#really enjoyed drawing flowers and abstract curls

[sylvrndoodles]

practicing book cover designs by redesigning some existing book covers!

I really love this series, the fantasy setting is so whimsical and the characters are so endearing ( ˙꒳​˙ )

[goobyblob]

think about being on tour with a musician. maybe it started as a band, but everything fell apart, and you two were the only ones to come out of the wreckage.

she's the one who gets on stage, she's the one who blows people's minds for hours before getting off sweaty and with her voice shot with a dopey grin on her face. you aren't sure why she keeps you around, but she seems to enjoy your company. you talk long into the night, and you're there in the audience every show, and backstage to congratulate her every time.

not that you didn't have hobbies of your own. you liked to draw—nothing crazy, nothing impressive, just little things in your sketchbook. at least it started with little things. more often than not with your pencil on paper your eyes were drawn to her. after all, why not? she's gorgeous, her style is striking, and you spend hours together with nowhere else for your eyes to look.

so you drew her. a lot. you drew her sitting, you drew her thinking, you drew her sleeping as she took small, shallow breaths. you started drawing at shows, sitting in a quiet alcove, sketching what you saw. you drew how her muscles tensed as she played, how the sweat stuck to her skin and her clothes, how her hair disheveled and her posture slumped as the night went on.

and then, well.

it wasn't really your fault. she had a habit of not wearing very much, sometimes. thin white crop tops with her nipples poking through, a flashy top with deep enough cleavage it reached her belly button. you even remember one night she played at a gay bar and ripped her top off entirely, her nipples covered only by sticky black pasties that kept coming off. you were flushed and embarrassed in the corner, but you still drew what you saw. you were good at that.

then, you started drawing things you couldn't see. from everything you had drawn already it was easy enough to know where her muscles flexed, where the fat on her body fell, the heft and weight of her chest. the first time you drew her nude you buried the book in your sheets and went to bed early.

in the morning, you drew what you saw in your dreams. you realized you'd never seen her truly nude, and so your mind kept flicking between possibilities. you imagined her with a cunt, covered in dark black, thick curls with a big clit. other times you thought about her with a cock, and what it would look like, long and thick and heavy like the rest of her. and then you were drawing those things, and it had been a long time since you'd drawn anyone or anything else.

you'd draw her looming over the page, thick thighs with wisps of hair supporting a collosal torso and an expression that demanded service. you drew her fucking someone's face, someone with a head of abstract lines that slowly gained feature and form until it resembled yours in every way as you kept drawing. you drew her fucking you in every way you could imagine. you drew her sweaty and wrought after a show pounding you like a toy with no dignity or respect. you drew her wrapping her leg around your neck and grinding into your mouth without caring if you had to breathe. once, you even drew her taking you on stage, fucking your ass for the first time and letting them all watch you crumble and whimper and beg for more like the nasty little thing you were.

you're holding it. you're flushing. you didn't remember just all what you drew.

for the first time, you notice her behind you.

she's been there the whole time. from the flowers to the fanart to the nasty, fucked up porn.

her hands settle on your waist. she slots in right behind you.

her lips next to your ear.

"I've got a lot of catching up to do, don't I?"

[demonic-cultivar]

xisang week day 5: post-canon / masks

~

“There’s no reason not to go,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’ll be fun!”

“You should consider it,” Lan Wangji says.

This is the last straw, and Lan Xichen gives in. “All right. I’ll go with you,” he agrees. If Lan Wangji is trying to get him to go to this festival, it’s probably for the best that he goes, even if he hasn’t been to an event like it in years. Not since before his seclusion. He’s been out of seclusion for a while, but he hasn’t really made time for public events, not when he could be night hunting or instructing junior disciples. He goes to discussion conferences, and he’s back to being Gusu Lan’s representative, but he no longer takes such an active role in sect politics. It’s hard to get too involved, now that he’s realized just how fallible his own judgement is.

But it might be nice to do something fun. Nothing’s improving for him, with the way he’s been avoiding life. Maybe trying something different will help. He does want to get better, and he can’t get better if he doesn’t try.

So he lets Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian drag him to a village festival somewhere halfway between Gusu and Yunmeng, where they’re planning to meet Lan Sizhui and a few of his friends. They don’t find him right away, and the three of them spend a little time walking through the streets, taking in the sights while looking for Lan Sizhui’s group.

It’s a balmy evening, and the village is decorated in paper flowers and streamers of all colors. Bright masks are available for sale every few feet, and Wei Wuxian amuses himself pointing out the fanciest ones, threatening to make Lan Wangji wear them. Of course, Lan Wangji just nods at every suggestion, and the lack of reaction drives Wei Wuxian to look for more and more extravagant creations, unable (or unwilling) to contain his giggles.

It’s nice seeing them together. It’s always nice. They’re so close, so in tune with each other, so free with their touches and affirmations. Lan Xichen should feel happy for them, and he does, usually. But right now, watching them interact brings forth the loneliness that’s always simmering just below Lan Xichen’s surface. He’d never had something quite like this with Jin Guangyao, nothing so free and physical, but… it had been a closeness, borne of what Lan Xichen had thought was mutual understanding and kinship. It hurts to remember. It hurts to think about what Jin Guangyao did, and how ignorant Lan Xichen had been. He can’t bring himself to miss Jin Guangyao himself, not after knowing the truth of everything he had been, but he misses the feeling of companionship sharply enough to pierce through him. The closeness he remembers had been false all along, but it doesn’t mean Lan Xichen feels its loss any less.

He loves Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, but it’s too much to be near them right now, so when they catch sight of Lan Sizhui surrounded by his friends—cultivators from a variety of sects, including the young Sect Leader Jin—Lan Xichen bids his companions to go on and enjoy the night without him.

“Are you sure you should be alone?” Lan Wangji asks in a low voice as Wei Wuxian greets his son and nephew with delighted shouts.

“I’ll be fine,” Lan Xichen reassures him. “I’d just like to sightsee for a little while by myself. We can meet up later.”

Lan Wangji still looks worried, but he acquiesces and leaves Lan Xichen with a promise to meet back up in a few hours.

Sightseeing by himself is much less distressing, and Lan Xichen eventually begins to enjoy himself. He buys some food that’s much too salty to be allowed in the Cloud Recesses, and savors every bite. He watches a juggler perform tricks, and applauds along with the crowd, marveling that a person with no golden core or cultivational training could show such dexterity. On a whim, he buys himself a mask. It’s well-crafted, with a simple, abstract pattern of blue and silver. The expression is somber, which Lan Xichen finds fitting, and he puts it on. Wearing it, he feels closer to the other festivalgoers—they’re all wearing masks together, talismans of belonging. Lan Xichen can’t quite feel like he’s truly a part of the crowd, but he feels a fondness for it all the same, his mood buoyed up by the good spirits all around him.

That’s when he spots Nie Huaisang.

He’s wearing a mask, too, but it can’t be anyone else. Lan Xichen would know him anywhere, from the slope of his shoulders to the gentle way his fingers curl around the nondescript paper fan he’s holding.

They haven’t spoken, not more than polite greetings at sect conferences. Nie Huaisang has been avoiding him, and Lan Xichen hasn’t tried to chase him down. He hasn’t felt ready. He hasn’t been able to bear thinking about what Nie Huaisang might say about that night in Yunping City— if he’d feed Lan Xichen lies, or truth, or nothing at all.

But tonight…

He can tell Nie Huaisang is alone, too. Nie Huaisang has always had a habit of running off without his disciples, and right now they’re nowhere to be seen. He’d been a sociable boy with plenty of friends his age before he became sect leader, but he’d only ever clung to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao afterwards. And then for the past few years, since Jin Guangyao’s death…Lan Xichen wonders if Nie Huaisang has any friends left at all. The thought is staggeringly sad, and Lan Xichen is stepping forward before he even realizes he’s made the decision to move.

He slips after Nie Huaisang, tracking him through the crowd until Nie Huaisang stops to watch a play set up in a wide square. Lan Xichen hesitates as he draws closer. He wants to talk, but perhaps Nie Huaisang doesn’t share the sentiment. He’s been avoiding Lan Xichen so studiously this whole time. Surely if he’d wanted to talk to Lan Xichen, he’d have reached out by now.

But Lan Xichen’s hesitation only lasts a moment. It’s fine if Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to talk to him. Tonight, he doesn’t have to be Lan Xichen.

“Good evening, gongzi,” Lan Xichen says, raising his voice and bending just enough for Nie Huaisang to hear him over the voices of the actors. “Are you enjoying the play?”

Nie Huaisang startles and whips around to look at Lan Xichen. Only his eyes are visible, and it’s impossible to read his expression. His mask is bright and smiling, though, and that’s enough for Lan Xichen at the moment.

“A-ah, good evening, gongzi,” Nie Huaisang greets him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He sounds just as nervous as always, but he doesn’t try to run. Lan Xichen’s mask is hardly a disguise, not with his Lan uniform so stark and white against the patchwork of the crowd, so he chooses to find it encouraging that Nie Huaisang would indulge his charade.

“I apologize for startling you,” Lan Xichen says.

Nie Huaisang waves his closed fan in front of his face. “No need, I’m easy to startle.” He takes a half-step back, and for a moment Lan Xichen is afraid he’s going to run after all, but he just adjusts his robes, smoothing them down in a familiar motion. “What brings you to this corner of the world, gongzi?”

“Just enjoying the festival,” Lan Xichen says, and then, with a boldness he doesn’t feel: “There’s been precious little to enjoy these days, if I’m being honest.”

Nie Huaisang opens his fan as if to hide behind it, as if his smiling mask isn’t enough of a barrier against Lan Xichen’s words. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m sorry to hear that the world is so bleak.” He’s quiet, nearly drowned out by a peal of laughter from the audience. “It’s unfortunate that you’re forced to reach out to this stranger for company in such a time.”

“I don’t think it’s unfortunate at all,” Lan Xichen tells him. “It seems one can find happiness in the most unexpected places. Like how I found such a kind stranger, willing to lend an ear.”

Nie Huaisang ducks his head. When he comes back up, his eyes are glassy and rimmed with red. “I’m not sure if you should trust strangers so easily, gongzi. There are too many villains in this world to count.”

“If one spends all their time counting the villains,” Lan Xichen says, “one will miss the friends.” He steps forward, near enough to see the tears even as Nie Huaisang furiously blinks them away.

“Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispers.

Lan Xichen holds out a hand. “Will you enjoy the festival with me this evening, gongzi?”

