#there was an art gallery in a little room and i spent like half an hour tjere. mixed media art is so interesting

[apsaraa]

i think this is what life is supposed to be about

[pankowcrumbs]

The Set up X Joseph Quinn (Requested)

The smell of rosemary and garlic hit me the moment I stepped into Fred’s house. It was cozy, with warm lighting and the kind of eclectic decor that could only come from someone who spent half his life traveling and the other half collecting oddities from every corner of the world. I slipped off my coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, and smiled at Victoria, who was already perched on the arm of Fred’s well-worn couch.

“Y/N!” she beamed, rushing over to wrap me in a hug. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, pulling back. “Though I still don’t understand why you were so insistent.”

Fred appeared from the kitchen, his apron dusted with flour, a mischievous grin on his face. “Because, dear Y/N, this is not just any dinner party. This is an experience. A culinary masterpiece. A—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, laughing. “I get it. You’re very proud of your cooking.”

“Fred takes his dinner parties very seriously,” Victoria added, rolling her eyes fondly.

Fred gave her a playful glare but then turned back to me. “Anyway, drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I nodded and made my way to the kitchen, which was bustling with activity. A few of Fred’s friends were already mingling, chatting over glasses of wine and plates of appetizers. As I reached for a glass of white wine, someone stepped up beside me.

“You’re Victoria’s sister, right?” a warm, slightly raspy voice asked.

I turned, and there he was—Joseph Quinn. His curly hair was a little messy, and his dark eyes sparkled with curiosity. I froze for a second, my hand hovering over the bottle of wine, before quickly recovering.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, pouring the wine and offering him a small smile. “And you are?”

“Joe,” he said, holding out his hand. “Fred and I worked together on Gladiator 2.”

My eyebrows shot up as I shook his hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Oh, right! Victoria mentioned Fred had been working on that. I’m guessing you’re an actor?”

“Guilty as charged,” Joe said with a grin. “And you? Are you in the industry too?”

“Nope,” I said, laughing lightly. “I’m the boring one in the family. I work in publishing.”

“Publishing?” he repeated, tilting his head. “That’s not boring at all. Books are far more interesting than movies half the time.”

We ended up chatting for a while, standing by the kitchen island as the room filled with more guests. Joe was easy to talk to, with a quick wit and a knack for making me laugh. I didn’t even notice Fred hovering nearby until he cleared his throat dramatically.

“Well, well,” Fred said, a sly smile on his face. “I see you two have met.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just grinned wider. “Fred,” I said slowly, “why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”

“Who, me?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just thrilled my two favorite people are getting along so well.”

Joe looked equally suspicious, but he didn’t say anything, just sipped his drink and glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

Fred disappeared into the dining room, and I turned to Joe. “I think we’re being set up.”

Joe chuckled, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “It does feel a bit... orchestrated.”

Before I could respond, Victoria called us to the table. Fred had outdone himself, the dining room table laden with dishes that looked like they belonged in a magazine. We sat across from each other, Fred and Victoria on either side of us, and the meal began.

Throughout dinner, Fred’s “subtle” comments only grew more ridiculous.

“So, Joe,” he said at one point, leaning back in his chair. “Y/N loves art. Do you?”

Joe glanced at me, his cheeks pink. “Uh, yeah. I do, actually.”

“Perfect,” Fred said, clapping his hands together. “You should take her to that gallery downtown. It’s amazing.”

Victoria shot him a warning look, but it didn’t stop him. Every time Joe or I spoke, Fred found a way to twist it into some kind of romantic hint. By dessert, I was half tempted to kick him under the table.

Despite Fred’s antics, I found myself genuinely enjoying Joe’s company. He was charming without trying too hard, and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed was undeniably endearing. By the time the evening wound down, I was reluctant to leave.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Joe offered as I grabbed my coat.

“You don’t have to,” I said, though I wasn’t exactly protesting.

“I insist,” he said with a smile.

We stepped outside into the cool night air, the city quiet around us. My car was parked just across the road, and we walked in short comfortable silence until we reached it.

“Well,” I said, turning to face him. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Of course,” he said, his hands in his pockets. He hesitated, then added, “I had a really great time tonight. Even with Fred’s... matchmaking.”

I laughed, feeling a warmth spread through me despite the chill. “Me too. You’re not so bad for a setup.”

He grinned, taking a small step closer. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I teased, but my voice was softer now, my heart pounding as he leaned in.

And then, his lips were on mine, warm and soft and perfect. I melted into the kiss, my hands resting lightly on his chest as his arms circled my waist. It was the kind of kiss that made the world fade away, leaving just the two of us in the glow of the streetlights.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced toward Fred’s house and froze.

Through the living room window, Fred and Victoria were celebrating like they’d just won the lottery. Fred pumped his fist in the air while Victoria clapped her hands, both of them grinning like maniacs.

Joe followed my gaze and laughed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

I couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling out of me as the ridiculousness of the situation sank in. “Well,” I said, looking back at him. “I guess they got what they wanted.”

“Maybe they did,” Joe said, his voice soft as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, smiling up at him.

He kissed me again, slower this time, and I knew, without a doubt, that this was just the beginning.

[nancypullen]

Versailles

Bonjour! This morning we decided to go see how the other half lives, so we hopped on a train to Versailles. The palace is only about 12 miles from Paris, but takes roughly 30 minutes by train due to several stops. You must purchase a timed ticket via their website and our entry time was 10am. It's just a ten minute walk from the train station and we had plenty of time, so our stroll up to the palace was leisurely.

Peasants trying to enter Versailles.

Those shadows are the line we were in for our 10am entry. I think there was a glitch this morning because the 9am line was still there and then they herded us all in at once. That's the only beef I had with the day - too crowded. We enjoy traveling in the fall because it's a shoulder season and we mostly avoid big crowds Not today.

There was so.much.gold. Louis XIV, known as The Sun King, built this opulent palace and he's all over it.

Once inside we were given our audio guides. Each room had a number and you just punched that into your little handheld gadget and put it to your ear like a cell phone to hear all the info. Each room was an education. I will not take you room by room in this massive building. You're welcome. I'll just share a few photos and try to keep this brief. You know that's hard for me. I do have to mention the ceilings. I spent so much time looking up that I have a crick in my neck. Absolutely gorgeous art and dripping with glittering chandeliers.

Room after room, from private bedrooms to council rooms, to game rooms were covered in stunning fabrics, incredible art, and glittering gold. Imagine being a French citizen, starving and struggling, and knowing that the royals were living like this. I think I know why later Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette met their end the way they did.

But back to Louis XIV. LIke I said, he was all over the place. Every room, hall, and gallery had paintings and murals as tributes to his battles, and his reign.

THis is his bedroom - where his courtiers washed him, dressed him for bed, and then in the morning dressed him for the day.

The queen's bedroom was beautiful. I've been thinking of redecorating our bedroom and I'm leaning toward feather dusters on the bed posts like this.

That gold railing was to give her privacy. Her ladies waited on those stools to be needed, and there was a lot of viewing of the queen. When she gave birth it was in this room with the appropriate officials "observing" to make sure that the baby that was delivered was from her and not smuggled in. Yikes. Moving on, there are loads of halls dedicated to conquests and victories. An enormous and (surprise!) ornate royal chapel, and the famed Hall of Mirrors. It was breathtaking, the sunlight bounced off the 500+ mirrors and the numerous crystal chandeliers to create something magnificent. I don't have a single photo that does it justice. Mostly because A) I was just waving my cell phone around, and B) people wouldn't leave so it stayed crowded.

We moved through room after room...

each one an example of excess. Did I mention all the gold? I did notice a common trait in many of the paintings and it reminded me of my Ancestry DNA results. I've got a healthy percentage of French (supposedly) and I think it's mostly in my chin.

Must be all the butter and cheese. After hours spent absorbing the lavish lifestyle of the palace and court, then learning about successive centuries of Versailles from Napoleon to WWII and beyond, we headed out into the beautiful day to take in the gardens. Again, we know that by touring them in October we won't see the explosion of color that summer offers, but it was still wonderful.

That little corner is NOTHING. There were golf carts available for rent of you wanted to see all of it. You could also walk it, which we did a bit. Look at the enormity of the grounds! The palace looks tiny on this map.

Another big disappointment was finding not a single fountain turned on. Booo! They're supposed to be glorious. We learned that they only turn them on 4 days per week and apparently today was not one of them.

