your tits, the other gripping tightly on his hair; nothing turned him better than the way you pull them while he was eating you out, making you produce all of those juices for him to take while his own member was throbbing. your breaths were going shorter as the knot on your stomach began forming again. “minho, minho, minho, fuck!” you screamed as you pushed his face deeper into your pussy and the man did nothing but fastening his pace. “i’m cum-” it only took a few seconds for you to cry out, eyes closing blissfully while you shake and came all over his digits and his pretty face.

once you came back to your senses and the room was filled with only your raspy breathing, minho sit back and eyed you with the most heartwarming smile. “did you like it, love? did i make you feel good?” he asked and you nodded in response, throat too dry to utter a word. “i can’t hear you,” he said and you tried your best to mouth a “yes, minho.”

“such a good girl. now, on your knees. plus, it’s daddy for you from now on.”

#gen writes #lee know #lee know smut #lee know fic #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz #skz fic #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios

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animerina · 3 years ago

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Wine for Freedom-14

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)

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Thranduil x F!Reader

Summary: The Reader is left with nothing but three bottles of wine after Smaug destroys Laketown and somehow becomes Thranduil’s new brewmaster.

Note: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. This started as a one shot and ended up as a full story. You can read the rest on A03.

All Italics are Elvish.

Chapter 14: A Feast for Kings

Calanthe followed me into my dressing room to change for dinner. We had just retired from the festivities outside and had plenty of time to get ready. Thranduil was in his adjoining room redressing as well. Shucking the cloak and gloves off, I wiped at my nose. It had been cold out and while the ale had warmed my insides, my nose and cheeks were nearly numb.

I began removing the tunic and undershirt as Calanthe, smiling wide, pulled something out of the wardrobe. I turned to see a beautiful green, sleeveless dress and stood in awe. It was by far the most beautiful thing Thranduil had given me and I almost felt unworthy of it. The material was lighter in color on the top and gradually got darker as it reached the bottom hem. The bodice was heart shaped with gold beads and embroidery across the bust. It draped down, flowing across the floor with a delicate, gold belt settled across the waist. The outer layer opened in the front, revealing the same green silk beneath.

Removing the rest of my clothing, Calanthe helped me into the dress. The waist was cinched tightly, but was not uncomfortable. I twirled in the mirror admiring the dress.

“There is one more part,” she said and brought out a long train of light green, sheer material. At one end was a collar of gold leaves against silk. Clasping it around my neck, the sheer material ghosted across my arms and connected to a longer train connected to the back. My shoulders were exposed to the chilly air, but with how amazing I looked, I thought I could deal with the cold.

“How does he have such amazing taste?” I asked aloud.

“He is the king,” Calanthe replied offhandedly.

“And what will you wear?” I asked. “Surely, Elros intends to escort you.”

“I am wearing this,” she gestured to the dress she had one.

“Certainly not,” I shook my head. It wasn’t that it was an ugly dress, but it was something she had worn often. I had seen the silver dress more times than I could count. I pointed to my wardrobe.

“Wear whatever you want.”

“I cannot!” She looked shocked.

“Calanthe, you look beautiful already, but even you deserve to wear something new. I have plenty of dresses in here that I have yet to wear. Take whatever you want,” I urged her.

“But, Y/N-,” she began.

“I know you are taller than me, but I’m sure they would fit,” I said ignoring her. “I have this one,” I pulled out a plum colored gown.

“Everything you have has been given to you by King Thranduil. I could not wear them,” she insisted and I began to feel that maybe I had made her feel self-conscious.

“Calanthe,” I began. “You are my only female confidant here and my closest friend. I mean no insult, I just wanted to thank you for everything.” I took her hand in mine. “I know that there is a line you do not want to cross, but you are my friend first. Remember that.”

“Thank you,” she smiled softly and tried not to let her eyes water. “I also think of you as a friend, Y/N. I thank you for your generosity, but truly, I am fine wearing this.”

A knock on our door drew us apart and thinking it was Thranduil I moved to answer it. I was surprised to see Galion on the other side of the door. He blinked when he saw me, his jaw dropping slightly.

“Y/N,” he breathed out. “My friend, you look like a queen.” He smiled.

“I hope you mean beautiful,” I joked as a blush spread across my face. “Is Thranduil ready?”

“He is nearly ready. And I did mean beautiful,” he said while shifting a bundle in his arms. “I expect Calanthe is with you.”

I answered by opening the door to reveal the elleth. He nodded and asked if he could enter. Agreeing, I watched him approach the lounge chair in the room and lay the bundle over it. He unraveled the outer material and revealed a lilac gown with silver flowers embroidered over the hem and bust. The sleeves were tight at the shoulder, but then flowed out at the elbow and dusted the floor. There was white silk laces in front that tucked into the skirt of the dress.

Calanthe and I stared at the dress and then Galion looking for an answer.

“From Elros,” he explained. “He hopes you will accept and wear this tonight, Calanthe.”

The elleth was at a loss for words as she ran her fingers over the material. Placing my hand on her shoulder, she seemed to shake from her thoughts.

“Let’s get you dressed,” I sang.

—————

Exiting my dressing room, I sent Calanthe on her way to meet Elros wherever he was waiting for her. I took a seat on the bed, fingers playing with the material of the dress. I was in love with it.

“Meleth,” Thranduil gasped and I turned around. I hadn’t even heard him enter the bedroom.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. Ethereal,” he complimented.