Nie Huaisang’s fingers tremble, but his grip is tight as he takes Lan Xichen’s hand. “As long as you want me,” he vows.

It’s only the first step in what’s sure to be a long, difficult road, but with Nie Huaisang’s hand in his, Lan Xichen starts to remember what it feels like to be whole.

[wafflesrock16]

Ink and Blooms

So, the amazingly talented @autodiscothings updated her fantastic fic Acts Of Repetition recently, and the latest chapter featured an incredibly lovely turian tattoo artist. Smitten, I asked Auto if I could write a lil thing with her boy and she agreed.

So! Here’s my ode to @autodiscothings sweet turian bae, Nous. Naturally I have a human lady falling for him because I am predictable trash.

Zenellia D’kafi, the asari matriarch who ran Thessian Impressions floral boutique was a force of nature when it came to cultivating new clients. 

“Everyone is a potential client,” she informed Faustine from behind a large mug of tea. “A random hanar apostle might wish to leave flowers as an offering to the Enkindlers. The elcor business man, away from home too frequently, would like a bouquet to send to his wife as a reminder he’s thinking of her.”

Faustine glanced up from where she was meticulously measuring out gold silk ribbon. “And Adamius Studios?” She glanced out the shop window to the studio across the street. It used to be a mattress store, though little of the building’s past life remained on the exterior. 

Zenellia smiled, the light sparkling in her cornflower eyes. “Nous Adamius,” she said, drawing out the surname. “Now there’s an artist who’s in demand. The tattooist of the elite.” She followed Fautine’s gaze. “Hmm. In his case, he’s hosting an art exhibition for select clientele next week. The who’s-who of wealth and influence will be there--they always show up for art exhibits.”

“And our supplying the floral arrangements might garner other high-end customers in addition to Nous,” Faustine surmised. 

“Smart girl,” Zenellia said, taking a prim sip of tea. “You know, I have a mind to let you finalize the arrangements with Mr. Adamius.”

“Really?” Faustine clasped her hands to her mouth with excitement. “A solo consult?”

Zenellia chuckled, leaning against the glass counter. “I’ve already discussed the arrangements with him, so this will just be hemming in the finer details. Where he wants the vases placed and so on. You’ve been with me on enough consultations and set-ups, you can do this on your own.”

“Thank you Miss Zenellia!” Faustine reigned herself in. “I can handle this,” she said, straightening her posture. “When do I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow morning, before his studio opens.”

                                                    **********

Faustine enjoyed fashion. And art and flowers and color. Her wardrobe was a blend of bright color and textures. Her grandmother used to say that she would have loved Earth back in the 1980’s and based on pictures she’d seen, Faustine was inclined to agree. 

But today was professional. Her mentor was trusting her to make a good impression and Faustine needed to represent Thessian Impressions while also simultaneously reassuring Nous--Mr. Adamius--that he’d made a wise choice in ordering floral arrangements for his event and should consider doing so again. 

Faustine chose a slate pant-suit with a violet camisole from the back of her closet. It was from an elite fashion line, but had been on clearance since it was from the year before. Still, as she slipped on black high heels, Faustine felt a sense of empowerment. 

She hesitated over her hair. Did turians even notice human hair? Should she take the extra effort to curl it? Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Faustine brushed, curled, and styled her auburn locks until they gleamed under the artificial bathroom lights. Some mascara and bright red lipstick completed the look and before she could second guess herself, she was hailing a skycar and then stepping out in front of Adamius Studios.

She normally walked to work, but doing so in heels was out of the question. These were shoes for show, not practicality. Pulling up her omni-tool, she contacted Mr. Adamius to let him know she was from Thessian Impressions and here to speak to him. 

The windows to the studio were opaque, but in a slow parade of light starting from the back of the building, the room lit up. The door opened as Faustine leaned closer to peer inside. 

“Hello.” 

“Hi! Mr. Adamius?”

He nodded, opening the door wider for her to enter. She’d seen him before, of course--he worked across the street. She’d never seen him up close, though. He was a good deal taller than her but held himself tightly like a curled fern frond. The effect gave him a shorter, hunched appearance. 

He had pale plates, not quite white, but a light tan. His hide was a deep molten red with eyes that reminded her of orange, autumn leaves. 

His most notable feature wasn't his eyes or plates or posture. He had bold, purple colony markings which ran in thick lines toward his eye sockets like a roadmap.The plating on his arms bore similar lines of the same color. Faustine wondered if colony markings extended all over the body. She’d never considered it before, but as she admired the bold, black, geometric patterns that spiraled away from his neck plating in a decorative collar, she decided that this was art, unrelated to the colony markings turians were so famous for. 

Mr. Adamius cleared his throat loudly and Faustine realized with racing horror that she’d been staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth like he were an exhibit on show. 

“Oh!” It was her turn to clear her throat. “Your tattoos are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the floor. 

“Thank you.” His voice was soft. Not at all loud and bold like his art. “You work for Matriarch Zenellia?”

Faustine released a small sigh that they were moving on. “Yes, I’m her protege, as it were. She wanted me to finalize the details with you for next week.”

She smiled, tilting her head in a friendly manner. Mr. Adamius flicked out a mandible in what she associated as a turian smile, though he avoided looking her in the eyes. She wondered if that was a personality thing or something… maybe he doesn’t like me? 

“I was thinking of an arrangement on the reception desk and a few smaller vases along the wall,” Mr. Adamius said, pointing to where several bed posts were mounted and functioning as coat racks. A large, framed canvas sat beneath the racks. On it was what looked like an abstract shoal of fish with luminous, foreign script weaving through it. Faustine didn’t recognize the writing but felt it safe to assume it was turian.“I discussed using a mix of thessian, earth, and palaveni flowers,” Mr. Admius continued. “I want the color scheme to stay cobalt, gold, and white, but I’m open to flower types. Nothing too lavish, the art is the focal point.”

“Zenellia mentioned that,” Faustine said, wiping away any concerns about her likability for the moment. Pulling up her omni-tool, she moved closer to Mr. Adamius to show him the samples of different arrangements in the colors he’d requested. This close, she could smell a slightly acrid scent of what she assumed was ink. But overpowering that was a woody smell that reminded her of pine trees. Mr. Adamius smells like Christmas, she thought.

She glanced up at him from where he was admiring a proposed arrangement. He was wearing loose fitted clothes that placed his heavily inked hide on full display. Zenella had mentioned he was younger, but the asari considered everyone younger since she herself was 876 years old.

Nous seems like he’s my age. Maybe a little older. Early to mid thirties? 

“I like this one best,” he said, oblivious to her internal musings. Faustine looked at the arrangement he’d chosen. It was the one she’d put together. Not the four Zenella had proposed, but the one she had done. 

“I did that one,” she told him proudly. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a softer voice, looking not at her eyes, but seemingly her hair. “It’ll work perfectly for what I have planned.”

Instead of replying Faustine responded by grinning at him like an idiot. She was high on accomplishment, she’d convince herself later. But it was thanks to this that Mr. Adamius nervously glanced away, toward a small, unassuming painting partially concealed by the reception desk.

“Is that an anchor?” She pointed at the familiar shape which was the main subject of the painting. 

“Yes. I’m fond of the nautical themes found in all cultures. The convergence of design between them, be they human, asari, or turian. We’re all interconnected by the oceans of our worlds.” He let out a quiet hum, unfurling from his tightly held hunch. “It reminds me of my childhood, too, I suppose.”

“You grew up near the ocean?” Faustine asked curiously. “I thought turians weren’t the biggest fans of deep, open water. No offense!” she added, horrified she’d possibly insulted him. 

His easy chuckle immediately set her at ease. “Overall, you’re right. Most turians avoid the open ocean. But my homeworld is different.” His mandibles flicked outward as he looked down at his hands. The three fingers of his left hand each bore a small fish tattoo on the knuckle. “Rocam has a huge fishing industry. I grew up around the sea and fishing boats. My childhood involved lots of fishing and playing in the surf. Eating charred salmo around a beach fire with my grandparents. Listening to fisherman swap stories on the wharf.”

Faustine watched the fish tattoos flex with his fingers. Remembering the other canvas leaning against the wall, she looked closer at the framed picture. The fish looked like they were formed from ink splats, honed with a pen to give them more definition and shape.

“You did that?” she asked pointing. 

Turning, Mr. Adamius nodded. “I did all the nautical themed paintings in here,” he said. Faustine felt like the quiet, rolling subvocals under the spoken words were proud. 

“You’re so talented,” she sighed, feeling mildly envious. “Do you have other paintings like that one?”

“Yes, but they’re in the back. I’ll put them out next week for the exhibit.”

“Oh.”

“I…” a soft whine escaped through his tightly clamped mandibles. “Would you, um. Like to come to the exhibit?”

“Your art exhibit next week? Of course I’d love to go!” Faustine forced herself to school her features into a more poised look. “I mean, if you’re inviting me, I’d absolutely love to see the rest of your work.”

Nous let out a huff of air. “It’s not just my work, all the artists in the studio are going to display something. But if you’d like to come, I’d love to see you. At the event.” He cleared his throat, stepping away from her personal space which at some point he’d entered. 

“Thank you,” Faustine whispered, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. “Um, I’ll let Zenella know which arrangement you selected and where and how many you wanted.” She made to head for the door, but forgetting her high heels, tripped and nearly collapsed face first into the deep blue and white rug.

A strong arm seized her around the waist and held her until she was steady on her feet again. “Damn shoes,” she muttered, more embarrassed then she’d been in years. “Nous, I--”

“Not a problem. Are you all right?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Only thing injured is my pride.” She gave him a sheepish smile, sure her face was beet red. 

For the first time since she’d entered his studio, Nous looked her in the eye. “Wounded pride isn’t the worst injury,” he said in that soft, smokey voice. 

She stared into the swirling amber of his irises. Turians had smaller eyes than humans, but their gaze was intense. She wondered what he thought about her own hazel eyes. 

He bowed his head after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ll see you at the exhibit?”

“Before that, actually,” she replied, blinking away whatever trance she’d fallen under. “I’ll bring the flowers by an hour before your exhibit starts.”

“I look forward to seeing you then.”

So do I, Faustine thought, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed out the door. So do I.

[artificialqueens]

Love Connections and Other Works of Art (Sashea) - Estuary

Summary: Sasha becomes infatuated with a mural. That’s not the only thing she’s infatuated with.