Here's a snap of me sitting on a bench in the gardens, looking disgruntled. Feel free to admire my generous French chin(s).

Shortly after this we decided to call it a day and after searching for a toilet, walked away from Versaille and its absolutely amazing history.

It's impossible to get it all into one photo because of its enormity. I'd love to see a drone shot of the palace and grounds.

On the way back to the train station we stopped for a bite. While enjoying the meal, the weather, and the company we started discussing the name of the establishment. It's Brasserie de Lyautey. Brasserie is just an informal restaurant, like most of the sidewalk cafes. But I couldn't translate Lyautey, so I looked it up. It was one of two things...

So, either a renowned French military figure or a werewolf. Although the first makes perfect sense, we decided that we were definitely eating at the werewolf cafe. I mean, that's way better. So much for my brief post tonight. At least I didn't bury you in photos of Versailles. I'll wrap this up by saying that the remainder of our day was spent leisurely...more strolling around La tour Eiffel (Oh, I'm so French!) and eventually back to our apartment. We needed to ready our bags, book an Uber, and get some sleep because after ten wonderful days, we fly home tomorrow. From Alsatian villages to glorious palaces, we've had a ball. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed and cuddle my kitties. Our flight lands in Baltimore around 11pm, by the time we get our bags, retrieve the car and drive to the Eastern Shore it'll probably be close to 1am. Yuck. Paris is 6 hours ahead of our clocks at home so we'll be zombies. No blog post tomorrow. Until next time - stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[herweirdass]

field trip fate | andre harris

the museum buzzed with groups of students. they had clearly double booked. it was packed. andre stood near the sculpture exhibit, half-listening to robbie ramble about ancient artifacts when his gaze drifted across the room—and froze.

you were standing by the paintings, your plaid skirt uniform catching the light as you tilted your head to examine a canvas. andre barely noticed anything else in the room.

“yo, andre, you okay?” robbie asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“who is that?” andre muttered, his eyes glued to you.

robbie followed his gaze and grinned. “looks like St. Mary’s, the all girls school. you’re bold if you think she’s gonna give you the time of day.”

andre smirked, already stepping forward. “watch me.”

he weaved through the crowd until he was close enough to hear your voice as you chatted with one of your classmates. something about the way you smiled made his chest tighten.

“hey,” andre said smoothly, his signature grin in place.

you turned, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, he swore the world slowed down. but instead of melting at his charm like most people did, you raised an eyebrow.

“can i help you?” you asked, your tone polite but guarded.

andre chuckled, undeterred. “i just had to come over and say hi. i’m andre.”

“okay… andre,” you said, glancing at your friend, who stifled a laugh. “and?”

“and… i think you’re stunning,” he said, his voice softening. “figured we could start there.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “that’s a bold opener. does it usually work?”

“depends,” he said, leaning slightly against the exhibit railing. “does it work on you?”

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “not yet.”

andre laughed, loving the challenge. “alright, how about this? what if i gave you the best museum tour you’ve ever had?”

“you think you can top our guide’s spiel on renaissance art?” you teased.

“easily,” andre said. “i make everything better.”

your friend nudged you, whispering something in your ear, but you waved her off, turning back to andre.

“i’ll give you ten minutes,” you said finally.

andre grinned like he’d won the lottery. “ten minutes is all i need.”

he spent the next ten minutes walking you through exhibits, mixing facts with jokes, and sneaking in little compliments that made you roll your eyes but secretly blush. by the time the tour wrapped up, you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

“okay,” you said as you reached the final gallery. “that wasn’t terrible.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” andre said, his grin never faltering. “so… what do i have to do to get your number?”

you smirked, crossing your arms. “hmm. i’m not sure.”

“come on,” andre said, taking a step closer. “you can’t leave me hanging after all this. what if this is fate?”

you pretended to think again, then sighed dramatically. “fine. but only because you’re persistent.”

you scribbled your number on the back of a museum flyer and handed it to him just as your teacher called for your group to head out.

“don’t waste it,” you said with a wink, turning to leave.

andre watched you walk away, clutching the flyer like it was gold. as soon as you were out of sight, he let out a triumphant laugh.

“got it,” he said, tucking the number into his pocket as he walked back to his friends.

“you actually got her number?” robbie asked, wide-eyed.

“of course i did,” andre said, confidence radiating off him. “she couldn’t resist.”

but deep down, he knew he was the one who couldn’t resist you.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Thinking about Elena [& Muro] and i think ive roughly figured out how it works out now i have 1. changed Elena leaving Napule to her staying and 2. shifted the whole fucking timeline by 5 years. this gets long

Elena, while hanging out with the rough crowd, kept far cleaner than either Celia or Tesoro, and when she did involve herself was smart enough to avoid being noticed, meaning that when she distanced herself to focus on getting the art scholarship, she had no criminal record or large enough criminal reputation to impede her, and Celia & Tesoro both respected her stepping back.

When Elena does get the scholarship after much hard work, she goes basically no contact with the rest of them after making it clear she wants a fresh start at life, but she keeps a line of contact open just in case

Elena says in Napule for her art degree, staying in uni accommodation partially to avoid the neighborhood and separate Elena the up and coming art student from Elena Spina... gang member and in most eyes, Tesoro's second.

While she successfully avoids contact with Celia/Muro, she caves fairly quickly into getting decent weed from Tesoro talking with Tesoro, keeping a strict no criminal shit policy but enjoying Tesoros gossip about random day to day shit thats going on and having him as a shoulder to lean on. Tesoro graciously only mentions about half the times Celia locks herself in her room and crys to the mix she made for Elena. [I need a time machine to get 19 yr old no contact with Elena for good reasons but still gutted Celia all of Adeles albums. for science.]

Elena spends her time at uni reveling in having more money and time to spend on her art, and making connections. She makes some good friends, but the double whammy of being from the neighborhood she was and a stand user lead to a certain distance she kept people at, but mainly she didn't want to hand out her highly incriminating tragic backstory to anyone

adept at social situations and having spent years practicing her art with bad materials and so threw herself into learning at a higher level, she quickly became a rising star, landing places in galleries and once she graduated, was able to live on her own off her works.

The world of art, especially making money out of it, is cutthroat and ripe with nepotism and pulled strings, but Elena refused to borrow Tesoro's influence for all but situations where she was directly in danger [A mob hit is strangely easier to cover up than being torn apart by living plants, though it helps that the plants her stand create can dispose of the bodies]

One day when traveling for a gallery showing, she comes across a stand fight between a speedwagon agent and an agent of dio, while its managed without her, that she could see stands and saw what happened meant she needed to be talked to, and she was curious about more stand users. This leads to her being in regular contact with the Speedwagon foundation, and eventually becoming a part time agent

Still in contact with Tesoro, she eventually bumps into Muro a few times visiting her family, and while its awkward, they do still care about each other deeply and Muro is very happy for her success [and only looking a little like a kicked dog about it, look getting broken up with and then no contacted by the love of your life to start a new life is understandable but fucking hurts man]

Eventually they actually sit down and talk [significant likelyhood of Tesoro shenanigans] and Elena finds Muro a really good shoulder to cry on, another person who deeply understands her life and really wants her to keep pursuing her dreams, like the rest of them never could.

They talk a few more times, eventually meeting regularly, and while they never formalize a relationship there is an unspoken bond of sorts, both of them confiding in each other [Elena partially getting rid of the no criminal talk rule] and being sweet and tender and in love<3

This goes on for a whilee. i would say its pretty casual but they are like. both trying very hard to act like it is and its so not. Elena comes over for breakfast. Muro gets snuck in after closing to a viewing of her works. Cherry finds out and teases the everloving shit out of them. Elena turns into the speedwagon agent monitoring Muros group and neglects to mention that shes not just regularly making out with the man himself but has a standing invitation to breakfast at his.

This is the status quo, lots of tender moments and playful flirting & teasing, as well as deep late night heart to hearts. Elena tries her best to balance her art career with not letting her past [and present] associations slip, and Muro turns into a mushy mess whenever shes near<3

Muros death, as well as Tesoro and Conficcares, hits her really fucking hard, causing her art to change direction and her to withdraw for quite a while. The near fact that if she hadn't gotten lucky and gotten that scholarship, there would have been a fourth coffin with her in it, shakes her to her core, but its something shes been wrestling since she first distanced herself from them. Her reconnection with them, while making her grief all the more painful, at least means she did get to know who they became.