He was wearing a floor length, gold brocade coat with slightly darker pants. The inside lining was green silk like my dress. Once again, we were matching.

“You look so handsome, my love,” I stood to pull him into a kiss.

“I have something for you,” he pulled a circlet from behind his back. It was gold, like the one he was wearing. In the center was a fire opal. Letting him set it on my head, I kissed him again.

“I love it!” I exclaimed. “Thank you, Aran nin.”

“Anything for you, Tári nin,” he said cupping my face. “We have a little time.” He eyed the bed behind me, but I pushed him back with a giggle.

“If we start, we will never make it to dinner and what a terrible impression I would make,” I teased. “However,” I let my hand slide over the front of his trousers. “Maybe after dinner.”

—————

Again, Thranduil escorted me to the festivities, however instead of going to the dining room like I expected, we headed to another room. When the doors opened for us, the elves who were seated all stood. I looked over the giant space and realized this must be a ballroom, though I had never been in one. Everything about the room was ornate: the floor tiles, the paintings that hung on the walls, the moulding. It all screamed elegance and I thought at least my dress matched the setting.

I was led to another long table that faced the crowd, but the tables that lined the room were aligned vertically so the people had to turn to look at us. This time, only Bard and his children were sitting at our table, but not Thranduil’s council, however I did see them close by. Before, they could not stare at me openly, but now their eyes fell upon me so I tried to avoid their gaze. I knew what Thranduil said earlier was true, I would be accepted, at least to an extent, but I still felt self-conscious with all the attention.

Our seats were pulled out for us and as soon as Thranduil sat, food was brought out and served. The meal looked amazing and I found I was starving as I eyed it. Those snacks at lunch did not quite fill me up. Wine was poured for us, but I saw Bard grab another mug of ale from one of the servers.

“Still no wine for you?” I asked.

“This is much better,” he smiled and took a big gulp.

“I hope it goes well with dinner,” I said before taking a sip of my own drink. The taste was still off and the fact bothered me. I must be getting sick from being in the cold for so long, I reasoned once again, encouraging myself not to worry.

—————

“Would you care to dance, my love?” Thranduil began to stand as we looked over the many elves twirling around the floor. Dinner had just ended and mistrals began playing as soon as the plates were cleared.

“I do not know how to dance,” I admitted shyly. “I never really had a chance to learn.”

“I will show you,” Thranduil said standing and pulling me to my feet. “Come,” he commanded.

“I’ll embarrass myself!” I tried to argue but he ignored me and I found myself on the edge of the dance floor, trembling.

“Thranduil,” I hissed.

“Give me your hand, Y/N. I will guide you.”

“If I trip,” I began but Thranduil quickly cut me off.

“You will not. Follow me,” he said as his hand gripped my waist and pulled me to him.

I placed my free hand on his shoulder and was thankful that the dress was covering my horrible footwork. Thranduil was so graceful and I tried hard not to stumble into him as he guided me between the dancing pairs. They parted for us, glancing over their shoulders our way as we passed. I ignored them for Thranduil’s sake, besides, if I didn’t concentrate I might just fall.

Thranduil suddenly spun me and as I came back to him, I caught Calanthe looking like a dream over his shoulder. Elros held her tightly to him as they swayed to the music. The two of them were lost in each other’s eyes, shy smiles on both of their faces. My heart soared at the sight.

“What has you so happy, Hervess?” Thranduil whispered to me though he had to bend down to reach me.

“Look behind me,” I said and turned the two of us so he could see.

“Ah,” he mused. “I suppose I should have noticed.”

“Even I found out by accident,” I laughed. “I walked in on something I shouldn’t have.”

“Nothing scandalous I hope,” Thranduil chuckled.

“Never. I swear,” I lied. I would not reveal exactly what I walked in on. I didn’t want to embarrass either of my friends.

Again, a laugh escaped Thranduil. “You said you did not know how to dance and yet, you are doing perfectly.”

I blushed and lightly swatted his arm. “I have a fantastic teacher,” I smiled at him. He looked even more handsome than usual and my heart fluttered in my chest. The lights shone behind him bathing him in a veil of light and I got fuzzy feeling looking at him. It was as if all I could see was the Elven king.

As my hands grew clammy, I began to realize the flutter of my heart was not fading. A cold feeling washed over me as we continued dancing, although my movements became stiff causing Thranduil to pause for a moment. My head felt light, like I had had too much to drink, but I barely had any throughout dinner.

“Love,” I began, swallowing the fear. “Love, I think something is wrong.” My hand clutched my heart which felt painfully tight.

“It’s happening again,” I stuttered our and suddenly Thranduil was ushering me out of the ballroom, ignoring everyone as we passed. In the hallway, he called for two guards before lifting me into his arms and rushing towards our chambers. My eyes began to close on their own, my vision fading quickly. I did not know what was happening and though I was scared, I also felt some sort of peace in Thranduil’s arms.

“Hold on,” he begged. “Please hold on.”

I silently promised him I would.

Tag list: (If you’d like to get added please let me know.)

@velvetmotel20 @happycupcakeenthusiast

#thranduil #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil x y/n #mirkwood #elros #bard the bowman #lotr #elves #lord of the rings #the hobbit fanfic #king bard

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kuroo-shitsurou · 4 years ago

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Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

#genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao imagines #genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi #genshin #xiao

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seraph-draws-stuff · 2 years ago

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I posted 498 times in 2022

That's 436 more posts than 2021!