A/N: I had an idea and ran with it. A meet cute and all the fallout. I hope y'all enjoy it! AO3 Link

        “Ma’am? Ma’am, I am so sorry, but my boss wants to know why you’re loitering.”   

        Sasha flushed, becoming painfully aware of how long she had stared at the mural on the side of this building. The mural was captivatingly colorful and practically pulsed with geometric shapes that were just abstract enough to draw in the viewer with the desire to discover what they were. However, even after staring at the mural for upwards of ten minutes on her way to work, Sasha could not determine their meaning. At one moment, the shapes became silhouettes of dancers, at another an architectural landscape, and at yet another, angular clouds.

        Upon tearing her eyes from the wall and spinning around to face the chiding voice, Sasha’s pale complexion deepened to a strawberry red as she laid eyes on a truly stunning woman. Her deep, creamy skin glinted under the sunlight, long, tight curls piled on her head’s right side. Her mouth formed a smirk as Sasha stared, but even with that smug expression, the lady looked beautiful. A pink blazer paired with a cobalt blue skirt usually wouldn’t seem professional, but with her stature and poise, she looked expensive and unique.

        Sasha looked down instinctively, not wanting to ogle this poor woman any longer. However, staring at the concrete sidewalk only led Sasha’s eyes to a pair of frighteningly tall, pink stiletto pumps. Pumps which then connected to a pair of slender, toned, mile-long legs.

        “Um.. girl? Are you good?” The woman asked. The question seemed to reflect concern, but the smirk had transformed into nothing short of a full, shit-eating grin.   

        Good job, Sasha. You look great. Get yourself together.

        Sasha steeled herself enough to meet the woman’s eyes.

        Talk about art. You can do that. 

        “I’m so sorry, I just was looking at this mural. The colors and composition are so wonderfully vibrant. The style speaks to traditional cubism, but the interplay of light, shade, and color reminds me of a Charles Demuth.” Sasha explained, eagerly gesticulating. Even then, she cringed slightly when her hand movements caused the pins littering her own blazer to rattle loudly.   

        After a brief pause, the woman responded.

        “Well, I’m happy you like it so much. In fact, do you want to meet who designed it?” 

        “Absolutely! If you could give me a phone number, or an email, I’ll contact her. And I’ll get out of your hair, sorry about all that.”

        “Oh, I’m not gonna go through all that trouble. You can just talk to me now.”

        Fuck. Sasha was a goner.

        “Really?”    

        “Yes! Do I look like I’m playing?” 

        “Oh my god…” Sasha muttered, the expression slipping from her lips. And upon seeing Sasha so flustered, this beautiful, perfect woman threw her head back in a full laugh. 

        It was the most lovely laugh Sasha had ever heard. It sounded deep like thunder in the mountains, and it sounded warm like an embrace or a crackling fireplace. It sounded like all these things, and Sasha felt like she was experiencing all of them at once. Maybe this mystery woman of Sasha’s dreams was laughing at her, but she would be ridiculed at forever if it meant she got to hear that laugh. 

        Double fuck.

        “I’m Shea Couleé,” the woman said, sticking out her delicately manicured hand.

        “Nice to meet you, Miss Couleé,” Sasha replied, earnestly (probably too much so) grabbing Shea’s hand and shaking it, “I’m Sasha Velour.”

        “Oh, call me Shea. It’s Miss Couleé only if you nasty.”

        Sasha felt more blood rise to her cheeks, opening her mouth to only remain silent. Shea pulled Sasha in slightly close, so her cheek practically touched Sasha’s ear. They were much too close for strangers, but for an enamored woman, perfectly fine. 

        Whispering against Sasha’s ear, Shea muttered, “By all means, continue to call me Miss, then…”

        Shea (damn her!) let go of Sasha’s hand and stepped back into her original position.

        “You know what, Sasha? Why don’t we talk about this,” Shea flippantly gestured to the mural, “over drinks later today?”

        How can she treat such a masterpiece so casually?   

        “I’d love to do that, Shea.”

        “Catch you later, Miss Velour,” Shea tossed the phrase over her shoulder, strutting back into the shop, leaving Sasha standing bug-eyed on the sidewalk.

        As Sasha hurried away to work as initially intended, she could only focus on Shea’s breath on her ear and the weight of her hand on her wrist.

————-

        Sasha’s job mostly consisted of staring at a screen for hours on end, so going out to the bar provided a nice change of pace. She enjoyed her job authoring write-ups of local art galleries, but the near-silence of the office and the polite hushed tones of artistic display spaces felt suffocating after long stretches. In places built on self-expression, the most primitive form had to wait until after work to shine. 

        The additional mounting excitement and nervousness of Sasha’s meeting with Shea didn’t help with anything. Shea had slipped Sasha her business card before returning to her job, and all-day, Sasha couldn’t help but run her fingers over the cardstock to remind herself that the interaction that she had was real. 

        While Sasha might typically reject the stereotype of the helpless, love-stricken woman (particularly when viewed through the eyes of men), Sasha felt like nothing short of François Boucher’s The Love Letter. Normally, she found the grazing animals, the flowers, the women swathed in layers of pastel silks to be patronizing and suffocating in its delicacy and adorable pleasantries. Sasha now could not relate more. Maybe her pastoral paradise could be a desk and ergonomic chair. Perhaps her love letter could be the business card of a beautiful stranger.

        Even later, at the bar, Sasha’s fingers carefully traced the edge of the card. The repetitive motions felt soothing, although it was hard to calm the tidal wave of nervousness in her head. 

        What should I say? It’s been five minutes since 7:30. That’s normal. That’s fashionably late still. Was I supposed to change before I got here? Does she… like me?

        Sasha’s mind raced, but it kept getting stuck on that final question. Like a record player skipping over and over.

        It’s been ten minutes since when we agreed. She should be here. She won’t come. It’s a joke. I hope it won’t look strange if I just leave the bar alone when she doesn’t show up. She can’t like me. Could she like me?

        Sasha hooked and unhooked her heels on the rest of the barstool. She took a pen from her purse and began to draw on Shea’s business card.

        It’s been fifteen minutes. I’ve been duped. I should have known. It was too good to be true–

        “Sasha! Sorry I’m late.”

        Triple fuck.

        Sasha needed to get used to how gorgeous Shea looked because constantly getting this flustered was frankly getting embarrassing. However, Shea wasn’t making it easy.

        Shea had changed into a vibrant, pink, crushed velvet minidress that shone under the bar’s lights. As she approached Sasha at the bar, she smiled widely and met Sasha’s eyes. 

        Putting her hand on Sasha’s back, Shea took the seat next to her.

        “You wear pencil skirts to the club?” Shea asked, bemused eyes flickering from Sasha’s blouse to the aforementioned skirt.

        “I didn’t have time to change, I’m sorry,” Sasha said, torn between her desire to examine how she looked and her desire to continue staring.

        “No, it’s all good, girl! You look just stunning here as you did on the sidewalk today. So you wanted to talk about my mural?”

        This casual, kind, and flirtatious manner kept throwing Sasha off her rhythm. One second she had her–very professional–thoughts and questions organized, and a whim, her thoughts were cast into the sea.

        “Um, well, yes. I just thought your mural was so lovely and captivating. It captures such a specific artistic feeling, and I wanted… I wanted to know what your inspiration was?” Sasha forced the first part of the question out but gradually took a stride as her mind focused and settled itself once more on the topic at hand.

        “I’ve always loved, like, cubism and the reduction of big things to more abstract shapes. I wanted to do that, but for something that was already semi-abstract, leave it up to the viewer. I love pop art and bright colors, and I figured, this’ll attract shoppers,” Shea leaned in, smiling again, “and some hot women.”

        Sasha, to her delight, learned so much about Shea as the dinner continues. 

        Shea hadn’t had formal painting or visual arts training, instead studying fashion and design. Her job at the store exists mostly to pay the bills, but she volunteered to do the mural for free. Shea loves pairing pastels and saturated colors. Shea likes savory foods more than sweet foods. Shea was raised in Chicago and moved to New York for school. Shea was single. Shea was very single.

        As the conversation continued, Sasha found herself in turn revealing more and more about herself. Her love of Keith Haring’s Unfinished Painting and Jean Michel-Basquiat’s Untitled (Skull). Her dream of owning a gallery specializing in queer art. Her disdain for salty snacks. Her beloved dog Vanya. How she was single. Very single.

        The conversation also served to distract Sasha from the copious amounts of alcohol she and Shea were consuming. Alcohol that loosened Sasha further and further, to the point that her inhibitions began to evaporate. 

        “I’m glad that you liked my mural. If you hadn’t looked at it for so goddamned long, we wouldn’t have met,” Shea and Sasha both laughed, and as Shea rested her hand on Sasha’s shoulder, Sasha just looked at her.

        Sasha had already heard the sound of Shea’s laugh, but being able to watch her laugh added an entirely new dimension to the experience. When Shea laughed, she’d throw her head back, tossing her long black curls. Her eyes would scrunch, and the light caught on her cheeks. 

        God. Every part of her shone and sparkled. Just existing near her made Sasha feel strangely buoyant and pleasant. It felt like she got to witness someone massively special and joyous and who, in turn, made Sasha feel special herself.

        “What are you thinking about?”

        “How beautiful you are when you laugh. And smile. And do most anything.”

        “I like the way you talk, Sasha”

        “That I do it about you?”

        “No, bitch!” Shea says, giggling, “Your voice and the phrases you use. I love it. I feel like I’m listening to a hot, hipster audiobook. You don’t think that’s creepy, right?” 

        “I don’t think it’s creepy. I don’t think I can think ill of you at all right now”

        Shea laughs again.

        “I like you a lot Sasha,” Shea says. Suddenly, she stands up and grabs Sasha’s hand. “Dance with me?” Shea asks, nodding her head to the masses of people on the main dance floor.

        Sasha eagerly followed Shea, and as the lights and alcohol blurred the edges of her vision and the writhing bodies bumped into her own, Sasha couldn’t look away from the vision of Shea’s beautiful hand clutching her own. That beautiful, warm grasp. Even in a sea of stimulation, the only thing that mattered was Shea’s hand.

        After making it to an open spot, Shea dropped Sasha’s hand and they both began to dance.

        When Sasha danced, she danced mostly with her hands and upper body, in a style some might call “stilted” and the more charitable might call “interpretive”. Sasha liked to claim that it came from a slightly limited range of motion caused by a pencil skirt. While that might have been somewhat true, Sasha preferred not to dwell on the fact that she had turned up going to parties in exchange for spoken word poetry nights.