She does in some part guide Cecio and Rametta, and throws herself into her art and her speedwagon work, but while she will have to carry that grief for the rest of her life without being able to truly tell most people about it, she lives a long and happy life, living it, in part due to those she loves who couldn't.

[scholarhect]

one fun story i have that i didn’t tell at the time for privacy reasons is how i lived like half a block from whitechapel gallery & on one sunday (i had one week left at my job & then i was flying out of london wednesday) i was having a weirdish day but i knew i wanted to see whatever was there before i left so i walked in an hour & a half before they closed. i didn’t know what the exhibition was, i just knew the one i’d seen when i went over the summer ended in october & there would be a new one. last time i’d gone the main doors to the start of the exhibition had been wide open but this time they were closed & there was a table in front of it with a woman sitting at it with a laptop. i wasn’t at all in the mood to talk to anybody and i wasn’t sure what the vibe was there so i hovered around the books they sell in the front for a bit & then went straight for the doors, like you do when you walk past somebody who might want to talk to you. i figured i’d stop if anybody told me to stop, but nobody did. so i got inside and there was a big tall wall with lots of medium-sized works that were mostly pencil on paper or had very limited color palettes, like just black & white & red, what i mean is low contrast, so basically it was hard to make out details at a distance, so i take a look & try to parse what i’m looking at & i realize i’m seeing a lot of naked women. lots of sex and orgies and women cutting men’s dicks off. turns out the exhibition theme is straight up just the works of one person, it’s all nicole eisenman who is a badass & funny butch(?) lesbian. it’s organized sort of chronologically but also by theme, the first book is all drawings & paintings with a certain sense of humor and it’s mostly about identity and lesbians and stuff. then past that it’s a lot of big paintings with people in places, then some really touching sort of slice of life/romantic ish paintings, then some cool sculptures (like, big heads, with water running through them & shit), then most recently these huge wall-sized political paintings. about trump & stuff. obviously i can’t sum up the whole thing, whatever. i spent like over an hour in there. then i get to the end of that series of rooms & to the area with some chairs & a little exhibition from students in the area it’s cool whatever then i go to leave the area & when i close the door behind me there’s a sign on it that’s like “DO NOT ENTER this is a paid exhibition & you have to enter through the front.” oops. past that there was a little room with this cool huge moving sculpture and another big painting, as like a free section of the exhibition. then i walked out. nobody stopped me. i didn’t actually realize it was supposed to be paid, like sure i guess based on context clues i should’ve realized, but like seriously it didn’t cost money over the summer so i didn’t know ! but either way the gallery was about to close so i just walked out. then i didn’t want to go home because it was like 6 so i walked down brick lane (i miss brick lane…) & got some food but i wasn’t huge on it… i also listened to chappell roan. that was my evening. i love this story i feel like walking into that room and getting slapped in the face with funny sexy sarcastic LESBIANISM is exactly what i deserved that day. also i think i deserved to see it for free. the universe said i deserved it. i still don’t know how much they were charging for it. in conclusion i didn’t take any pictures but that night i went & found one of the paintings i’d seen online. here’s the picture of it i found exactly where it was hung at the gallery

crazy. but i have to say the picture doesn’t do it justice, this thing was huge, you could walk up close to it and read the names on the file folders. you really just have to see it. it’s kind of weird to know i could go back but this wouldn’t be there, and i just probably will never see it again. which isn’t something i think about when i go to art places & see art. but i liked this one

[artintimages]

A MASTERPIECE

My wife always wanted to have a painting of her, drawed in oils. We did some research online and discovered a young artist who impressed us with her works. The paintings we saw in the image gallery on their social networks were truly incredible, and so we got in touch. He lived in another city, and so we arranged everything through messages. His city was not that far away and he assured us that if we arrived early, the painting would possibly be ready by early evening, and then, on the agreed day, we woke up early and traveled there. When we arrived at his studio, we finally met him in person. He was a kind man and welcomed us very well. We talked a little about what our intention was for the painting, and then he told us that, given the characteristics we asked for, it would take more than a day, possibly three. And then he asked my wife if she would be willing to pose for so many days in a row, as it might be a bit tiring. But she said that the desire to have a painting of her was so great that she didn't see a problem with that. The inconvenience, then, would be commuting, but the artist said that there was a complete suite in the studio, which he normally used when he needed to stay there from one night to the next, and that he would make it available to us, if necessary. I said I couldn't stay, because of work commitments, and he then said she could stay alone, if that wasn't a problem for us. My wife said okay, and so we agreed like that. So, on that first day, we chose the setting, and the place she chose was a yellow sofa that was there in the studio. The artist asked her to lie down with the clothes she was wearing, so that he could make the first strokes of the work and size the furniture and her body. We spent the day there talking, and then I said goodbye and left, as I had to return home for professional commitments the next morning. By the time I left, the painting was already advanced in the background, as was the sofa, which was beginning to emerge. In the image, my wife was just a set of lines, demarcating her body in the scene. There was still some work ahead. At the end of the next day, they made contact to say that, in fact, a third day would be needed, but that things were going very well, and so we arranged for me to pick her up in the early evening of the third day. When I got there, the painting was already finished, and they were talking on the studio's balcony, tasting white wine. So they took me to see the display and, upon seeing the artist's work, I was really impressed, even more than when I had seen his gallery on social media. The screen showed my wife lying glamorously on the yellow sofa, wrapped in a strip of white silk that was still draped over the sofa, a strip that partially covered her breasts and groin, nothing else. I thought to myself, "How did he draw her half-naked body so perfectly if she was wearing clothes?? What an incredible talent!"

My wife then asked me to leave soon, because she wanted to rest at home. She said that her thigh muscles felt sore, as if she had done an intense squat workout at the gym, and I immediately told her that it must be because she had been lying down for a long time, posing. I made payment for the beautiful work of art and the kind artist said that we would always be welcome and that the next painting would be half the price. My wife soon got excited, but I said that I wouldn't accept paying half for such a VIP treatment and for something that left my wife so satisfied. So we said goodbye and left with that masterpiece of painting. I'll leave it hanging in the living room so we can always remember those days.

[onestormeynight]

The Flea Market

Penny decided to work extra at the art gallery to work through her complicated feelings about her parents. Rosie hadn't applied for any jobs yet so she had spent the last few days in her room reading books she'd discussed with her grandparents prior to their passing. Blair and B conspired together and convinced her to leave her room.

"I'll buy you something that your mother would not approve of," B said.

"So, something modest and reasonable?"

"Yeah, basically. You like that kind of thing."

This did elicit a small smile from Rosie.

"I have to go anyways," Blair said. "There's a musician I promised I'd scout for a friend. I'd love your opinion on them, Rosie, but only if you're feeling up to it."

With both of them coming at her, she was feeling up to it, but just barely.

The musician was interesting to say the least. B bought everyone lunch from one of the vendors and they watched the performance together. Ever the light eater, Blair finished half her food and then stood front and center for the show.

"It's such an interesting choice," she was muttering.

"The guitar?" Rosie asked B. "Is Blair talking about the guitar being interesting because it looks like it's going to fall apart?"

B nodded serenely and off beat. "Yeah, fam. Supposedly it's also a sculpture or something wild like that. Blair was excited about it. I just wanted street tacos."

Rosie laughed. "Yeah. I think I wanted street tacos, too."

"Awesome." B gave her a few simoleons. "Go get us round two, kiddo. And churros!"

Several songs later, the set was finished.

"I liked them," Rosie said. "I think you should sign them. Or scout them. Whatever it is you do."

Blair laughed. "I'm hoping they will let me take a closer look at the guitar, but yes, I'll pass along the demo to my friend. I think it's exactly what they were looking for."

"Are you feeling a little better, kiddo?" B asked.

Rosie nodded and gave a mild smile. "I am. I'm not exactly sunshine, but I'm feeling a little -- "

"Rosey?" Blair said, looking at her nails.

"You are worse than Penny sometimes, you know that?" B said.

"I mean, she did marry me."

((prev)) ((next))

[pandemicperipatetics]

Italy Part I: 24 Hours in Milan

Italy is one of my favorite countries to visit, and this trip reminded me of why. It’s so beautiful, people are nice, it’s easy to navigate, the food is delicious (if not exactly healthy)…

We started our trip with a brief stay in Milan (this post) and then continued on to the Dolomites for a week-long trek (next post).