147 posts created (30%)

351 posts reblogged (70%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@seraph-draws-stuff

@cheezylueezy

@iolite-moodboards

@starchaser-the-prophet

@buc-eebarnes

I tagged 496 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 300 posts

#art - 168 posts

#seraph draws stuff - 96 posts

#digital art - 90 posts

#seraph says stuff - 87 posts

#rb - 69 posts

#markiplier - 63 posts

#iswm - 61 posts

#fanart - 50 posts

#self reblog - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#when he had his arms out and was repeatedly asking for instruction clarification while staring off into the distance i felt that in my bones

My Top Posts in 2022:

he says, holding an iced caramel macchiato

733 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

yeah

773 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

you lunatics actually did it

1,455 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

three thoughts on the mario teaser

1: jack black is amazing and can do no wrong when playing any character

2: we were robbed of having more than 2 seconds of luigi

3: WHY does mario look and sound like that its so weird and wrong

1,592 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

lmao what if the turtleneck engineer mark wears is actually sleeveless

4,718 notes - Posted September 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i KNEW that stupid turtleneck post would be no. 1 >:/#sogh head in my hands rn #if the todoroki post wasnt mass reblogged the first turtleneck art probably would have been fifth 😬#seraph says stuff

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dont-be-ugly · 4 years ago

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The Five Times Y/N teased Bucky, and the one time he finally got back at her

Summary: Part two of Angels and Bar Accidents. Y/N and Bucky are forced to stay at the tower alone for a week, while the rest of the Avengers go out on various missions, vacations, and family reunions (for the alive family members, of course).

MONDAY

They didn’t notice the absence of anyone until it was to late. There was a note on the table stating everyone had went out on various things, and the first to be back home would be Tony. They had the whole tower to themselves. Y/N was walking around in one of Bucky’s sweaters, and short shorts, with her hair pulled back, while Bucky was sitting eating with no shirt and jeans.

Y/N was humming ‘Rasputin’ quietly, while searching the cabinets for something. “What are you looking for, doll?” Bucky asked. “My lollipops. I want something sweet, but not to sweet.” She answers, standing on a stool, trying to reach the top shelf. She sighs, her wings fluttering softly. The area was to small for her 10ft wingspan, and she couldn’t quite reach the top shelf with her 5ft 3in self.

“Bucky.... could you help me?” she sighs, yet again. “Sure thing, doll” Bucky laughs. He walks over to where the young girl is, and grabs her lollipops with ease. “You really are a doll. Cute, innocent, sweet, and small.” He teases. “Rude!” She exclaims, handing him a blue raspberry lollipop. “Thanks” he says, unwrapping the wrapper, and setting the it on his tongue.

“No problem!” She smiles, grabbing a watermelon lollipop. She unwraps it and sets it in her mouth. She continues humming, as she walks over, and sits across from where Bucky’s seat was, muttering something about innocence. She absentmindedly scrolled through Twitter. She had her hand on the stick of the lollipop, twirling it around her mouth.

Bucky sat down, watching Y/N silently. He was staring more specifically at the lollipop in her mouth. He knew she was doing it absentmindedly, she needed to keep her hands on something (wink wink) but she was also teasing him. She didn’t notice, of course. But she was. Y/N felt his eyes on her and looked up. “Can I help you?” She giggled, now noticing what she was doing. “In more ways than one.” He replied, seriously.

She smirked, got up, and walked over to Bucky. “Too bad.” She gave him a kiss, him tasting watermelon, her tasting blue raspberry. She pulled away, and skipped off, knowing this would rile him up.

If only he got his hands on her.

TUESDAY

Y/N was usually neutral when it came to heat and being cold. So, when the next day rolled around, she had to switch from sweater, to crop top, just to avoid the scorching heat. She sighed, before getting the best idea. She knew she was absentmindedly teased him yesterday, and played into it, so why not mess with him today?

Y/N knew teasing Bucky was dangerous ground, but adrenaline kept her from stopping. She had only ever teased him once purposely, and that lasted three days. She slipped on her favorite dark red crop top, it was almost see through, lacy, and sleeveless. Perfect combo.

She walked in the kitchen and grabbed a popsicle, opening the wrapper, before heading out to the training room. Bucky was training, as per usual, not paying attention until he heard the close. “Hey doll.” He said, walking over to her. He went to hug her but she slipped past him. “Don’t touch me, you, babe, are very sweaty. Sweat is gross.” She makes a disgusted face. “Fair enough.” He chuckles, and heads back to the punching bag. Y/N watches, licking and sucking on her popsicle.

He doesn’t notice at first, but eventually catches on. “You’re walking in dangerous ground, doll. Stop teasing me.” He says seriously. Y/N just smirks, turns around, and walks off, purposely swaying her hips a little more than usual. She waits just by the door, and laughs when she hears the frustrated noises coming from the room.

If only he got his hands on her.

WEDNESDAY

Today was accidental. Y/N was wearing one of Bucky’s shirts, with no shorts underneath. Bucky had it planned, where she would attempt to get a lollipop, which was in a new cabinet, on the highest shelf, and had to ask him for help.

She fell almost into his trap. Almost. Here she was, standing on the all-to-familiar stool, reaching for her lollipops, the shirt lifting, and leaving almost nothing to his imagination. He silently shifts. She turns around and steps down, now looking at Bucky’s frustrated face. “Like the view?” Y/N laughed.