        Shea, meanwhile, danced like water. She kicked, jumped, and shook, but each movement blended into each other. Her braids had been tucked into a ponytail, but still swished back and forth as she moved, emphasizing her movements. 

        What changed?

        The music didn’t slow down.

        Maybe it was Shea saying that she “loved Sasha’s ‘dad dancing’”.

        Maybe it was the lights shifting to an electric blue color that shone on Shea’s hair and skin, making her look like an ethereal vision.

        Maybe it was Shea pausing from her dance to touch the assortment of pins on Sasha’s blazer, holding each one up to the light and pausing to read it.

        Maybe nothing changed.

        But Sasha felt so wonderful, so magical that she threw her arms around Shea’s neck. The music still pounded and shook her bones, but all Sasha knew was that she wanted to see Shea’s face. Wanted to feel it.

        Lifting her hand from Shea’s neck, Sasha traced Shea’s cheekbones. The curve of her ear. Her smile lines. 

        Shea wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, rubbing small circles with her thumb, delicate circles that Sasha could feel through her skirt. As Sasha gently ran her thumb along Shea’s cheek, she saw Shea’s eyes flutter as she let out a large sigh.

        Sasha felt like Henri Matisse’s Icarus. So obviously plummeting at lightspeed into this love, but for a brief moment in the unknown, the uncertain, silhouetted against the sky.

        Wingless and among yellow stars. The only aspect of her being, a red, glowing heart. A brief moment of glory.

        Shea’s sparkling eyes. 

        A brief moment.

        Shea’s smile. 

        A brief moment.

        They had danced around it long enough.

        Sasha leaned upward, catching Shea’s lips with her own. Her hands moved downward, clutching Shea’s back, pressing Shea towards her. Shea sighed, and Sasha could feel the corners of her lips move upwards. 

        “Why?” Sasha whispered breathily onto Shea’s lips. “Why me? Why not anyone else?”

        “Because no one else blushes so profusely at my words in their ears. No one else wants to talk about the philosophical implications of French impressionism on gender roles. No one else is a beautiful, unique, unibrowed and pin-covered woman who looks at my mural like it’s the greatest piece they’ve ever seen and then looks at me like I’m, like I’m some kinda magical being.

         I wanna witness you, Sasha. I wanna witness you all the time.”

        As they held each other close, Sasha put her racing mind to rest. Resting her head on Shea’s shoulder, she felt the music and sweat of the club gently fade away, replaced by the sound of two beating hearts. 

[mirrorballparkers]

gentle; p.p.

authors note: this is my gift to @akaspiderman who was my lovely valentine this year, hope you enjoy love :) (i suck this probably won’t get any notes but my head hurts i wrote this on no sleep and an empty stomach)

warnings: bad writing + peter being cute and confused

words: 1087

summary: maybe he had no clue at all what a braid was, but all he knew is that being close to you was all he wanted.

_

peter parker was absolutely enthralled  by you. 

if anything, peter was absolutely fascinated by the many things you could do with your hair. peter loved your hair so much, and always found himself playing with a few strands or running his hands through your hair. whenever you felt stressed or sad, besides hugging, peter would run his hands through your hair as you laid your head on his lap. you LOVED it, and so did he.

  it was like a painting to him, an abstract painting come to life — so stunning and warm and captivating, he never hesitated to ask how you did it. how you looked so ethereal.

“it’s just my hair in a messy bun, pete.” you would tell him, not getting why he was so intrigued by something so simple as a bun tied up in a pink scrunchie. he loved when you put your hair in scrunches — it was so..you. your hair was apart of you, when peter thought of you, the things he adored and loved, the first thing he thought of was your hair. your pretty hair.

“yeah, but HOW do u do that?! it looks so hard.”

“but it isn’t, dork.” you’d reply, kissing his nose, which caused his cheeks to turn a soft pink color. you loved this because it was very rare that he would be the one that was blushing.

whenever he’d see you at school, or if you guys had a date, the first thing he’d notice was your hair. and, of course, he’d mention it — because the cutie was curious.

“hey, did you do something different with your hair? i-i really like it.” he would ask, as he greets you by your locker with one of his famous warm hugs that you yearned oh-so much.

“i didn’t do much, it’s just in a braid. but thank you, pete.”

“just a braid? it is so cool! and really pretty! wow.” you could literally see a twinkle in his pretty brown eyes and it makes ur heart melt every single time; he had this sense of wonder, his coffee colored eyes seeping into your skin. you felt peaceful looking into his eyes; you only ever wanted to look at peter.

you were fresh out of the shower, hair still slightly damp, dripping onto the carpet as you air dry it with a towel. peter looks at you with the prettiest of brown eyes, reminding you of only good things, and asks you shyly, “hey, um, why don’t you let me do that?”

you froze; looking over at peter who was sitting on your bed patiently, biting his lip, quite possibly too hard. “huh?” you knew what he meant, you just had to hear it again.

“y-you have pretty hair. i want to maybe help you out and try to brush it for you, if that’s okay, if not then, like, go ahead,” peter rambles, his trembling hands reaching towards your face to remove a strand that was too perfect, the pink hue on his cheek becoming more visible making his infinitesimal amount freckles stand out.

like miniature stars; beautiful. you thought.

maybe he wanted to be close to you, to keep you from all the bad in the world. all peter knew, was that he wanted you.

if anything, you thought your hair was pretty average, and a headache sometimes because it was really frizzy, and overbearing. it never stayed in the same place, never looked the way you wanted it to. it was always the first thing that you noticed, how some strands just wouldn’t get out of your face; luckily, sweet boy peter was always there to help with that.

but, the fact that peter noticed the small things, like if you wore your hair a different way or even put a headband on, it made butterflies form inside of you; which you got pretty much every single moment with peter benjamin parker.

“sure, pete. go for it.” you’d giggle , which makes him get super giddy and happy. and you loved when peter was happy. you made him happy. happier than a plant who was getting nurtured with water, happier than a puppy on a warm summer day walking through central parker; just happy.

“awesome! thanks, cutie.” he’d kiss your cheek, pattimg a spot in front of him for you to

you’d hand him your brush and he’d immediately froze, not knowing what to do. he knew he should’ve watched more tutorials on youtube.

“go ahead and brush, pete.” you wanted to make sure that you saidbthis in the mist assuring voice, because you wanted peter to feel comfortable. it was one of the easiest things ever but, of course, baby pete was just confused. so confused.

peter was delicate, treating your hair as if it was a intricate flower that was gentle and sweet, just like you. so dainty and light; he wanted to wrap you up in his arms forever and protect you.

the pretty boy had one of his hands on your shoulder: just to let you know he’s there, while the other was carefully brushing it. barely brushing it was more like it. he couldn’t help that he was so nervous, so he tried to be as attentive and chary as possible so he wouldn’t hurt you. you tried so hard not to giggle at the fact that peter was hardly even touching your hair. but you’d assure the adorable boy that it’s not going to hurt you, and this made him sigh with the upmost relief.

“oh, okay good. i dont want to, like, rip all your hair out.”

“not possible, peter.”

“oh, thank goodness.” such a sweet baby boy.

he’d purse his lips as he would figure out how to do a simple braid. “whatcha doing, pete?” you’d ask as your eyes were still closed.

it had already been, like, twenty minutes

within those twenty minutes you even got to make cute drawings on a notepad. one of them was a poorly drawn sketch of a cat with flowers. the other was of peter. he would never, ever see it.

“i wanna do a braid because those look the prettiest on you!“ he’d answer as he bites the insides of his cheeks.

you’d blush, because, well you always did when pete called you cute names like that. it was evident peter would make you blush, especially being so close and intimate at the moment. in the best way possible, you couldn’t breathe.

you always felt like your braids were sloppy and only had them whenever you didn’t feel like doing your hair.

peter thought you looked stunning with any hairstyle — but this was his all time favorite.so soft, he thought as his hands tremble as he begins to run them through your soft locks, smiling to himself as he heard a gentle and relaxed sigh escape your lips.

eventually, after many reassurances from you, he got the hang of it, and was actually brushing your hair. you gently guide him through it, explaining how to separate three pieces and put one over the other; easier said than done, of course. but you were ever so patient with him. always were.

your recently tense body was now slowly at ease, each brush was airy and soft, loving the touch of peters hand on your shoulder and the soft pad of his thumb rubbing little circles around it.  you closed your eyes, going into a warm daze of wonder and love; you were so in love, so content and halcyon.

it was as if you were in another world: just you two. nobody else. you didn’t need anybody else to feel this state of euphoria and tranquility. all you had to do was be near peter, and you felt happy and relaxed. nothing but flowers and pretty butterflies surrounding your little world with him.

“deep in thought, babe?” peter inquired, his hands still running through your curls.

“mm, guess so,” you breathed. sometimes it was easy to breathe around peter, sometimes it was absolutely impossible.

“you’re so pretty,” peter whispers, his heart flutters as he moves closer to you, pressing his lips against your warm cheek. “so, so pretty. and your hair is pretty.”

“you’re prettier.” your eyes were still closed. you knew that if you opened them it would still be like a fairytale, but right now you just wanted them closed. his voice was so poetic and calming.

after a few more minutes, and quick cheek kisses, peter sighs with exhaustion and relief, “done!” he was nervous. so nervous. his hands were cramping as he sets the brush down, letting out a loud sigh. okay, so, maybe he was a little dramatic. but he wanted it to look perfect. you were already perfect to him, though.

you smile gently before thanking him as he helps you up. you walk over to your mirror across the bedroom, your hands holding what was seemingly supposed to be a braid. you couldn’t lie, it was pretty good for peter’s first try. god, was he the sweetest? you could see the worrisome in his eyes looking in the mirror, swore he was the prettiest sight.

“the youtube tutorials told me that i start from the top, you know,” you turn around, hand still holding on to the braid, furrowing your eyebrows at the freckled boy in front of you.

“i-i have been wanting to do this for a while,” peter continued, getting up from your bed, fiddling with his thumbs as he looked directly at you. always had to look at his girl.