Days 1-2: 24 Hours in Milan

We only spent 24 hours in Milan, about half of which was spent sleeping after our redeye from NYC.  We still really enjoyed our time there – we found some delicious vegetarian food, cute neighborhoods, and friendly people.

Lodging

We stayed at STRAF Design Hotel (a Marriott hotel, on points) in Duomo, the most touristy neighborhood right next to the city’s famous Gothic church, the Duomo. The hotel room had one of the most unusual designs we’ve ever seen (stone walls, cave vibes) and there was a small gym. The staff were very nice and helpful. It was very conveniently located just a 2 minute walk from the Duomo subway station and lots of shopping and food.

If I returned to Milan, I’d love to stay in a somewhat quieter and cuter neighborhood, but STRAF was a good option as well.

Vegetarian Food

Hygge – Eating in Duomo seemed akin to eating in Times Square, so we tried to get a little bit out of the area to find decent food. Hygge was great for a casual brunch with a few vegetarian options – their Spanish tortilla was especially delicious and unique. Portions were relatively small, so we stopped at a grocery store afterwards, where we happily discovered that the flavored Fage Greek yogurt in Italy tastes rather like gelato.

JuiceX – In search of protein shakes after a workout, we really liked their chocolate protein smoothie. It was reasonably priced and proportionately portioned (i.e., European size vs. American size). The aesthetic had strong Barry’s vibes (we did not have time to check out Barry’s Milan while we were here). Just 2 mins’ walk from our hotel.

Luini Panzerotti – We stopped by here for a snack of baked panzerotti, which were a bit like empanadas (you can get them fried if you prefer). The tomato mozzarella one was pretty good, and the vegetable one was a bit of a disappointment. It’s mostly bread, but pretty good bread. Also 2 mins’ walk from the hotel / the Duomo church.

Cooking class – The highlight of our culinary experience was the cooking class we booked to make gnocchi, ravioli, and tiramisu. I’m not a huge fan of gnocchi or tiramisu in the U.S., but this food was absolutely phenomenal. Our takeaway was that the ingredients they use in Italy are much better – i.e., unprocessed “00 flour” instead of bleached flour, better produce (the tomatoes on the ravioli were insanely flavorful), better dairy (the mascarpone in the tiramisu was undoubtedly better than American heavy cream).

The best tiramisu we've ever had, hands down

It was somewhat difficult to find somewhere with an egg dish, which seemed to be the main vegetarian protein option (admittedly we didn’t do our usual Google Maps search for tofu since we wanted to eat at least somewhat local food). We did pass a restaurant called Eggs Milano about a 20 minute walk north of our hotel, which looked good (shakshuka, etc.) and was on a very cute street, Via Solferino (Paris left bank vibes; would totally stay here if we found a nearby hotel). I’m sure there are also some wonderful Italian food options in Milan that we just didn’t have time to explore.

For our train from Milan to Verona (en route to the Dolomites), we were short on time and couldn’t find a decent grab & go option near Duomo with protein, but the grocery store in the Milano Centrale train station was adequate (i.e., vegetarian quiches, Greek yogurt, fruit).

Activities

We didn’t do a lot – it was lovely to just relax, walk around, and window shop on cute streets like Via Solferino. We could have spent an entire day shopping for clothes, furniture, and art, there were so many stylish boutiques and galleries (and we say this having proximate access to SoHo).

Back when I visited in 2012, I did enjoy seeing the Duomo (it’s really stunning Gothic architecture, almost as impressive as the Gaudi church in Barcelona in my view), doing a guided tour to see The Last Supper (I had thought this would be boring, but it was actually very cool), and taking a boat ride on the canals (yes, Milan has canals, and there are apparently some fun bars near there though we didn’t have time to explore).

The grand shopping mall next to the Duomo -- major Timothee Chalemet Willy Wonka vibes

There are also a few art museums that could be interesting to explore, and the famous opera house, Teatro alla Scala.

Relative to many other popular parts of Italy, Milan isn’t known for being as interesting to visit, but it’s a great jumping off point for scenic areas like Verona, Lake Como, and getting out to the Dolomites.

Transit

From the airport: From Milan Malpensa airport, it was a ~30 min ride into the city center on the Malpensa Express train (found under T1 & T2, Euro 13 per person, it’s easy to buy tickets in the Trenord app or at the physical kiosk by the train). From there we could have connected to the subway, but we chose to walk ~20 mins to see the city a bit en route to our hotel. Due to traffic, this was quite a bit faster (and cheaper) than taking a taxi or Uber (no Lyft in Milan yet).

In the city: It was easy to take the subway – you can tap your credit card to get in and out, without needing to buy a subway ticket at the kiosk. Door to door, and with a short ~4 min wait for the subway, it took ~15 mins to get from Duomo to Milano Centrale, the main train station from where we left the city.

Leaving Milan by train: Milano Centrale was rather large, and it took 10-15 minutes just to walk from the subway to the train platform. We had booked seats that turned out to be on the last car of the train, and it was a 5-10 minute walk from the front to the back of the train. We had ~50 minutes to get from our hotel to the train, including a stop at the grocery store to buy lunch, and we needed all of that time. The train to Verona was very comfortable (1st class had air conditioning, plugs for charging, comfortable seats) and had clean bathrooms on board.

[laurencodyblog]

Re-posted from 11/12/11

Fingerprints

I have no fingerprints left.

It all started a few weeks back on a Saturday when Alex and I went to hang out with his Papaw at an empty house he was working on by the lake. So Big Al and I went exploring in the back yard. That's where he made the discovery. Inside an old abandoned shed were lots of fishing poles and tackle, old rusted tools and empty gas cans. Over in a dark corner, Alex spotted something shiny sticking out of an old 5-gallon paint bucket.

His eyes got big as he went in for a closer look. I of course (being the watchful grandmother that I am) , gave the standard cautionary warnings of bugs, snakes and cobwebs. Alex wasn't even the slightest bit phased. The next thing I knew, he was pulling and tugging with all his might – the bucket out into the sunlight and dumped its contents on the ground for our inspection.

It was filled to overflowing of old, rusted out and tarnished pieces of brass and copper – that had no doubt spent the last many years tucked away in this dank, leaky shed. He and I took off on imaginary tales of how and who had collected these 'valuable treasures' (his words, certainly not mine). We were convinced that we had accidentally stumbled upon a pirates booty – or the remnants of a robber's art gallery heist – for sure. We had so much fun inventing possible scenarios and likely plots that the time got away from us. Before long, Papaw had finished his work and was ready to go. The truck was loaded and as Alex raced to re-pack his treasures and drag them to the truck, I knew he would have to convince Papaw that they were worth the effort to try and make room. I worried that all his begging and pleading would probably do no good because the truck was packed.

But as he presented his closing arguments to a hot and tired grandfather – we both saw the gleam in his eyes as he explained that he has always wanted to find something just like this. These were valuable and could be cleaned and polished up and be worth a lot of money. (So far, we weren't convinced). Then he explained holding up a bent copper fondue pot – “I've always wanted to give something like this to my mom. Something I got on my own – that no one else bought for me to give her. She collects copper, and I know she would just love this!”

He was right. She would love this. She would love that he would bravely search a dark spider-filled shed on the slight possibility that he could find something nice for her. And she would love that when he did find 'treasure' his very first thought was how much his mother would enjoy it. She would love and cherish that pot to her last breath...

So fast forward a few weeks to a copper / brass cleaning and polishing Saturday appointment with Alex and Nonna. Of course, I couldn't let him do it, because of the chemicals – so I agreed to do my best. About 6 hours later – a back aching, nails ruined – fingerprints missing Nonna presented a shiny, copper fondue pot. It is still bent, and of course still has some bad spots on it, but when he sees it, his eyes light up and a snaggle toothed grin explodes across his face.

“I knew it would be beautiful!” He says, looking it over.

“All my life, I've wanted to give her something like this.....”

Well, now he finally gets to.

I'm still a little nauseous and completely exhausted. I'm not sure my fingers will recover – and I'm entirely sure my fingernails won't. My whole Saturday is gone, my back hurts and I had so many other things that needed tending to today...

But nothing quite as important as looking at his beaming face and hearing the excitement in his voice when he told me he's found a treasure he's been looking for all his life.

Now that's ironic.

Because I've spent the last half hour telling you about the treasure I've been looking for all my life.

He has blue eyes and a snaggle toothed grin.