“You’re teasing me again.” Bucky wines. “Whoops.” And with that, she walked out.

If only he got his hands on her.

THURSDAY

They had gotten an invite from Tony, who was still on vacation, to a gala happening the Monday after he gets back. That meant Y/N had to try on dresses. And had to get someone’s opinion. She had been lucky to slip out of his grasp, but he was getting more and more riled up about it. They both knew that when he fought Y/N, she would never tease him like this again.

“Last dress, I promise!” She pipes, walking in the kitchen. It was a gold dress, that went to her upper thigh, cut out holes on the sides where her hips where, thin straps, and a V neck that left little to anyone’s imagination. He sat, jaw dropped, admiring his girlfriend’s figure.

“I take it you like it, huh, Buckaroo?” She giggles. He clears his throat, standing to approach her, but as soon as he gets 10ft away, she runs.

If only he got his hands on her.

FRIDAY

Y/N had somehow managed to, not only avoid being near Bucky for to long, but convince him to go swimming with her. He was overly frustrated, and her in a swimsuit didn’t help. It was a dark red bikini, laced around the edges, thin straps, and was somewhat see through.

He had managed to keep a straight face for five minutes, before he finally broke. He grabbed Y/N, careful to to hurt her. “I forgot my wallet at the tower. Could you teleport us?” He lied. He felt bad lying to her, but she had been teasing him all day for the past four days, today the fifth. He wouldn’t let her escape this time.

“Yeah, sure.” She teleported them back, and before she could run, he had his hand around her neck, and her pinned against the wall. He squeezed slightly, but not enough to hurt Y/N. “You’ve been teasing me doll. All. Damn. Week. And I’m not going to escape for a fifth time. Now, will you behave? Or will I have to add to your punishment?”

#Bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #angel!reader #winged!reader

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stolensiren · 3 years ago

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day at the diner // cass & abigail

TIMING: a few days before cass and marley's run-in with the hunters PARTIES: @morbidlycuriousabigail & @stolensiren SUMMARY: cass meets abigail to try to help her name a recent painting. they talk about comic books and supernatural alignments and they're both super normal about these topics. CONTENT: none

The diner wasn’t exactly crowded, but it was a public enough space that Cass didn’t think it was too big a risk to meet Abigail there. It was a sketchy situation, sure — someone inviting a stranger to come look at their art was always a little weird — but Abigail knew Metzli, and that was enough to make Cass a little more trusting than she otherwise might have been.

Still, she got there early. She scoped the place out, she mapped out escape routes. It was always best to be prepared, she figured.

She was halfway through a cup of coffee when the person she assumed was Abigail entered the cafe, and she waved the other woman over with a grin. “Hi!” She greeted when Abigail arrived at the booth. “I’m Cass. Obviously. Here for… painting inspection?” She wrinkled her nose slightly at the self-assigned descriptor. “Okay, full disclosure, I know nothing about art, but I can definitely help you think of some titles, at least.”

When Abigail entered the cafe, she both looked, and sounded exactly like one might assume from her online interactions. She dressed mostly in black, wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck, a dress coat, and a pair of black dress pants, as well as combat boots. Taking a seat next to Cass, she began to respond, speaking in a monotone and dull manner. “Hello. I’m Abigail Varcroft. Yes, you are.” She pulled a large black reflective object from her bag, opening the top to pull several un-framed paintings from the sleeve, which was intended to protect the paintings from light.

“I’m not too surprised about your amount of knowledge on the matter, but as I’ve said, if Metzli trusts you, I can trust you enough not to ruin my art.” She promptly ordered a coffee and a breakfast for herself, before turning to look at Cass, staring into her eyes as her tone became dark and extremely serious. “If you spill anything on these pieces, I will erase you.” Her change back to her original temperament was rather sudden after she spoke, offering the first of the paintings to Cass.

Abigail certainly looked the part. Her aesthetic was just like her online persona, and Cass had to admire how easily she pulled it off. She was the kind of person Cass imagined had a flawless sort of cool about them, the kind that didn’t try to be anything other than what she was. And Cass always envied people like that, just a little. Anyone who could embrace those parts of them definitely had something Cass didn’t. “Nice to meet you in person, Abigail,” she said with a grin, watching as the painting was removed from the sleeve with a curious expression. She was excited to see it, in spite of her lack of knowledge about arts. She didn’t always understand the symbolism behind it, but she could recognize a cool style when she saw one.

“I promise I won’t ruin it. I won’t even touch it, swear. But I am really pumped to look at it.” She nodded adamantly at Abigail’s threat, because it was a fair one to make. She’d probably worked hard on this painting. If Cass messed it up with a clumsy mistake, she’d probably deserve to be erased. Whatever that entailed. Taking the painting, Cass looked at it with wide eyes. It seemed almost three-dimensional on the canvas, with depth and shadows that she could only imagine trying to create. “Whoa,” she breathed. “I get why you said it might be disturbing, but… This is seriously awesome.”

Upon scanning Cass over further, Abigail couldn’t help but note how she seemed to carry herself. She spoke with the unapologetic genuine kindness of somebody who had a very solid moral compass. Not only that, but Abigail couldn’t help but feel completely opposite to this person, just because of how she spoke and acted in the short interaction they’d had so far. “Thanks. It’s.. nice to meet you too, Cass.” She kept her arm extended as she responded, keeping the painting presented to the stranger with an expectant gaze.