“you,” you breathed, smiling wide at him, blushing as the butterflies induced, “you looked up tutorials?”

peter scrunches up his nose, a nervous giggle escapes from his pink colored lips, “kind of. i just felt like maybe you’d find it easier if i helped you. and from what it looks like, i didn’t do too bad, no?” he joked, his shaky hand reaching towards yours, slowly lacing your fingers; very slow, because he wanted to feel, hebwanted to feel the sparkles and light in his chest, the flowers growing around him whenever he touched you.

there you go, having a hard time breathing again, “you’re too sweet, you know that?” your eyes fluttered.

peter smiles; so much that his cheeks were hurting. blushing, his free hand brushing strands out of your face, “i had to leave out a few little strands. you know it’s my favorite.” you were his favorite.

“hey, i love you.” his voice was promising and kind, thumb rubbing the apples of your cheeks.

“i love you too.” you tried to get rid of the butterflies, the poetic feeling; but it was impossible.

“i love you so much. so much.” he breathed. each sentence made you believe him more and more.

“i know, pete. i know.”

you melted in the palm of his hand, eyes never focusing on anything else but his own baby browns. you erased the whole concept of feeling like you were in a fairytale when you closed your eyes; with peter, you always felt like you were in a fairytale. and it was wonderous.

_

tagging: @plushparker @cutesparker @t-oodles @lovelyspidey @hollandroos @curlytoms @peterplanet @naturallytom @spiiderman @akaspiderman @dorkpeter

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 6

(Banner made by the loveliest @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Melody is reacquainted with an old classmate named Harry, and must keep afloat in the violent, criminal lifestyle of an underground boxer.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: I HAD SOOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS CHAPTER!! I feel like the characters start to develop personalities here. As always, please send some feedback and enjoy!!

The entire walk across town, Harry regretted ever saying yes to this stupid exhibit. He had buttoned his shirt up to his throat but felt like he was being choked, so he unbuttoned it to the center of his chest as he traveled along the sidewalk. He was sweating, for some reason, beneath the material of his black dress shirt and the jacket that sat overtop. He peeled the extra layer from his arms as he turned onto the street Melody had written on the napkin in his hand.

When he reached the correct address, Harry checked the flat number on the napkin and then stuffed it back into a pocket of his jacket. He walked inside the building and took the stairs up to the third floor, until he found the right door. He was really sweating and he didn’t know why, but he undid another button on his shirt before knocking.

“Coming!”

Harry shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the door to open. When it did, he found Melody in a lacey green dress. She was busy putting an earring in, but she stopped when she saw Harry. He was dressed in all black. She noticed a silver cross that glittered against the bare skin of his chest, where the buttons of his shirt were neglected. It seemed as though he had tried to tame his hair, too. She also noticed that the bruise on his cheekbone hadn’t completely faded. Instead, it had turned a sickly yellow. The skin was still swollen.

“Jeans?” Melody asked as her eyes fell to his lower half. They were black and skin-tight, and if no one looked too closely, she was sure it wasn’t noticeable. But the pairing with his nice shirt had her stifling a laugh.

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally peeling his eyes from the low cut of Melody’s dress and looking down at his pants. “Yeah. Didn’ have any dress pants.”

“You look nice,” she complimented as she slipped the back onto her earring and reached for her jacket. Harry wasn’t good at taking compliments and he was even worse at giving them. He waited silently for her to pull the coat over her shoulders and then reach for her clutch. She joined him in the hallway and then shut the door behind her, looking up at Harry expectantly. “You ready?”

“Aren’ yeh gonna lock the door?”

Melody glanced at the entrance to her flat and shrugged. “I don’t, usually.”

“Lock the goddamn door, Melody,” Harry ordered her, shaking his head in disapproval. “D’yeh have any clue what people in this city are like?”

“I’ve never had a thing stolen from me,” Melody protested, even as she reached into her clutch for her keys.

“I don’ care how many things yeh’ve had stolen or not. ‘S bloody stupid t’keep your door unlocked.”

Melody sighed, sliding her key into the door and turning it until she heard the lock click into place. She felt as though she was being reprimanded by her father. She dropped her keys back into her clutch and snapped it shut, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Are you happy now? Can we go? You were already ten minutes late.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered under his breath as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to tromp back down the stairs. “Bloody thrilled. Ecstatic. Don’ even lock the fuckin’ door t’your place...”

Melody followed him and was more than surprised when he held the front door open for her. She passed him and began to walk up the street in the direction of the gallery. Harry could smell the perfume that lingered in her wake as he trailed after her.

“So, what,” Harry began after a few minutes of silence. He had been waiting for Melody to speak, but it was apparent that she wasn’t going to. Maybe she was trying not to annoy him anymore than she already had. He appreciated it, but the silence was making him uncomfortable for some reason. “‘S this place gonna be full o’ all your preppy, rich friends?”

Melody laughed at him, turning to fix her gaze on his face. “Do I look rich to you?”

Harry let his eyes wander down Melody’s bare legs to the wedges on her feet and then back up to her head, where part of her hair was tied back and the rest of it fell in curls around her shoulders. He raised his eyebrows. She certainly didn’t look poor.

“Right now? Yeh want me t’answer that?”

Melody grinned, facing forward again. They were nearing the gallery. She could see a few of her classmates standing outside in a huddle, smoke unfurling from their mouths into the chilly air. Her legs had been prickling with goosebumps since she stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yeh definitely didn’ look rich in the hoodies yeh wore t’Brute’s,” Harry observed. His eyes landed on the group of Melody's classmates, dragging on cigarettes. His fingers itched to reach for one. “Not so sure ‘bout it now.”

Melody greeted the students at the entrance to the gallery with a smile. They nodded back and then fixed Harry with curious stares. He glared back.

Melody opened the door and Harry held it for her as she stepped inside. He followed closely behind as she led him to the first piece of artwork, shedding her coat along the way and resting it over her arm. The piece was a sketch of a woman’s face, with thick, parted lips and intense eyes and a beautifully wild afro that reached the edges of the page. Harry was thoroughly impressed with the artistry of it. A college student had drawn this?

Melody admired the piece and then moved on. Harry trailed behind her. He wasn’t as enamored with the art after that first piece. They were more abstract and seemed to be made by students whose knowledge of art didn’t expand much further than Jackson Pollock. Instead, he let his eyes wander the area that they were in.

The floors were a dark tile and the walls a blank white canvas. Can lights spotted the ceiling at even intervals. In the center of the room, Melody’s classmates milled about. Some of them were speaking with older people that Harry assumed to be their parents. A server appeared to Harry’s left, holding a silver tray full of hors d’oeuvres.

“Crostini?” the man offered, holding the platter out toward Harry. Harry stared down at the food. What the hell was a crostini?

“Thank you,” Melody said from his right as she reached to pluck a piece from the plate. She took a bite and looked up at Harry, nodding. “They’re good,” she assured him.

Harry hesitated before taking his own food. It was some type of toast topped with a spread and veggies. He took a bite and was pleasantly surprised.

“What kinda cheese is tha’?” he asked around a mouthful of crostini.

“Oh, it’s not real cheese,” Melody explained, swiping at her lip with the side of her thumb. She laughed at Harry’s horrified, confused expression. “There are a lot of vegans in my class.”

Harry stared disgustedly down at the toast and fake cheese in his fingers. He slid it back onto the tray, wiping his hand on the side of his pants. Melody’s eyes widened. She thrusted her clutch into Harry’s hands and pulled his toast from the platter.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the server. “He’s not used to events like this.”

The server gave Harry a strange look as he walked away. Melody laughed when he was out of earshot. Harry wondered why he was even here.

“Classy,” Melody said. She took another bite of her first crostini as she moved onto the next painting.

“Are we almost done?” Harry asked as he followed her, ignoring her comment.

“What?” Melody turned around to look at him, pausing mid-chew. “Harry, we’re not even halfway through the gallery.”

Harry sighed, twirling Melody’s clutch between his fingers. He glanced up at the next painting and tilted his head. It was a landscape, a rolling meadow that reached back to a treeline. The interesting part of it wasn’t the setting, though. It was the abnormal coloring. The trees in the back were healthy and full, glinting green in the sunlight. Toward the bottom of the canvas, however, the colors faded into grays and whites and ultimately, where flowers started to bloom in the foreground, darkness.

“What do you think?” Melody asked, noting the way that Harry had leaned forward.

Harry glanced at her and then back to the painting, settling back on his heels. He shrugged nonchalantly. “‘S nice.”

“Just nice?”

Harry turned his head again and found Melody looking at him expectantly. He frowned.

“‘S it yours?”

Melody nodded hesitantly and then turned to look at the painting, gnawing nervously at her toast.

“You painted this?” Harry asked, pointing to the canvas.

Melody didn’t even nod this time. She just glanced at him briefly and then moved on to the next drawing. Harry stared back at the painting and found a penciled signature in the corner. M. Rhoden.

“No,” Harry said, pacing behind her to catch up, “no, I like it.”

Melody hummed as if she didn’t believe him and then finished eating the remainder of his crostini.

“‘M serious,” he insisted. “‘S really good.”

Melody smiled at him. He wasn’t sure why he was being so nice to her, why he couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking he didn’t like her painting. But that smile she gave him almost made him drop her clutch.

“Really? Do you think so?”

Harry nodded, holding the clutch out to her. She took his from his hand and nodded appreciatively in response.

“Thank you,” she said.

The two of them moved through the gallery silently after that. They were offered glasses of champagne, and if there was one thing Harry knew how to deal with, it was alcohol. Sometimes, Melody would lean forward to examine a piece of art, clutching her champagne flute to her chest while Harry stood feet behind her with an empty glass. He was so grateful that he even thanked her when she offered him the rest of her drink.

They had almost reached the end of the exhibit when Harry glanced down at Melody and found her eyes trained across the room. An uncomfortable red blush had creeped up the sides of her neck and into her cheeks. Harry followed her line of vision to find a man chatting animatedly with a girl.

“Wha’s wrong?” he asked Melody.

“Huh?” Melody spun her head around. “Nothing. Are you ready to go?”

Harry glanced down the line of canvases that they had yet to see and shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Melody nodded silently and began walking toward the exit.

“Wha’? Is tha’ your ex or somethin’?”

Melody didn’t have time to answer before a rather unpleasant voice projected loudly across the room.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Harry twisted around to find the man that Melody had been staring at. He had taken a few large strides in their direction. His eyes were widened, his mouth parted in surprise. Harry could see Melody’s entire body go rigid.

“So, this is why you don’t have any free time?” the man asked. “That’s why you ran off to the bar? You had a thing for the boxer?”

“Oi, watch what yeh’re sayin’, now,” Harry snapped.