Lauren Cody

11/12/11

[owenryder]

Ryder wanted to think that maybe he was wrong about her; maybe they would get along just fine, they could see eye to eye, they wouldn't end up butting heads the entire time that they were working together… but they had spent time in different worlds. Whereas the Ryder who had grown up in Boston and traveled to the biggest cities in the world would have jumped at the opportunity, the Ryder who had spent a year and a half in a small town, being humbled by the world around him hesitated. "I actually do thrive in mediocrity," he laughed, shaking his head, because it was a tiny bit funny. "I won't lie and say that being the big fish in a small pond isn't at least a little bit comforting, but this isn't New York City," he shot back, gesturing around the gallery, "yeah, artists should bare their souls and share their stories, but what about the artists that live here? What about the artists who grew up in this area and have no other chance to have their work on display? Does that mean nothing compared to someone who has money to back up their name?" Which, God, Ryder of two years ago would have been calling him names and rolling his eyes just to hear him talk. In fact, he was sure that no matter where his father was in the world, he was cursing, reminding him that he was a Boston born Anderson, should be proud of his name… and all that bullshit. "But if it's what you want, another hoity toity high society gallery for high society types, then… your call. We'll do that."

He knew, without much thought, that it was a dangerous game that they were playing. That every time they stood a little too close, every time one of them lowered their voice and used that tone, they dipped into a place that they shouldn't be. It felt like a game or a dance -- he moved, she moved, he swayed, she swayed, it wasn't something that either of them were going to win, but it wasn't something that either of them were eager to give in to, either. He gave her a look when she asked if he was an artist. The sort of thing that said, 'I work here, don't I?' For some reason, he felt self-conscious admitting it to her, telling her that he studied art, lived art, it was the only passion he had ever harbored in his life. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, before he rolled his eyes when she brought up the banana taped to the wall, shaking his head, "that's not art, it's ridiculous," he understood performance art, knew there could be pieces that really did move and change and shape the world… but those were two very different things, and he stood by that. She seemed to agree, at least for a moment, to work with him… until mentioning that he worked for her, and he did everything in his power not to roll his eyes, bit his tongue to stop from letting out a sharp retort. Because he did work for her. He didn't want to admit it right in that moment, but he didn't have a choice, unless he wanted to walk away. And he didn't. So instead, he found himself standing in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sizing up the walls, the ceilings, the displays set up not long ago for their last exhibition. "You're gorgeous, you don't need me to tell you that," he replied, without even looking at her, "though I'm guessing you hear it a lot. And know it like the back of your hand," someone like that didn't go a day without being told that they were pretty. That was just the way that the world worked, not that she wasn't deserving; she really was stunning. "I was going to spend the day taking down the current exhibition. So I guess your timing isn't completely awful for wanting to change things."

There were few things Sophia could just let go and accept to be just okay, art was definitely not one of them. She listened to how little Ryder cared about wanting more for this place. It wasn’t enough for her to blindly go along with whatever system he had been accustomed to. "And that's precisely why I'm here. Just because we're a small town doesn't mean our gallery shouldn’t be the one people travel across countries for. Or do you just thrive in mediocrity?” She intentionally wanted to throw a dig at him. “If it hasn’t hit you by now I don’t do anything just fine. That is not good enough for me,” Her voice carried a mix of fiery determination and unwavering belief as she defended her passion. "This gallery is a haven where artists can bare their souls and share their stories with the world, but maybe you just don't want to understand that.”

The air crackled with tension as their eyes locked in an intense gaze. Words hung heavy in the space between them, unspoken yet palpable. “Okay, Ryder, I can agree to that,” Sophia felt that at least they could share some sort of respect between each other after getting off to such a tumultuous start. “So you’re an artist too?” She felt something change innately inside her, maybe realizing they had more in common than she had thought. Her mind drifted somewhere far away to the idea of them painting together, working together, and taking unprofessional breaks together. She shook that thought out of her head, but not before letting it stay a while, then resorting to snarky comments again, “What, do you tape a banana to the wall and call it art?” She laughed but it was cut short by the way he leaned closer to her, making her take a second to gather herself “Of course I don’t have a problem working with you at all,” there was something intense in the way he stared her down, not breaking for a moment, that made her breath hitch in her throat, a warmth spreading below her as she thought about the possibility of what this intensity between them had the potential to lead to, “once you’re aware that you still work for me,” she challenged him further, “So you think I'm pretty is what I'm hearing,”  She took a step closer, her voice a whisper that danced with vulnerability, so close that if either of them moved an inch more they’d be having an entirely different kind of conversation, one evolving anything but words, “you’d be so lucky to be putty in my hands Ryder,” she stopped her mind from wandering as he moved across the floor, “So, what have I been missing, since you apparently know everything?”

[scribblemakes]

All sets wrapped up with this last Intellect collection! Back to posting new art for me and not compilations. Longer ID under the cut:

[ID: 12 images depicting the Intellect skills from Disco Elysium as bigger  monsters that interact with Harry. In order, there’s Rhetoric, Logic, Encyclopedia, Visual Calculus, Drama, and Conceptualisation. /End ID] 

[ID: Every second image shows the previous skill’s design iterations. For example: The second image shows Rhetoric’s iterations, the fourth shows Logic’s iterations, and so on.

The first image shows Rhetoric at both a low and high level. At a low level, Rhetoric is standing in Harry’s palm as he winces. At a high level, Harry is smiling condescendingly as Rhetoric frames his face with its hands, looking in the same direction he is. The dialogue reads: Small Rhetoric: “You should definitely tell this guy how cool Communism is.” Harry: “How is it cool?” Small Rhetoric: “It’s red, the COOLEST colour.” Harry: “What?” Large Rhetoric: “They clearly haven’t spent even HALF the time you have on this.” Large Rhetoric: “Correcting them would be merciful. They can’t go out there spreading stupid ideas.”

The third image shows Logic at both a low and high level. At a low level, Logic is in pieces in Harry’s hands, both of them inspecting the parts. At a high level, Logic is standing behind Kim and inspecting a shape in its hand. The dialogue reads: Small Logic: “There’s, uh- Maybe- … Nah, I got nothing.” Kim: “Are you sure detective? This isn’t a lot of evidence, we could be arresting an innocent woman.” Large Logic: “Of course you’re sure. The pieces fit. It makes sense. It’s her.”

The fifth image shows Encyclopedia both at a low level and a high level. At a low level, Harry is tiredly talking to a small Encyclopedia sitting on his desk. At a high level, Harry is stuck inside the paper body of Encyclopedia as it talks at him. The dialogue reads: Harry: “What do we have on the company?” Small Encyclopedia: “Uh” Harry: “The knife?” Small Encyclopedia: “Um” Harry: “Anything?” Small Encyclopedia: “Your shirt is made of wheat?” Large Encyclopedia is repeating some of its dialogue from Disco Elysium, but the text is faded and jumbled.

The seventh image shows Visual Calculus at a low and high level. At a low level, Visual Calculus and Harry are standing in front of a lot of footprints in the dirt. At a high level, Harry is sitting on the floor with Visual Calculus sitting behind him. There are extensions from Visual Calculus that make the shapes of furniture and dancing couples in the background. The dialogue reads: Small Visual Calculus: “There was at LEAST one of them.” Large Visual Calculus: You held each other. You spun her around the room. She smiled at you and laughed. You danced for hours.” Harry, while crying: “Show me again.”

The ninth image shows Drama both at a low level and a high level. At a low level, Harry is holding a pen while Drama is spread out on his head like a pancake. At a high level, Drama is completely engulfing Harry’s head and wrapping both arms over his middle. The dialogue reads: Kim, offscreen: “Did you steal the suspect’s pen?” Harry: “Haha, no.” Kim: “Khm.” Large Drama: “Friends? Hardly. He wouldn’t even tell me about himself if I asked. Who could get attached to a guy like that?”

The eleventh image shows Conceptualisation at both a low level and a high level. At a low level, Kim is holding a piece of paper that has “BAD!!” written on it while Harry and Conceptualisation look pleased in the background. At a high level, Harry is lying on the ground after being shot. Conceptualisation sits next to him and projects the image of worse blood puddles beside his two gunshot wounds. The dialogue reads: Kim: “What’s this, detective?” Harry: “It’s my statement piece on the state of worker’s rights in Revachol. I’m going to submit it to a few galleries.” Kim: ‘Khm.” Large Conceptualisation: “Oh a beautiful scene, Harry! If you struggle a little more you could elevate it further!” Harry, weakly: “Y-yeah?”