“Good, finger oils may affect the paper or the paint, you can never be too careful.” Abigail watched Cass examine the painting, feeling anxious for only a split second, before she snuffed that feeling out. She knew her art was good, and she hoped Cass could at least see how good it was. Abigail felt like she needed to be confident and calm to keep control of this situation, not that the situation needed to be controlled in the first place. Exhaling quietly in relief once Cass commented on her art, she was genuinely relieved that her art stood up to this stranger’s standards. She hated that feeling of relying on others for validation, but it seemed inescapable to her. “I told you it wasn’t pornographic.” She joked, although her bland, unwavering tone made it difficult to tell.

Cass flashed Abigail another smile, nodding her head. “Totally knew that,” she lied, punctuating the statement with a wink as she immersed herself in the painting. Art, she’d heard, was supposed to make you feel things. She’d never been good at that, had spent hours looking at paintings and drawings and sculptures trying to feel what she was supposed to feel, but it never turned out quite right. It always felt like something was missing, like she was doing it wrong. But… maybe she’d been looking at the wrong kind of art, all that time. She didn’t feel nothing when she looked at Abigail’s art, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was she did feel.

“You did tell me that,” she agreed with a laugh. This certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting, that much was for sure. In spite of Abigail’s promises, part of her had anticipated some nudity, albeit the artistic kind that you saw in museums. And this certainly wasn’t that. “Did you decide on a title?”

Abigail sat the painting atop the sleeve after her coffee arrived, taking a quiet sip from the steaming hot beverage. “I doubt it, no offence.” She quickly calmed down, the high from the compliment passing over rather quickly as she was questioned. “I don’t have a name yet, but I was thinking something like ‘disembodied’, or something along those lines. I’ve never been good at naming art, most of the ones I come up with are either too blunt or too boring to work properly.” Abigail took another sip of coffee, staring down at the painting, seeming to be racking her brain for another name for the piece, but she came up with nothing. “I am unsure if this piece is even close enough to perfect for it to be given a name.”

“No offense taken. You’re right to doubt — I absolutely did not know that.” Cass offered Abigail a playful smile with the words. She had admitted to knowing next to nothing about art, and the wink at the end of the statement had made it pretty clear that there was little seriousness to it, so Abigail’s doubt was completely fair. She nodded as she studied the painting, worrying her lip between her teeth. “That’s a pretty good one. Kind of a pun, yeah?” Her eyes snapped up at the last statement, meeting Abigail’s in an expression of disbelief. “Seriously? Come on, this is awesome. You’ve gotta give it a name. It definitely deserves a name.”

Nodding, Abigail continued staring down at the paper as she sipped her coffee, thinking on it for a moment. “I didn’t intend for it to be a pun, but that meaning would also make sense I suppose.” She looked over to Cass, speaking bluntly about her work. “It is one of my best, but.. I worry it could still be better. I feel that I should hold myself to a higher standard than what others would call ‘decent art’.” For Abigail, art was one of two things that gave her meaning in life, the other being the eternal power climb she’d been on the path of, but she couldn’t exactly talk about that with a stranger at a diner. She could, however, talk about her art with this stranger. Her need for perfection had been something she’d struggled with for a long time, especially when it came to making her own art public. Abigail would hopefully never admit the amount of courage it took to show anybody, that was something she hoped to take to her grave. “I suppose it does deserve a name, one better than what I’ve been calling it thus far. I think I will call it… ‘Pulchritudo mortis’, meaning the beauty of death.”

Abigail wasn’t satisfied with her work. Cass figured no one ever really was. Everyone’s harshest critic was themself, and artists tended to fall especially hard to the habit. Cass had seen it in a few of her foster siblings over the years, in Metzli a time or two. “I think… you probably hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else does. You might look at this and think it could be better, but everybody else? They just see how good it already is.” She hoped the words of encouragement would help a little, even if she knew they weren’t much. Everybody needed a little something sometimes, even if Abigail truly seemed like the last person who’d ever outright ask for it. Cass grinned when Abigail gave the piece a proper name, nodding her head appreciatively. “I think that’s pretty perfect!”

“I hold myself to a higher standard because if I do not stand out in some way, I might as well not hold myself to a standard at all.” Abigail explained in her usual emotionless tone, sliding the painting back into the sleeve and setting it aside. “You can order breakfast. As I said, it’s my treat.” She then turned to one of the people working behind the counter, ordering a simple breakfast for herself, and a refill of coffee. “I think that’s a pretty normal feeling though, the need to be more than others, whatever that means for them. Otherwise, you fall to the wayside and become a complimentary character in your own life. Those who settle are not deserving of praise or greatness. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess that makes sense. But… It’s okay to give yourself a break sometimes, too. Even if it’s hard.” Cass had never been particularly disciplined, something that got her in trouble more often than not at whatever foster home of the week she was at. But Abigail was different. Abigail held herself to a high standard, wanted herself to be the best. And Cass respected that, even if she didn’t understand it. She flashed Abigail a grin when she spoke, ordering a breakfast that wasn’t simple but wasn’t elaborate, either. She’d learned to jump at the chance of someone else buying her food without guilt, but she didn’t want to take advantage, either. “Yeah, I think that’s a fair enough assessment. You gotta shoot for the stars every time, right?”