Melody swallowed nervously, shaking her head toward Harry. “Cooper, it’s not like that.”

“It’s not like what? You didn’t ditch me for this dude without an explanation? If you’re gonna be a bitch, that’s fine, just don’t lie about it.”

Harry had heard enough. He let go of the jacket that had been draped over his arm and grabbed Cooper by the collar, shoving him into a wall of the gallery so hard that a canvas fell. Melody gasped, covering her mouth. The rest of the voices in the gallery fell silent. Somewhere across the room, a champagne flute shattered on the tile floor.

“Yeh gonna keep runnin’ your mouth?” Harry demanded. Cooper opened his mouth to speak but Harry pressed his forearm to the lower part of his throat. “Yeh don’ speak t’her tha’ way,” he whispered. Melody could barely hear the words as he uttered them. “Yeh hear me?”

Harry shook Cooper when there was no reply. Melody stepped forward, grasping at the back of his shirt.

“Harry, that’s enough.”

Harry stared menacingly down at Cooper, who had gone bright red in the face. He grunted when he felt Melody tug on his shirt again and finally pushed away from Cooper.

“Watch your mouth,” Harry warned as he bent to pick up his discarded jacket. Cooper remained silent and straightened the collar of his shirt, peering around the room to see everyone staring at them.

“Let’s go,” Melody murmured, grasping Harry by the arm and leading him toward the exit. She avoided everyone’s gaze until they were outside. Then she let go of Harry, staring out at the traffic that crept along the street.

“I don’ get it,” Harry said after a moment. They began to walk back toward Melody’s flat as he spoke. “Is he an ex or not?”

“No, not really,” Melody answered. “We went on one date.”

“To a match?” Harry asked, perplexed. “He took yeh on a date to an illegal boxin’ match?”

Melody nodded. She was slightly reassured that someone else found the idea as ridiculous as she did.

“Seems like a complete git, ‘f yeh ask me.” Harry shook his head. Melody slipped her arms into her jacket, pulling the material taut around herself. “Yeh’ve got some poor decision-makin’ skills.”

“Oh, don’t,” Melody griped. “He was nice when he asked me out. And I have poor decision-making skills? You’re basically a criminal and you were about to beat him up in front of a crowd of people! My classmates, by the way!”

“Hey, you were the one tha’ invited me!” Harry snapped back, turning his head to place burning eyes on her.

Melody huffed and tucked her hands into her pockets. She took a moment to collect herself and then nodded.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, swiveling his head to watch where he was walking. The temperature had dropped even further. He could see his breath rising in the cold air as he slipped back into his jacket.

Neither of them talked again until they were inside Melody’s apartment building and up on the third floor. She was still shivering from the cold as she twisted her key in the door. She turned to Harry when it was unlocked.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” she said. She opened her mouth to continue, but Harry thought he already knew what she was going to say. Even if you embarrassed me. Even if you don’t know not to put your food back on the tray. Even if you can’t help but start fights with every man you meet.

“Yeah,” Harry said, turning away from her. “Just remember what you promised.”

“Harry!” Melody called after him, but he was already treading down the stairs. She heard the front door open and then heard it slam shut, and she didn’t think that she had ever been so confused.

Chapter 7

[dear-chaton]

1-100 bb

BAbe lol why it’s fine but oh dear lord who’s ready to another long af ask?

Bc I just answered some of these I will link to the first part here^^

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More milk than cereal bc I don’t care if it get soggy

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Lots of cream, milk and sugar.

6: do you keep plants? Nope

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? Writing I guess? I didn’t pick up drawing or painting till late last year

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Always, singing to myself as I fill this out right now haha

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Side but curled up nearly in fetal position bc I’m lanky as hell

12: what’s your favorite planet? Mercury?

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Either really pastel or grungey

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! In space metal sticks together ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? Lasagna

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. I like to point out friends spelling mistakes on discord and pin them so that everyone sees bc I’m slightly dyslexic so it’s funny when I do catch mistakes

20: what’s your favorite eye color? I love green and blue eyes

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. There’s many of those lol

22: are you a morning person? Nope

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? No, I don’t like to have one single person that knows every single little thing about me, I have multiple people that know many things that I trust to them but often those things rarely overlap

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? No where?

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? It’s a tie between my pug shoes or my cat shoes bc they have memory foam soles since I work on my feet all day I wanna have some comfort on my off days

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? Just plain regular bubblegum

28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?  Oh yeah plenty of times

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. It was after a friends party last year and we just sat in her living room comparing the average guys dick size for some reason 😂

33: what’s your fave pastry? Croissants

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? It’s a really big bunny rabbit, I don’t think I ever named it to be fair and yeah I keep it on my bed nearly all the time and it’s something I use to comfort me if I’m sad and wipe away the tears if I cry :’)

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? Yes lol but I more so collect them than use them

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? Either skillet or Pentatonix

38: tell us about your pet peeves! Hate when people cut me off when I’m saying something, I barely talk so when I do I’m a little miffed if I don’t quite get to finish my train of thought, I also hate when people chew loudly in a quiet setting like please no save me

39: what color do you wear the most? A navy blue or a jade green

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? I guess the most important to me is my purity ring and I’ve had that thing since I was 13 so nearly 8 years I’ve been wearing it and yeah

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! It’s kind of quiet and quaint but it’s fabulous to have study groups there and sit there for hours I feel bad for the people that deal with us but it’s so nice

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Being in the back of my boyfriends car, cuddling him

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Ha nope

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. What’s the favourite movie for cats to watch? The Sound of Mewsic (you can pry cat puns out of my cold dead hands)

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? Heights and yes still hate it

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? I love cds and the last one I bought I can’t actually remember it’s kind of been a while^^

50: what’s an odd thing you collect? Bears from each state

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Misbehaving by Pentatonix or The Only Exception by Paramore

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? That despicable me meme bc I love those movies okay

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? My friend Stirling who just had to put his dog down :(

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? Screeched and lunged for my phone I guess erm

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Just the small things you don’t think of when you think of a particular person like someone will bring a blanket to our group between breaks and we’ll all huddle underneath it or someone will push two couches together so people can cuddle and/or spoon and be cute like stop being so freaking cute sometimes okay,

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? It’s interesting I’ll say that

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? I am bc I’m the oldest of my friends and therefore the only one who’s roughly allowed to drink but no seriously my role on two discord servers is a toss up between Wine Aunt or Wine Goddess like I don’t make this shit up

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? Have never really liked poetry so uh

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Orange juice

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? On my bookshelf there’s all my favorites out on display but the rest are kind just shoved into boxes

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? It’s dark out bc it’s nearly midnight 

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? My best friend even though I haven’t been the greatest friend and not talked with her in a while >.

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Soft with white and light blue flowers I guess?

68: what’s winter like where you live? Hot and humid most of the year with a week or two of what the fuck Florida

69: what are your favorite board games? Checkers

70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? Most definitely

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Always ready to fight

75: tell us about your pets! I had a puppy that I had to give away over the summer, she wasn’t really a puppy she was a little on the older side but I really loved her and miss her a lot

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? Studying but my classes are pretty easy

77: pink or yellow lemonade? Neither

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I don’t mind them but since my nephew likes them I tolerate them

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? One wall is just a hot pink bc that was the color of my sheets at some point but I’m gonna paint it to a pastel mint hopefully soon

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Like an iceberg, so cold it pierced my soul (idk either man)

82: are/were you good in school? Pffffffft that’s hilarious

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? I wanna get one tattoo is it’s simply ❝&❞ and on my left inner wrist

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? No not really, haha

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Homeward Bound bc that is my shit okay

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. I don’t like cities so um yeah

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? Er maybe to the city to go to a con but otherwise not planning to travel much

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? Drowns it with cheese, after taking a lactaid pill of course

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? It’s almost always with a headband of sorts

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My friend Mags

95: what are your plans for this weekend? Going on a date and going boating with my family

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? I always procrastinate them lol my computer must hate me

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? It was 6? Years ago and I didn’t have the right shoes and slipped on some mud and fell

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. I have a YouTube playlist for that shit lol there’s like 100 songs i listen to on repeat

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Future bc hell if I’m about to relive my past again no thanks fam I’m good

Really Fucking Cute Questions

[prplzorua]

Chill Day

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhchhh'

The sound of the marker against paper.

Of blue and purple swirls and flowers and rainbows and whatever the heck Prince was drawing.

He stayed silent, just watching...or well, trying to.

He really should have gotten more sleep, especially since he knew today was Tuesday.

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhchhh'

Every Tuesday, Roman would come out into the commons and Art, either he painted something or drew, or sketched.

"Anything to get those creative juices flowing", he said.

Anxiety couldn't quite care less really, but somehow or another, this became their thing.

----

🎶"When I was a young boy-🎶

The dark persona was relaxing in the commons, not too unusual but not too common either.

Thomas was feeling pretty good today, so Anxiety feeling rather "chill" as he put it.

With the week's video already posted and his host taking a well deserved nap, the younger trait found it to be a pretty "chill day" indeed, not that he'd say that out loud.

So here he was lounging on the couch, listening to MCR.

🎶"My father-🎶

Prince came in, with a mat, colored markers, paper, pencils, stencils and all.

He moved the coffee table, the one that Logan had insisted be in the middle of the  room, to the far right, placed the mat down and flopped onto it, pencil in his left hand, scratching away.

Anxiety frowned, couldn't he enjoy his peace and music alone?

Sure he could do that in his room, but that was besides the point.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm sketching something so I can color it later-"

"I get that but why-?"

"Why not?", smirked the Prince.

Anxiety glared at him.

"I meant, why here?"

"Because I want to-"

"Why not on the coffee table?-"

"If I mess it up with a small smudge of marker Logic will kill me-"

"True, then why not on the table?"

"I don't want to bend, strains my neck-"

"So you're doing it the lazy way?", now Anxiety was smirking.

"It's not lazy-"

"You're flat on your stomach, on a plush mat and barely scrawl in anything resembling a background"

Roman blushed.

"Fine, it's the lazy way, but it's relaxing,  so leave me be-"

"Then why didn't you do this in your room?"

"Why aren't you in your room?", shot back the royal.

"Fair enough", the younger persona shrugged and went back to lounging on the couch.

Prince continued his drawing.

-----

'Schch'

'Schch'

'Schchhh'

One of his earbuds had fallen out and the simple sound of the pencil scratching on paper filled his ears.

His MCR playlist had just finished, there were only so much songs a deceas-split up band had after all.