/End ID]

[parkerslatte]

Years Passed [Chapter One]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Part Summary: After a decade of living in England, Y/N finally moves back to America to be closer to her family.

prologue / next chapter

Years Passed Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

***

CHAPTER ONE: FAMILIAR FACES

Y/N was always one to follow her dreams. Originally her dream was to become an astronaut but she soon found that she wasn’t smart enough for that. That’s when she found herself falling down the route of art. Y/N had always been a gifted artist since she was a child. While everyone in her class was drawing stick figures and calling it a day, Y/N would take time to get the proportions of the body right. People would always say she was trying too hard or just trying to get attention. Y/N didn’t care - she was doing what she loved.

It wasn’t until high school where she began to take art more seriously, people would come to her to do art commissions. At first Y/N refused, she didn’t want to charge people for her art but once she realised how much she could make from it, doing art commissions became her job. Throughout high school it was her main source of income. However, it wasn’t until the end of high school where Y/N decided that art was the thing she definitely wanted to go down. 

Opening up her own gallery became her dream. A couple of years after breaking up with Spencer Reid, Y/N moved to England. She didn’t exactly know why, all she knew was that she wanted a fresh start. Y/N moved into a small flat in Cornwall. It was perfect for what Y/N needed. She spent just over ten years of her life living in Cornwall and Y/N couldn’t be happier, however there were many instances where she missed her family. Y/N could never afford to constantly go between England and America and neither could her family. A lot of her time was spent on phone calls and video calls with her family. 

It was only recently that Y/N moved back to America. Six months to be exact. After nearly eleven years of being away from her family constantly, Y/N decided to move back to America. She didn’t make the decision lightly, it took her many months to come to the conclusion. Y/N had many friends in England. She had her small art gallery. Most importantly, her daughter had her friends in England and her school - everything she had ever known. 

Y/N’s daughter, Harper, was seven and she was the light of Y/N’s life. Everything she did was for Harper. Y/N didn’t want to pry Harper away from her home, but she wanted her to get to know her family. When Y/N told Harper the news, Harper was excited, she had always been a curious girl and moving to a new country was exciting for her. 

“Mummy!” Harper yelled, running out of her room to Y/N who was sitting on the couch. Her daughter’s accent was a little messed up. Some words would come out in an American accent and some in a British accent - more specifically the Cornish dialect. 

Y/N smiled upon seeing her daughter. As she ran, the wild curls on top of her head bounced up and down. Harper approached Y/N and climbed onto the couch next to her. Y/N wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close to her side.

“What’s got you so energetic?” Y/N questioned. 

“Can we go to the park?” Harper asked, “You said that we could go today.”

Y/N checked the time on the clock on the wall, “You really want to go at ten in the morning? You don’t want to wait until midday then we can go out for lunch?”

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” Harper draped herself over Y/N’s lap dramatically.

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face. Harper was definitely one for dramatics, something she inherited from her father.

“Okay, how about this?” Y/N started, “We wait until eleven and we can invite Melanie and Toby and we can go and get lunch with them?”

Harper nodded her head vigorously causing Y/N to chuckle slightly. The only reason as to why Y/N wanted to wait longer to go out was because she was waiting for Harper’s birthday present to turn up. It wasn’t her birthday for another three weeks but Y/N always wanted to leave time in case the package never turned up in case she needed to buy something else. 

“Why don’t you go and play in your room and I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go?”

Harper nodded before running off to her bedroom down the hall. Checking the clock again, Y/N realised the package wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Deciding she had time to kill, Y/N made her way to her bedroom to get changed. If she was going to be out for most of the day, she decided that being in sweatpants and an old shirt wasn’t going to look so good. 

Picking out a simple sundress, Y/N got changed in a flash before she found herself seated on the couch again. Over the last few days, Y/N had found herself being more tired than usual. Everything she did drained the life out of her, obviously she wanted to run around and play with Harper but she would tire out quickly. Harper would try not to get sad about it as she understood why Y/N got like this once a year. Y/N wasn’t going to explain it until Harper got a little older but she understood perfectly. 

Grabbing her phone off of the coffee table, Y/N pressed on Melanie’s contact. Melanie had been Y/N’s friend for a while. They met a year before Y/N had moved to England, due to their long distance friendship, Y/N had expected that they would fall out of contact but they never did. Melanie was godmother to Harper and Y/N was godmother to Melanie’s son Toby. 

The phone rang a few times before Melanie picked up. 

“Hello?” Melanie’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey Mel!” Y/N greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Well Harper and I are going to the park in an hour and I was wondering if you and Toby would like to join us?” 

“We’d love to,” Melanie answered, “Toby’s been pulling my leg asking when he would see Harper next.”

Y/N chuckled, “We’ll meet you at the park if that’s alright.”

“That’s more than fine, we’ll see you then.” Melanie responded before hanging up the phone. 

Y/N tossed her phone back on the couch and slumped back down. She could easily turn on the television and watch something but she didn’t feel up to it. Getting back up from the couch, Y/N headed over to Harper’s room and pushed it open. Her daughter was hunched over her small desk, scribbling away on a piece of paper. Y/N smiled at the sight. Her daughter had taken after her in artistic skill, always having the dream that one day she would be as good as her mother. 

“Hey Harp.” Y/N said, entering her room. 

“Mummy, look I’ve done a drawing!” Harper said excitedly holding up the picture, “It’s the same one you painted.”

Y/N took the drawing out of Harper’s hands and held it up. Y/N had painted a landscape of a forest a few weeks ago and Harper had copied it almost exactly. Every time Y/N would do a commission or a painting for fun, there would always be smaller versions of the same painting but made with colour pencil. Sometimes Harper would sit next to Y/N while she was painting and they would do it together. 

Y/N always enjoyed doing art with Harper by her side. She would constantly ask questions about it and Y/N was always more than happy to answer. From sitting next to her and watching her paint, Harper had been teaching herself how to paint. Y/N would always offer to help her but Harper always refused the help, letting Y/N only watch from a distance. Their whole house was filled with paintings from both Y/N and Harper. 

“It’s incredible, Harp.” Y/N said crouching down, “Even better than mine.”

“No it isn't, your one is better.” Harper said, “Yours are always better. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of Harper’s head, “I don’t want you to be like me, I want you to be like you. You are going to grow up and be an extraordinary person, like you already are.”

Harper hugged Y/N tightly, “I love you mummy.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.” Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of her head once more before she heard the doorbell ring. 

“Is that Melanie and Toby?” Harper questioned.

“No, it’s someone else, Mel and Toby are meeting us at the park,” Y/N explained, “Now why don’t you clean up in here before we head out.”

Harper nodded before she began clearing everything away. Y/N headed out of her room and opened the front door. Y/N expected it to be Harper’s present however she was greeted by two people - more specifically FBI agents. Y/N looked between the two, very obviously confused. 

When Y/N looked up at the male agent, her eyes widened the slightest amount. His hair was curlier and he had a slight stubble. He looked as if he filled out his clothes more as well. Even if it had been more than a decade, she could recognise him anywhere. 

Spencer Reid.

PERMANENT SPENCER REID TAGLIST

@spenxerslut  @averyhotchner @drayshadow @moviequeen51 @spencer-reid-am-i-right @ssavanessa22 @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat @mbjackie @jklemps @reformedmoneyshovel @nomajdetective @jesuisbenny @jooniehomie @spencerreid-187 @onyourfingertips @uhuhuh @rubyhi208-42 @archer561 @c0rpsecore @sweetandsunny @zoeygraygubler @algonsa @jswessie187 @shemarmooresfedora @kaz-2y567 @alfonsais @aikrus @nani-2305 @death-becomes-her @sarejane @isabelle-558 @measure-in-pain @the-nerd-gang @manuosorioh @luredwithpretzels @ceeellewrites @totallyclearwitch @jekkles @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @sarahpaulsonlov3r @periwinklemax @kuolonsyoja @heartmira @hoodpankow @parahmur

SERIES TAGLIST

​@its-9pm @nani-2305 @reidsfish @mochionly @spencerswildestdreams1 @magnetas @matthewscumslut @madsgraygubler @bakugouswh0r3 @rexit-mo @shinshankai

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing; a little angst; mostly fluff tho Summary: When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant. 