“I suppose so. If I don’t keep busy, I get antsy, though. Breaks rarely go well.” Abigail spoke mostly truthfully, withholding the incriminating half of her situation. It wasn’t exactly something to be conversed about over breakfast at a public diner. She was indeed her harshest critic, but acknowledging that didn’t make it go away. That would take time and effort, and Abigail had more important business to attend to. “So, what is it that you want to excel at? You must have a hobby or a passion of some kind.” Abigail glanced over at Cass while she spoke, raising her eyebrow curiously.

“I feel that, too.” When Cass gave herself a break, which was far more often than it ought to be, it tended to have just as many consequences. She excused the bad things she did because she told herself she’d earned that, told herself she deserved it. The people she stole from didn’t miss the things she took from them, and they made all the difference in the world to Cass. And it balanced itself out. She helped people, too. That made it all okay. Still, she shifted under Abigail’s gaze, because the answer to her question wasn’t a simple one. Cassidy’s passions were kind of… sketchy at best, after all. “I, uh… I like comic books,” she settled on. “Reading them, anyway. I’ve never tried writing one. But it’s — I like those a lot.”

“What kinds of comic books?” Abigail asked with genuine interest, although it was difficult to tell through her blank speaking tone. It didn’t feel natural for her to feign emotions or express emotions in an outward manner, so she didn’t bother. “I like manga, horror mangas specifically.” Once her food had arrived, Abigail picked at it slowly and sporadically, not seeming that hungry but still wanting to eat something to stay busy and stave off boredom. “Perfect Blue’s a great one. I like The Drifting Classroom too.” The hustle and bustle of the restaurant slowly started to seem more and more loud to Abigail, making her entire body feel tense and uncomfortable, no matter what position she was in. She didn’t let it show, but every little thing felt so overwhelming, for seemingly no reason. Abigail hated when it got like this. After a few moments of silence, it became clear that she was a bit zoned out and unfocused.

“I mostly read superhero stuff,” Cass replied, perking up a little when Abigail mentioned she, too, read similar stories from time to time. “I’ve read some manga, too. Kind of exhausted the library’s supply on it, which isn’t saying much, and I definitely know more about American comics than manga, but… I’m always open to suggestions?” In contrast to Abigail’s picking, Cass ate her food wholeheartedly, unwilling to waste a single bite. She nodded at Abigail’s suggestions, making a mental note to look for them both at the comic store on her weekly trip there. But… then Abigail stopped speaking. She seemed to withdraw into herself a little, and Cass shifted. “Abigail? Are you all right? Do you want to step outside or something?”

Hearing her voice being called, Abigail suddenly came out of her daze, blinking a few times and taking a sip of her coffee, breathing deeply in and out of her nose to try to calm herself down. “Yes, I’m alright. I’m fine. Just tired.” She was lying, mostly because she felt weak because of her problems, and she refused to allow others to see her weaknesses. It still felt too loud in here, but she was able to force herself to stay in the moment. “What were you saying? Superhero stuff?” Abigail tried to change the subject quickly, rubbing her thumb along the outside of the coffee mug handle, doing her best to ground herself and keep her breathing even. These ‘episodes’ were common, and got worse when things were going well in her life. “I haven’t read many superhero comics, but I’m open to recommendations if there are any good ones that you would recommend.”

Abigail seemed to startle out of her daze when Cass said her name, and Cass shifted in response. Uncertain, uneasy, unsure what to do. There was no real change to Abigail’s tone when she assured Cass that she was fine, but Cass felt the lie anyway, felt it settle on the table between them like a centerpiece. Cass could have poked at it, could have pushed the subject more, and maybe she should have. Maybe a better person would have. But Cass only shrugged, nodding her head at the question. “Superhero stuff,” she confirmed with a grin that was mostly forced, mostly false. “I can definitely give you recommendations. Just, you know, you have to be ready for a big list, ‘cause I’ve got a lot I like.”

Abigail had no desire to linger on the previous moments, responding quickly to Cass. “I’m ready for a big list. I will let you know what I think if I ever check them out.” Staying in the moment always worked best for Abigail. When she started thinking or panicking, it was best to just keep going and ignore it, at least that was what she thought. She would probably think otherwise if she wasn’t as afraid of her own thoughts as she was. “I’ve heard Watchmen is an entertaining superhero comic, have you heard of it?” Abigail noticed the fake smile, she knew fake expressions like the back of her hand. “Don’t fake a smile though. I can tell, and I’d rather you not waste the effort at the very least.”

Cass offered Abigail a smile, not mentioning the lie, not mentioning any of it. It was easier, she thought, to ignore that sort of thing. It was easier to move passed it, to pretend everything was fine. If you pretended long enough, you could fool anyone. Even yourself. “If you like horror,” she said, shifting in her seat, “you’d probably love Moon Knight. Ghost Rider, too.” She nodded at the mention of Watchmen. “That one’s great! Totally a classic.” The forced smile faded, and Cass wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.” She wanted to make Abigail feel more comfortable, but it didn’t seem she was doing a very good job at it.

“Ghost Rider, that sounds interesting. What’s that one about?” Abigail tilted her head a bit to the side, finishing off her coffee after asking her question. She watched as the smile faded from Cass’ face, a tinge of guilt arising within. Abigail wondered if it would have just been best to let Cass keep thinking she was helping. “Don’t apologize, you did nothing, it’s a natural human response. I’m just better at telling than most. In my presence, you do not need to force yourself to smile, just as I do not for you. Understood?” The tone she spoke with wasn’t upset, or guilty, or containing any emotion at all. She spoke only facts, like she was trying to free Cass from her own expectations and preconceived notions of how this conversation should go. “I won’t be mad or nervous, never have been.” Those were both lies, but she did her best to continue speaking in an honest-sounding tone.