Apparently Roman's drawing was abstract, lots of lines and patterns, it looked rather interesting, but it would probably look better colored.

So there he was, silently watching the other's Arting process.

The entire room was silent, with the exception of the paper and pencil of course, he had expected Princey to hum or something, but no, just quiet, it was...actually quite peaceful.

So he watched.

The movement of the pencil.

'Schch'

'Schch'

'Schch'

The stretches, curves and curls of the lines.

'Schch'

'Schch'

'Schchhh'

The colors as they slowly filled the page, when Roman finally colored them in, bringing his design to life.

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhchhh'

It left him in a daze.

----

"How does it look?"

Anxiety blinked, Prince was now holding up his finished artwork, loud, bright and vibrant lines, it was rather beautiful.

"Nice"

Prince beamed at the compliment.

And so it began.

Every Tuesday was art day, Roman drawing or painting on occasion and Anxiety simply watching.

------

Every Tuesday, without missing a beat, he watched, today...he was falling asleep. These sessions always made him feel relaxed, but geez, he was full-fledged drifting off.

'Shhch'

'Shhch'

'Shhchhh'

For each stroke of the purple marker, Anxiety's eyes drooped lower.

'Shhch'

Lower.

'Shhch'

Lower.

'Shhch'

Lower.

'Shhchhh'

Really he was gone already, just the small gap to cover the whites of his eyes were left. Titering on the balance of sleep-and-wake.

Breathing slow and lips already parted. All that was left, was for him to fall...

Logic walked in at that exact moment.

"Anxiety", he whispered.

The younger jumped, blinking rapidly as his vision became clear.

The Teacher carefully pulled Anxiety to the kitchen, silently as to not disturb the artist on the floor.

"Are alright? Are you getting ill?"

"What? No, I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grumbled the younger. Pulling him out of his almost sleep state, really wasn't helping his mood.

"I mean, sometimes I see you lying on the couch in a complete daze"

Anxiety blushed.

"It's just...relaxing I guess"

Logic paused.

"What is relaxing?"

"Watching the Royal pain draw and stuff"

"Hmm"

"What?"

"I don't think that watching Prince draw is what leaves you in a daze-"

Anxiety raised a brow.

"Logan, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you enjoy the sound of pencil, or in this case marker,  scratching on paper, it's quite interesting really, but it does make make sense you'd follow the Autonomous sensory meridian response"

"I- what?"

"Asmr"

"Wait, wait, isn't that, just a bunch suggestive whispering, lip smacking and roleplay videos?"

Logic rolled his eyes.

"While some videos do include such things, not all of them do, there can be no whispering and just the sound of something constant-"

"Like?"

"Like the sound of a marker on a paper", this time the younger rolled his eyes. Logic smirked, "there's also hairplay"

Instantly pink flushed on pale cheeks, pink bright enough to show through all that white foundation.

The Teacher chuckled, ruffling Anxiety's already mussed up hair.

Of course the younger pouted and batted away the offending hand.

"Is it bad?"

"Asmr? No, not necessarily, paper and markers are harmless, personally I enjoy pen on paper and chalk on a board, Morality enjoys the sounds of paint and slime, though I'm not sure what Roman prefers"

They shrugged.

Logic went to his room and Anxiety moved back to the couch.

----

When Morality came in an hour later, he smiled.

Roman had just finished his artwork and wasted no time in showing him. Being the proud father he was, he couldn't stop his instincts to put the peice on a frame and hang it up.

The Prince beamed.

Chuckling he patted the young regal's shoulder, and then quietly retrieved a blanket and placed it on the sleeping Anxiety.

-----

Bonus:

\Hey Thomas\

"Oh hey Joan, what's up?"

\Nothing much, Talyn and I were just takling, you up for a road trip?\

"Now?"

\Yeah\

"Sure"

\Really? Someone's feeling good today\

"Yeah I am"

Joan chuckled.

\Alright, we'll pick you up in ten minutes\

Thomas agreed, hanging up the phone, he went to get ready.

He was all set when the sound of a horn reached his ears.

Smiling he grabbed his keys, locked the door and jumped into the car with his awesome friends.

Yeah, today was a chill day.

----

9am let’s tag: @prinxietys @prinxietyhell @the-prince-and-the-emo @anxietyismycuppatea @anxietyandlogic @thebrightsun @the-sanders-sides

if y’all would like to be tagged tell me, i’ll be happy to oblige ;)

 AN:// Sorry I haven't posted anything sooner, I've been sick, still am actually, I legit couldn't move on Monday. Tuesday I found out what Asmr was, yes, yes I'm very late to that but life. My little cousin loves to draw, markers and paper galore. Basically she was Prince and I was Anxiety and my best friend, who came to visit my sick behind was the one who told me about Asmr, so she was Logic XD. Anyway, I'm currently working on another drabble chap, it's a comfort piece for a really sweet peep that needs it and also the new chap for Innerworks, I'm dying here and I wanna sleep, but like, fanfiction lol.

[stephicness]

Peace Among the Chaos :: Ravus Nox Fleuret x Reader

*scratches back of head* Well, I didn’t write it exactly in a second person point of view for a reader perspective, but I really thought this idea would be better excused in this way, so I write it in third person! I hope that’s okay!

A fun writing to do though. So here you go! Have some love at first sight things with Ravus and a love interest. Perhaps if I touch in on this particular ‘reader’ character again, I’ll write it in the second perspective a bit more properly for you, dear anon. :D

The idea of being at social gathering was far from something the high commander enjoyed. Wine flowing, people mingling and gossiping about politics of the empire and the frivolous connotations of the what the empire’s plans were. It was event after event that hardly proved to be of any real interest to the high commander as he carefully meandered around the gallery. The same events that he was forced to – only this time in a different setting.

The gallery was filled with a variety of paintings and works, sculptures and artwork showcasing the works of the artist with the prestige enough to be able to display their art amongst Niflheim’s most renown art museum. Apparently, it was a show that the Imperial Chancellor refused to miss. Thus, against the commander’s free-will, he came in attendance with the chancellor. Well, he was supposed to be a guest of his, but the chancellor enjoyed the light of the situation. As he flaunted his feathers, the commander merely let his eyes wander along each of the paintings that decorated itself across the walls. Each stroke was done with a sense of precision and grace. The abstraction of flowers dancing across the canvases as various narrative were told. Of triumph, of chaos, of splendor and joy. Beautiful works and a beautiful show, but the crowd of people hardly seemed interested in the works, more taken with the idea of being able to converse with one another about the latest scandals.

And yet he was able to stare at the artwork himself, analyzing the tiny formal details of the work as he passed by with each slow step. But his footing eventually stopped as he paused in front of one of the massive canvases. His focus homed in on this particular work: a portrait of two figures, forever portrayed in a dance as petals danced around them, dripping with blue and magneta colors. Out of the other orderly paintings and drawings, this one held a different air to it, stained of ink, a chaos of flowers as the two figures were caught in the chaos. And yet as the background of aggressive strokes and marks closed the negative space around them, the focus of the painting remained the calm area where the figures embraced. Hands were tangled in a twisted form as if the figures became one. Bound together for eternity and captured on the canvas. The commander’s eyebrows furrowed the longer he looked at the painting, having to step closer and observe the stains of ink and paint upon the canvas. It was a work that brought forth a serenity and romance to it, yet it was surrounded by a chaos unheard of compared to the rest of the works in the gallery. Emotions and turmoil that felt as if it touched the soul of those that took the time to gaze into the work. A masterpiece…

“You must really like this painting, don’t you~?” The high commander’s focus was disrupted all too quickly, causing a small jolt to surge through his body as he stood upright and looked at the voice that interrupted him. The expression the commander wore seemed to provoke a small laugh from the person, a smile spreading over their thin lips. His eyes narrowed before he looked back up towards the painting.

“Is that an issue to find appreciation in the artwork…?”

“Ah! Not at all.” The individual smiled at the commander, allowing themselves to advance forward and next to where the commander stood. “It’s just that, I mean… Usually people can only view a piece of art for about seven seconds before they move along. You’ve been looking at this painting for about a thirty instead.” He gave a sideward glance at them, noticing as they calmly tucked their hands behind their back, hiding away a black book they held in their hands. A bright smile lingered on their face as they too admired the work before them. He felt a sense of turmoil in the work, but the way they looked at the painting… It was so hopeful. Just as the individual turned towards the commander, he quickly looked back to the painting to avoid eye contact. “What do you like about this painting anyways…? It just seems like, you know, another painting? It doesn’t look like it fits in with the others.”

The silver-haired man paused, eyebrows furrowing for a moment as he shifted his weight back on his leg. An odd question to ask… But even he couldn’t quite comprehend what caused him to become so interested in this painting. He was quiet in thought, collecting his words before he gestured with his hand. “I believe it is because it is different that I find interest in it. A lack of control over the process itself. And yet, the artist struggles to find control. A balance and peace between the precision of painting the figure, versus the chaos of abstraction around them all.”

“You figure it would clash though, wouldn’t it?” They tilted their head, pursing their lips before they glanced back up at the taller man. “What do you think it all means, anyways?”

He shook his head in response. “It is a pleasing contrast, for nothing can be in order. The only thing that may mend the chaos is where you place your small bit of solace.” He lets out a small sigh, hanging his gaze as he brought his arms up to cross them over his chest. “In this case, the artist most likely thinks that solace can be found in another soul… A light amongst the dark, I suppose.”

“You really think so…? That the artist wanted to show that chaos can be remedied somehow?”

“No one can be for certain…” He finally worked up the courage to return his gaze to the viewer of the work, meeting their gaze with an arch of his eyebrow as they looked back at him. An odd figure, one much different than the others that were too distracted from the work. A face much more innocent than they as well, eyes bright and enthusiastic as if captivated by what the high commander had to say. Even the smile they wore was genuine, humbling to the point where the commander’s eyes widened and he had to return his eyes back to the painting before the two of them. Another laugh came from the figure next to him as they too looked back at the painting once more. “What do you think? What significance and meaning does the painting hold for you?”

“To me?” They tilted their head in thought, adjusting their hands to press their palm against their lower back. A hum came from the viewer, a good long moment before they grinned, looking up to the high commander with that luminous smile that caused the commander’s stoic expression to falter. “I think the artist just really wanted to play with inks and made a mess of things~”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Is that truly all?”