Over the course of the following week, you spent more time with Marcus - both on the phone and in person - for the sake of getting a little more comfortable with one another. But to your surprise, there really wasn’t much that needed to be eased into. You went over to his place a couple more times, and he surprised you by showing up at your office once. He even plopped himself down on your crummy little office couch with a stack of quizzes and an answer key while the two of you chatted.

You’d been stunned to find how easily conversation flowed between the two of you, beyond his work at the Bureau. Sure, the two of you talked about his work, but he liked to hear about yours, too - about the student that had come to you for help with her thesis on Han Van Meegeren; about the freshman in your Art History 101 class that had turned up reeking of weed and raised their hand to clarify that you were discussing Michelangelo the painter, not the Ninja Turtle. Now and again, though, as things quieted between the two of you, Marcus would remind you how grateful that he was that you were doing this - that you didn’t have to, that he owed you one. You’d always lightly wave him off, tell him you’d never been to Austin and were getting free cake out of it. Marcus told you about growing up in Austin, living there; the band he’d been in in college, playing bass and singing; he told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancé, and that he hadn’t given up on love yet. You told him about the endless days that you had spent at museums and galleries as a child, taking tours and falling in love with art and history. He never pressed you for details about your grandmother, about how you were moved from place to place, about when and how you began to fence her work for her. With Marcus, those things really didn’t seem to matter. But you felt so safe with Marcus, so comfortable that, well— You would’ve told him, if he asked. -- When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant. When the two of you got off of the plane in Austin, he was downright nervous.

The two of you used the flight going over your story again, running through some of the particulars of the week’s schedule that you hadn’t gotten to go over the week before. You also began to ease into that casual PDA that you knew his family would expect from the two of you - holding hands intermittently, touching the other on the knee to draw the other’s attention: twice, he’d leaned over and murmured in your ear to comment on the show that the person sitting in front of you was watching; once, you’d reached out and brushed back a stray strand of hair that had come loose from his otherwise controlled coif. 

He’d been a little uneasy as you’d gotten on the plane, and slightly jittery during the trip. It wasn’t a lengthy flight, so it didn’t take terribly long for his nerves to intensify. His leg had started bouncing somewhere over Atlanta. It hadn’t gotten any better as the plane had started to descend. What discomfort had triggered in Marcus was a hometown fact info-dump that you could never have seen coming. And god, it was some of the nerdiest shit that you’d ever heard. “You know this airport has one of the country’s longest commercial runways?” He told you as he hauled your suitcase off of the baggage carousel. “Really?” You asked teasingly. Marcus nodded, seeming to miss your tone as he lifted his own off of the carousel and set it down. “It used to be an old Air Force base, back in the— the 40′s? It actually opened to the public in, uh—1999 and—” “Hey,” You reached out, cupping his face to focus him. He went quiet, lips parted in surprise. You offered him a gentle smile. “It’s going to be fine,” You insisted. Marcus’ shoulders relaxed a little, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss to one of your palms. The feeling sent a wave of warmth through you, and you smiled, sweeping a thumb along his cheekbone before you let your hands fall away. You had to remind yourself that those little touches would be commonplace throughout the week.

“Before we get out there,” He said quietly. “Mm?” “I know I’ve said this before, but I really, really appreciate you doing this. I mean you didn’t have to, and… I wanna thank you for being here with me.” You felt your stomach flutter at his thanks, and you nodded. “Thank you for trusting me to be,” You returned. Marcus’ eyes searched your face for a moment, warm and kind, and the urge to hide bubbled up in your chest. You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you didn’t know if he would find it. “C’mon. We don’t wanna keep your mom waiting,” You added, taking hold of the handle of your suitcase. Marcus nodded, shifting his bag onto his arm and taking hold of your free hand. You intertwined your fingers, glancing up at him to make sure it was alright. He smiled, giving your hand a squeeze in turn. “How do you know so much about the airport, anyway?” You asked curiously. “Oh-- I’ve got a cousin that works here.” “You’ve got all the inside dirt, huh? I see how it is.” “Marky!” You heard crowed from a little ways away. “Marky?” You repeated quietly, glancing up at him, and grinning when you saw an embarrassed flush tipping his ears. “Do not start using that--” “Oh I’m so using it,” You laughed as the two of you approached the woman that had called out to him, “Gimme your bag,” You urged, gently untangling your hand from Marcus’ to take hold of his duffel so that he could hug his mother unencumbered. “Thanks-- Hey, mom,” Marcus grinned, embracing his mom. You grinned, watching the two of them, listening as the two chattered a little as they held to one another. He was nearly a head and a half taller than she was. “Is there someone you’d like to introduce me to?” She asked, peering at you around his arm. Marcus smiled, leaning away from her. “Yeah, there is. C’mere, sweetheart,” He murmured, holding a hand out to you. You felt yourself thrill a little, bashful as you ducked your head a bit. The two of you hadn’t discussed pet names, but ‘sweetheart’ sounded...so terribly dear coming out of that man’s mouth. You stepped closer to Marcus as he introduced you, passing his bag back when he gestured for it. “This is my mother, Jill Pike.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pike,” You said lightly, holding your hand out to shake hers. “Call me Jill-- Oh, come here,” Jill laughed, tugging you in for a hug without a moment’s hesitation. Your brows rose at the tug, but you took the hug that was offered, smiling and laughing a little bit. “Jill-- it’s a pleasure to meet you. Marcus talks about you all the time.” “Oh,” Jill leaned away, holding you at arm’s length, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too! I’ll admit Marky has been light on the details,” She shot Marcus a look, as he made careful study of his shoes. “Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid that’s my fault,” You cut in quickly, “I’ve been told I’m a little hard to pin down.” Jill’s brows rose. “Mark, this one is a firecracker! Where’d you two meet?” She asked, hooking her arm through yours and steering you toward the exit. “Work. She’s been kind enough to assist us on several cases. We’d be lost without her.” You shot Marcus a thankful smile over the top of Jill’s head as the two of you walked through the parking lot. “He’s being too sweet-- You guys’d be fine.” “No, not true,” Marcus volleyed back, “That break in the Rosepoint case? It would’ve taken us months to find that dealer-- and the forger.” “Weeks at best.” “You cut the time down, sweetheart, just-- Take the compliment,” Marcus pouted a little, and you rolled your eyes, smiling. “Well, I’m glad I could help.” 

“You wanna sit up front?” Marcus offered, taking hold of your suitcase and lifting it into the trunk of his mom’s car. 

“Why don’t you? Give you and your mom some extra face time before the week gets busy,” You said. 

Jill smiled, giving your arm a light squeeze before letting go. Marcus rounded the car, opening the back door for you and pecking your cheek before you got in. 

--

You’d been a little apprehensive when Marcus had told you that you’d be staying with his family for the duration of the visit. But apparently Marcus always stayed with his family when he went home now, and you didn’t want to further mess with the family dynamic. He’d reassured you that the house had room enough for you all to be comfortably situated. “My parents can be a little old-fashioned,” He’d warned, “You know-- unmarried couples can’t sleep together, that kinda thing, but the house has three bedrooms. I’ll be in my old room, and you’ll be bunking in Marnie’s with her massive canopy bed-- and her Air Supply poster.” You’d appreciated his reassurances. The two of you had certainly gotten more relaxed around one another in his apartment and your office, but it was one thing to be nearby one another. It was another entirely to share a bed. You felt your nerves roil up in you as Marcus and Jill chatted in the front seat. You contributed to the conversation a little, answered questions when they were asked of you, but said little else. You were careful not to use your phone for the duration of the car ride, not wanting to seem rude, or like you weren’t paying attention. As Jill pulled the car into the driveway of the house on the wooded hillside, you found yourself perking up a bit more, despite your trepidation. You noted Marcus glancing back to look at you, but couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eye as you tried to take in each new little detail. He and Jill were still chattering as the three of you got out of the car, but you bring yourself to contribute. You just couldn’t help stop yourself from looking around. You looked over the two-story home with exposed brick exterior and dark wooden door. You spotted someone peering out at you through the front window before hurrying away when you met their eyes. Marcus’ hand rested on your lower back as he murmured, “Are you alright?” In your ear. “You grew up here?” You asked, a little dazed. Moving around as much as you had, the places you’d stayed had never been any bigger than a two-bedroom apartment. You couldn’t imagine spending your whole childhood in a house— especially one as beautiful as this. “Yeah,” Marcus chuckled softly as he steered you up in the front walkway, “If you think this is nice, wait until you see the back porch.” “You have a porch?” “Oh, honey,” Jill laughed as she opened the front door, “We’ll have to get you down here more often.” 