Cass lit up at the question, always excited to launch into an explanation on her favorite medium of entertainment. “There are a few different versions of the character, but most of the time it’s about a guy who makes a deal with a Spirit of Vengeance to save his own life. He gets to go on living, and the demon gets to use his body as a vessel. It, like, sends bad guys to Hell. And he drives a really sweet motorcycle. Or car, depending on which one you read.” Abigail spoke, and a faint smile returned to Cass’s face, genuine this time. “Understood,” she agreed with a nod. It was a strange concept, the idea of not being required to put on a show for someone. She’d been putting up a front her entire life, and typically when she stopped, people lost interest. Abigail seemed the opposite. It was refreshing. “Thanks, Abigail. I really appreciate that. You’re really cool, you know?”

Abigail listened closely, not breaking eye contact and occasionally nodding as Cass spoke on the subject, one she was clearly passionate about. "So is it a demon or is it a spirit? Or is it both?" Her genuine curiosity was piqued by the conversation, it seemed like a popular and interesting form of media, just not one that she'd ever looked into before. "There are multiple versions of the same character? Within the same medium? That sounds like an interesting concept. It sounds like there is much room for artistic expression and character design in superhero comics." Abigail hadn't expected her genuine nature to be appreciated by this person, it felt oddly pleasant. "Thank you, I don't think I've ever been called 'cool' before, but it feels good. You are cool too, just for future reference." The smallest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of Abigail's lips for a moment, made more noticeable due to the fact that her normal expression was the same during the entire conversation so far.

“It’s kind of both, I guess?” Cass considered the question with a hum, pausing a moment before nodding. “Yeah. It’s both.” People didn’t usually let her talk about her interests for extended periods of time like this, much less ask questions and engage in the material. It was fun, she found, to discuss it with an interested party. “Yeah! It’s, like, different people who take on the same name. Like you’ve got Johnny Blaze, the original. Danny Ketch, too. Uh, Alejandra Jones. Robbie Reyes… They all have their own unique style. It happens a lot in comics. It’s part of what makes the medium so much fun. You can usually find a character you vibe with, no problem.” Abigail looked happier now, and Cass felt happier seeing it. “Thanks,” she replied. “That really means a lot coming from you, because you seem like a good judge of that kind of thing.” Abigail didn’t seem the sort to hand out compliments easily, so getting one made it feel all the more sincere.

Abigail nodded in understanding, absorbing the knowledge as it was given to her. This new thing sounded more and more interesting, she’d definitely have to check it out when she went home. “I think I understand somewhat. So, a spirit and demon with a ‘sweet’ vehicle uses their powers to enact vengeance upon any and all who deserve it? And the ‘Ghost Rider’ name is actually a mantle of some kind. Is that correct?” A small flicker of hope glinted across her eyes as she waited for a response. As always, she thrived off of what others thought, as much as she refused to acknowledge it. “It sounds very interesting, I can understand the appeal. It would be interesting if somebody like that comic character really existed in the real world.” Abigail paid no mind to the other customers at the diner at the moment, automatically tuning them out due to her investment in the conversation. It was a welcomed escape from being stuck in her head. “I am a good judge of that kind of thing. I’m great with people.” Abigail spoke in an empty, prompt tone, but she paused for a moment as if expecting something, before quickly speaking once again in clarification. “That was meant to be funny. Just for reference.”

People usually stopped her when she got like this. Cass could go on about comics forever if the person at the other end of the conversation allowed it, but they usually didn’t. Abigail was different. She wasn’t just willing to listen, she was willing to engage. And there was a thrill that came with that. “Yes!” She confirmed, a little too much excitement in her voice. “That’s exactly right. It’d be cool, yeah, but… Maybe not for that person. I mean, having something else use your body half the time, not being able to call the shots about what you’re doing… I don’t think that would be much fun.” It was a terrifying concept, really, to lose your agency entirely like that. It worked better in fiction, where you could separate yourself from the implications of it. Cass grinned at Abigail’s joke, nodding her head. “I got you,” she said, tapping her temple before pointing to Abigail. “That’s a good one. But, you know, I think you’re better with people than you think you are.”

The inadvertent yet admittedly very close to home call-out made by Cass sent Abigail for a loop. As much as she tried not to let it show, her visible pause from being taken aback by Cass’ words made it obvious that something she had said meant something to Abigail to some degree. “..yes, I agree. That would be very unfortunate and horrifying, but of course, if you could differentiate your actions from the actions of your other half, wouldn’t it make it more bearable?” Stopping herself before she spoke too much, Abigail cleared her throat softly, breaking eye contact to order coffee from a passing waitress, her face back to completely blank and undisturbed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I seriously doubt that. According to my old therapist, I am severely socially stunted for several reasons, so… her and all of my former employees would disagree with you. Still, I really do appreciate the sentiment.”