“I mean, sometimes the artist can have a simplistic meaning for doing a piece. Not all of it’s about struggle and torment!” Their laughter was contagious enough for the commander’s lips to curl into a small smile. They did have a point, he realized. But the viewer smiled, gently tucking their hands behind their back once more as they rocked on their feet in a playful manner. “Maybe though… Maybe it’s about the fact that you don’t have to be lonely in all of the chaos. You can find peace and solace. But it doesn’t really mean much unless you have someone to share your peace with, you know? Friends, family, lovers… Having someone to share the peace with you is one of the most calming thoughts in the storm of the world.”

The commander grew quiet with the viewer’s words. He had assumed it was mostly a placed trust. But perhaps it was deeper than that. Instead of one giving to the other, it was the hearts of both figures… Odd, but somewhat pleasant to think about. Loneliness, after all, was a cruel thing. Just as he had wandered the gallery alone, unable to share his thoughts and wandering in silence amongst the sea of people.

Until he met them…

The two slowly turned to look at each other once more, a silence settling between the two as eyes met once more. It was rare for him to have such a conversation as intellectuals, and there was a comfort in being able to voice his thoughts on the work. It felt natural… And the air they gave as well, the gaze that considered his soul and the words he spoke… It was a calm in the chaos, and one that he was pleased to share. He tilted his head carefully at the smaller viewer, turning to face them properly as they too turned to face him.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am-“

“Ravus Nox Fleuret. I know.” Ravus was a bit stunned at how he was unable to continue his introduction. He held his hand up partway, hesitating on whether or not to retract his hand. But they merely continued to smile as they gently reached up and took hold of the commander’s hand. “I asked the chancellor about who you were.”

“Is that so…” They had such a delicate hold, but Ravus could take notice in the faint blue stains that stuck around their fingernails and knuckles. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he investigated further, eying the inked stains on their hand closer. Must have been from a broken pen, he assumed. He looked back to them, deliberately placing a kiss atop their knuckles. A subtle apology for being so fascinated by their hands. “A pleasure to meet you, though my introduction has been done for me, it seems.”

“I don’t mind, to be honest.” He noticed how their face flushed with a red color, a stifled and crooked smile crossing over their face as they shifted on their feet. Once Ravus released their hand, they quickly pulled their hand back and hid them behind their back. “It’s really nice to meet you! There’s so many faces here that it’s nice to know at least one name.”

Ravus nodded as he gave a soft smile in return. “That is true… I do not know many faces myself. The artist has not even shown their face either, from what I have noticed.”

“Oh, I think they’re lurking around somewhere.” The viewer glanced around the gallery, standing up on their toes in a futile effort to see above the mass of people. “As far as I can tell, gallery receptions in general were an awkward time for the artist, so artists sometimes like hiding from the audience.”

“Why is that so…?”

“Well, you know…” They seemed to become quiet in their words as they peered up at Ravus before looking back away. “You never know what a crowd’s going to be like, you know? They usually come in, not wanting to really know much about the artist, so the artist probably feels like there’s no reason to be there. I can’t help but feel a little bad for artists who go through that kind of social anxiety.”

“Or that kind of anxiety as a general sense.” Ravus gave a nod of understanding. The idea of having to converse with people was something Ravus never really found pleasantries in, so he could honestly find a relation in such a sense. It was only in a rare instance that he could find a face he was willing to speak to. Even then, it was rare – just as it was now to be able to speak so calmly with this strange individual. “I hope the artist knows, however, that I enjoy their work. Attending the reception tonight is a choice that I do not regret making. Especially when in the company of such intelligent and… Calming company.”

The two’s gazes returned to face once another, a silence settling between the commander and the viewer. It wasn’t until the viewer began to chuckle, looking down as their smile began to glow bright enough to draw attention to the both of them. A laugh so full of joy that caused a smile to appear over Ravus’s face. Rare as it was, he was unable to retain his normal expression as he listened to the sound of the voice. The chaos and voices around them melting away… As if two faces together in the noise…

“High Commander Fleuret! There you are!”

A noise that Ravus did not wish to hear now. Just the mere sound of the chancellor’s voice was enough to snap him out of his attentiveness on the figure before him as the chancellor waltzed over to the two. His eyes narrowed into a scowl, an expression that did little to phase Ardyn as he moved closer to the two, more so to that smaller figure that he lingered over with a mischievous expression.

“I see you found yourself the little sheep as well. So shy and wishing to speak to you. I hope that you two were able to enjoy your pleasantries and conversation?”

“Ah! Yes! We did!” The viewer gave a small smile, looking back up at Ravus from the chancellor. “It was a great conversation.”

“Delightful. Did you manage to give him what your desired to?”

“Huh?” They paused for a moment in the words, soon gasping as they brought forth the black book that was tucked behind their back. Ravus arched an eyebrow with curiosity as they shuffled through the pages and eventually removed one of the thick white pages from it. “I, um… I came over to talk to you because I wanted to give you this. I mean… I asked Chancellor Izunia to, but he wanted me to give it to you myself.”

Ravus stared down at the sheet of paper before he carefully took it from them. Upon the sheet was a portrait, sketched out with aggressive pencil marks that shadowed the figure within it, an intensity in the line work. And yet, a gentle face upon the figure as they were portrayed viewing representations of canvases on walls… It was a portrait of himself. His eyes widened when he realized this, attention turning back to the artist before him, who merely smiled and gave a small nod as they began to step backwards.

“I, um… Hope you like it. And the rest of my work too. It was really nice being able to talk to you about it all.” They smiled and pointed towards the paper. “You should check the back as well. When you get the chance to.”

“I… I will do so. Thank you.” Ravus looked down at the sketch once again then back to the artist who gave a small wave.

“Yeah! Any time. I, um… Have to go now. Mingle with the others. Or hide away from them, that sort of thing.” A nervous chuckle escaped from the artist as they tucked their hands behind their back again. “Thank you, by the way... For talking with me. And for giving me a reason to be here.” They smiled and bowed their head before vanishing into the crowd of people.

Ravus nodded in response, looking down at the drawing in his hand before he turned the page around. The high commander allowed the corner of his lips to curl into a soft smile before he looked towards where the artist disappeared to once more. At the bottom of the paper was the signature of the artist, signed with a small note at the bottom of it along with a series of numbers jotted down nearby it. A phone number and a title...

Ravus Nox Fleuret Peace Among The Chaos

[shrugman]

all of them

alright buddy here we go

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?idk man probs cereal 

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?no it feels like jack frost hit me with his dick

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?rn a plane ticket

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?milk and sugar because I love death

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?I like my closed mouth smile but you’ll have to kill me to get me to use teeth

6: do you keep plants?I try

7: do you name your plants?always

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?poetry 

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?yeh

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?on side, one leg curled up under me like a flamingo, hand on the tiddie

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends?okay first of all *friend, second of all; cheese pizza

12: what's your favorite planet?ur mum lmao

13: what's something that made you smile today?stephanie 

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?800 succulents and 400 pillows

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!“Gliese 581 c wants to kill you“

16: what's your favorite pasta dish?Alfredo 

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?purple, did it. also jet black but not worth the risk tbh

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.....stairs

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?I have a poetry book I guess

20: what's your favorite eye color?all

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.I got it at an antique shop and it’s a smiley face back pack but I left it with katie because she needed it more than I did

22: are you a morning person?no

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?die

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?My one true love, Stephanie

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into?abandoned hotel on base

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit?I wear by black boots every day but I’ve only had them for like 4 months

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor?cherry lime

28: sunrise or sunset?set

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?When I make Stephanie laugh over snapchat she sends me a picture with her mouth wide open and idk it always makes me smile

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?I spent the last month in fear I’d be killed by terrorists 

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.this is too many questions 

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.nah

33: what's your fave pastry?anything cherry tbh

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?Teddy Bair was a gift from my dad to my mom but I loved him so much I stole him and he became mine. He’s on my bed at college with me rn

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?I like gel pens and I color with them

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now?TOP

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?I like it cleanish but it’s always messy because that’s my biggest depression problem 

38: tell us about your pet peeves!people not shutting up ever

39: what color do you wear the most?black 

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you?I have a locket my sister got me like 10 years ago that has a picture of us

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving?tbh idk

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!It’s in Japan and Katie and I used to spend hours there together. It’s where we really became friends 

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?the astronomy club lmao

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?never

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?about certain things

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.I really don’t want to 

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?kale

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?the dentist. yes

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?I haven’t in a while bc I have no way to play them

50: what's an odd thing you collect?tears

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?Stephanie- true friends 

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?Have there really been any?

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?Heathers is my favorite movie

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?this is a rude question

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point?at this point I don’t even know

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?when they have little things that make them light up

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?no

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?I’m the vodka mom and Stephanie is the vodka aunt and we both are the wine gay cousin 

59: what's your favorite myth?tbh idk

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?I do but I can’t think of a specific fav

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received?mean question 

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?I drink ALL JUICE ALL DAY

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?leave them be and then organize them every now and again

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?idk prolly dark blue/black

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with?I always wanna see Stephanie 

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?black roses and light pink accent flowers

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?sad

68: what's winter like where you live?cold

69: what are your favorite board games?monopoly 

70: have you ever used a ouija board?I’m not THAT white

71: what's your favorite kind of tea?no

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it?nah

73: what are some of your worst habits?yeah we don’t have time for that

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.v good v pure best person on planet 

75: tell us about your pets!dog!!!!!!!!!!!!

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't?so many things

77: pink or yellow lemonade?yellow. Idk what makes it pink

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?please stop bringing them up

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?i dunno

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?white. no I live in a dorm

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.wow it sees 

82: are/were you good in school?for the most part

83: what's some of your favorite album art?I like the all about us cover

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?the only one I want rn is one matching stephanie 

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?who do u think i am

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?idk

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?Heathers, Ghost Busters (2016), Creepy Hanna Doll

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?I like stick figures that show emotion

89: are you close to your parents?yeah I think

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.I like Fredericksburg because it’s boring as fuck but it’s one of the only places that I can even kinda call home

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?too many places

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?give me it all

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most?down with nothing done but blow drying it

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?It’s Matthew’s today :D

95: what are your plans for this weekend?cry

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?push it off for SO long

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?can’t remember, Capricorn, Slytherin 

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?idk for hiking 

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.whenever I’m really really sad I listen to Iris on repeat 

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?I guess future because I don’t wanna go back. But also I don’t think I even want to risk skipping 5 years because who knows if I’ll miss out on something I really wanna be here forThat took FOREVER ily