Abigail seemed taken aback for a moment, though Cass couldn’t imagine why. She shifted in her seat, shrugging as the other woman spoke. “I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “I think it would make me feel… more powerless, in a way. Knowing that somebody else was doing things with my body, that I wasn’t in control of it. I don’t think it would help much, even if I could separate it in my head.” It was strange, watching how Abigail steeled herself. Stranger still since Cass had no idea what she was steeling herself against. She glanced to the waitress, offered her a smile as she tried to ponder what might have caused the reaction. “Well, I like talking to you. You’re good enough with people to make me have fun in a conversation. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“I can’t disagree with you. Not like they have much of a choice though, the most that the person with the spirit in them can do is make the best of the situation.” Abigail grabbed her now-full cup of coffee, taking a small sip and letting out a quiet, deep exhale for a moment, before looking back to Cass, reengaging with the conversation. She didn’t want to think about the difficult situation she was in, nor did she want to think about what she’d done from a moral standpoint. That would make things much, much harder for her. “Anyways, heroes typically have villains, yes? Who is the main enemy of this ‘Ghost Rider’ character?” She was quick to return the conversation to a lighter topic, and it was painfully obvious that she was hiding something, even if it was difficult to tell what. “Thank you, Cass. I don’t hear that very often, but I am glad that you’re enjoying the conversation.” Offering a sincere nod, Abigail glanced towards the extremely shiny and reflective napkin holder for a moment after catching a glimpse of something odd. Spotting the reflection of the person sitting across from her, Abigail didn’t let on what she’d seen just yet, simply gesturing towards the napkin holder with her coffee cup. “By the way, from friend to friend, you should be more careful.”

“That’s true,” Cass agreed with a nod. “I guess if you’re possessed by a Spirit of Vengeance, it doesn’t do you much good to think about how much it sucks all the time.” Even if it would probably be hard not to. Cass tried to be an optimist, but it was hard at times. “Mephisto is probably his big bad. He’s… Kind of the literal Devil. So, I guess it makes sense.” Cass wrinkled her nose as she said it, a little amused. If there was one thing you could count on with comic books, it was a certain level of ridiculousness lurking beneath everything. That was the best part, for Cass. The ridiculousness made the stories easier to bear, even when they were dark. Cass smiled at Abigail, blinking curiously when the other woman’s eye seemed caught on the napkin holder between them. She glanced down at it, breath catching in her throat at what she saw. What should have been her reflection looked… inhuman. More like a bird than a person. Cass quickly grabbed the napkin holder, putting it in the seat beside her and out of sight. “I — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, straightening her back. “But I’m glad that we can be friends.” It wasn’t a smooth transition, but… She glanced down at the napkin holder again. Sometimes, smooth transitions weren’t possible.

Abigail watched as Cass quickly moved to hide the reflective surface, a light smirk on her lips as she made a zipping motion with her hand, a gesture she intended to mean that she would remain silent about this little secret. “Sure, I don’t know what I’m talking about either, I suppose. Must have just been a trick of the light.” Sipping yet again from her coffee mug, Abigail’s coy attitude remained as she returned to the lighter side of the conversation, as if the elephant in the room hadn’t been splayed out before them, making the air a bit more tense. “As am I, but just as I said you need not pretend with your emotions, you also need not pretend when it comes to your.. situation. Surprisingly, I can be rather understanding, so long as you’re on my good side.” Abigail’s eyes glanced over at Cass, gazing sideways at her and trying to read her to see how uncomfortable she was. That was usually a good gauge of how she was performing in a conversation. “But I must warn you, there’s a chance things won’t go so smoothly between us now, depending on your alignment. I have a similar, but different affliction, at least from the limited information I have about you so far. Do you understand?”

Cass was tense, her shoulders tight and her hand trembling where she held it in her lap. She resisted the urge to glance down at her reflection again, terrified of what she’d see there. Instead, she stared straight ahead, focusing on a spot just over Abigail’s shoulder to keep from having to look her in the eye. A cowardly move, maybe, but better than facing something she’d been avoiding for a while now. “I’m not pretending. I don’t — It’s just not what you think it is.” She shifted, suddenly nervous for more reasons than one. “I don’t have any alignment. Or affliction.” Gripping her purse, she chewed her lip. “Look, this was fun. I really want us to be friends, and I liked talking to you. But I should probably get going. I’m meeting a friend later, and she’ll worry if I’m late. You know?” It was a lie, but one Cass hoped could stop the uncomfortable direction of the conversation.

Abigail accepted the check from their waitress, scanning it over briefly and placing payment in the clip attached to the check, wanting to quickly return her attention to Cass. “I’m sure it’s not, I don’t even know what I think it is. But everybody has an alignment of some kind, good and evil, chaos and law, right and wrong, even I am aligned with something.” Pulling a card from her pocket, she handed it to Cass, looking in her eyes even though she didn’t do the same. It appeared to be a business card without any business information, just Abigail’s first name, last initial, and some contact information on the back, all in a plain black font. “Then we can be friends, and we don’t have to talk about whatever that was, but I can be more understanding and more knowledgeable than you may assume me to be, Cassidy.”

It was a fight to stop her hand from trembling as she reached out and took the card, but Cass managed it. Just barely, but it counted for something. “I’m just trying to — to live my life. That’s all.” It was both true and untrue, both a fact and a lie. She wanted to do good, wanted to be good… most of the time. But right now? Right at this moment? All she wanted was for this conversation to be over. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to talk about it. “There’s nothing to understand. And nothing to talk about. I’m sorry to rush out. I, uh… I’ll be in touch.” She held up the card, pushing herself to her feet. “I like the painting. You should have Metzli put it up in the gallery. I’ll come see it.” And then, she turned on her heel and practically ran for the door. In the seat beside her now-empty chair, the reflective paper towel holder sat, light bouncing off it. Cass didn’t look back.

#morbidlycuriousabigail #abigail: day at the diner

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