--

Marnie was a streak of dark hair and lanky limbs that launched herself at her brother with a squeal of excitement the second Marcus crossed the threshold. He dropped his hand from your back just in time to catch hold of her, clearly anticipating the charge. You smiled, taking a step to the side to give them adequate room as Marcus lightly rocked them side to side. “Do you have any siblings?” Jill asked softly as the two of you watched the reunion, the two chattering between one another. You shook your head a little bit, glancing over at Jill and smiling. “Do you?” “Five sisters. Imagine that bathroom when we were all late for school,” Jill laughed. You turned back as you heard Marcus say your name. “Oh, I know who she is,” Marnie waved Marcus off as she broke away from her brother, “Honestly, no name has puzzled me more since you told me that you were talking Shlomo Ziegler to prom.” “Was...Shlomo going with someone else?” You frowned. “There was no Shlomo Ziegler. He heard the name on an episode of the Golden Girls,” Jill explained. “Oh, honey,” You turned a sympathetic smile up at Marcus before taking a step closer to Marnie. Marnie had the same kind eyes that her brother did. Their noses were the same, too, but her cheekbones and lips were like her mother’s. She pulled you in the same way that Jill did, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back to get a better look. “It’s nice to meet you,” You smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you-- About all of you.” And that was technically true. “I’ll grab your bag and run it up to Marnie’s old room,” Marcus reassured, resting his hand on your lower back. “Oooh,” Marnie cringed, glancing between the two of you, “I meant to mention, um-- I’m staying here this week.” Marcus froze, glancing between you and Marnie. “W-Why?” “Well, Hazel and I thought it would be kinda cute, you know, spending the week apart. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and stuff.” “So I’ll...Sleep... On the couch?” Marcus frowned. Jill waved him off. “Oh, you and your sweetheart can sleep in the same room. You’re all adults now, christssake,” She laughed, reaching up and pinching his cheek. You glanced back at him, raising a brow at his stunned expression. This was going to be an adjustment, but part of the reason you were down there with Marcus was to help him roll with the punches. He could only do that if you did.  “Yeah, Marky,” You smiled, reassuring, “We’re all adults.” Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​​ ; @elen-aranel​​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​​ ; @artsymaddie​​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​​ ; @lunaserenade​​​ ; @winniedaboo​  ; @empress-palpat1ne​​​ ; @randomness501​​ ; @nutmeg-20​ ; @leonieb​​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​ ; @lou-la-lou​ ; @captain-jebi​ ; @supernaturalgirl​ ; @naturenebula21​ ; @evelynseventyr​ ; @giselatropicana​ ; @heatherbel​ ; @marydjarin​ ; @annathewitch​ ; @absurdthirst​

[novamirmirsblog]

Mission gone right

Hi guysss. This is 18+ ty :3

Word count: 1596

Genre: Smut, kinda dark? R is bad basically

Request: no

Warnings: Wanda sex magic, swearing, alcohol (think that's it)

A/N: we got votes for both angst and smut so I kinda combined both? I feel like this isn't angsty enough so imma write something super angsty next. Then I'll go back and do some more spidey duo xxx

"What to do, what to do, what to do..." You paced back and forth around your living room. "Ugh!" throwing your hands up in the air, you flopped down on the sofa, leaving your legs dangling over the arm. Switching on the TV, you saw that there was a new display at an art gallery. You looked around your walls and saw nothing as pretty as the painting on the TV.

"I guess one more couldn't hurt..."

The TV then changed to show that the Avengers were making a special appearance considering Tony Stark owned the gallery and it was it's opening night.

With newfound determination, you got dressed in a red dress with a neckline that dropped all the way to just above your navel and a slit that went all the way up to the middle of your left thigh. The dress gave you the freedom to move but still looked like it was just something pretty to wear. You grabbed your clutch (because god forbid a woman has pockets) and headed out.

~~~~~

Soft music played as people with more money than sense wandered around the gallery. Women wore pearls loosely and men had watches just begging to be taken. You had to focus. You were there for one reason and one reason only. The oil painting apparently cost millions. You didn't really care about that - it was a nice touch, sure - but not the reason you wanted it. You told yourself it was because it was a pretty picture but maybe it was more to do with the fact a pretty mindreader was going to be there tonight.

So far, you had done well to avoid the guards and cameras. You had stolen from this place a few times before and you knew that they rarely changed their security because you had cameras on them. You had seen a few of 'Earth's mightiest heroes' and had tried to ignore the disappointment you felt when it wasn't Wanda.

It's not like the two of you had history, but you were at HYDRA when the twins were too. You were a failed experiment. Your powers were useful, but not useful enough. They also took a little time to form. Time that Strucker didn't want to waste. You, Wanda and Pietro spent about a year together before they went to the 'good side' and you delved deeper into what your powers could do for you. You'd think that HYDRA would love the fact you could convince people of anything and erase all traces that you had ever been somewhere, but apparently they weren't looking for spies, they had enough of those.

You strolled around until you made it to the bathroom, waiting there for the rest of the evening. You had everything planned, walk up to the picture, take it from it's frame and leave out the front door. Everything was going according to plan until you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey! What are you doing there!" You opened your mouth to speak but you were grabbed and dragged round the corner and into a storage room.

It was Wanda.

"What the hell are you doing here!" Wanda whisper shouted as guards jogged past our hiding place.

"Same as you apparently." You realised Wanda hadn't noticed how close the two of you were, cupoards were very small...

"You just fucked up my night out."

"Sorry darling, at least my night is going splendidly." You winked and leaned in closer, watching as the anger transformed to lust on her face.

You were taller than Wanda by maybe half a head so she had to look up at you as she tried to formulate a reason to get out of there. Technically, she didn't even have to be there. She could walk out right now and the guards wouldn't even bat an eye and yet something was making her stay.

You moved slightly and Wanda groaned ever so faintly. It was so quiet that you would have missed it if you hadn't been so close to her. You then realised that your leg was conveniently placed between Wanda's, and what can you say? The storage cupboard was small. It wasn't your fault.

Okay, it was maybe a little bit your fault.

"Oh darling, has no one been taking care of you?" You mocked, leaning in and whispering over the shell of her ear "Want me to take care of that?"

Wanda froze even more. Her mind was racing so fast that there was no possible way for her to read yours even though she was desperate to do so. She hadn't seen you in forever but when she glanced over when Tony was telling her a particularly boring story, she couldn't help but gasp at how beautiful you were. Wanda had hoped that you were just there to admire the art work but she knew, deep down, that that would be too good to be true.

"Cat got your tongue?" You were unaware of the turmoil you caused for Wanda. Too focused on your own fun and the way her suit hugged her in all the right places. You wanted nothing more than to fuck her there and then. You didn't want a meaningful relationship with Wanda, just something physical. The two of you were occasional fuck buddies when you were both at HYDRA - the relationship turning slightly toxic very quickly.

You both liked to see how quickly one could get the other jealous. Whether that meant flirting with other people and making sure the other one saw, or just outright sleeping with whoever was nearest. While it seemed that Wanda had grown out of that toxicity, finding love with a glorified Alexa, you never had.

"Why save me darling? I can handle myself."

"You were two seconds from being caught" It was a little disheartening to hear her accent slipping, the last little piece that reminded you of the Wanda she used to be.

"No. No I wasn't." you lifted her chin up and spoke into her neck "I don't need you to save me."

Wanda let out another groan, much louder this time as her hips bucked on your thigh.

"Shhh" You chuckled lowly "We don't want anyone to hear you, right?"

You grabbed her hips and kissed her. It was rough and fast. Wanda whimpered and began grinding harder, trying to get more friction. One hand traced lightly on Wanda's thigh and the other tugged at her waistband. Wanda got rid of them instantly with her magic and you slipped your hand into her panties.

"Shit sweetheart, your toaster not giving you the satisfaction you need?"

"I don't want to think about him" Wanda let out with a slight growl, her accent getting heavier again, like how it was when you knew her.

"Sweetheart when I'm done with you, you wont think of anything else for months."

"God you're a cocky bitch. You're all talk and no action."

"No?" You pushed two fingers into her. You weren't feeling nice enough to start off slow and she was wet enough for it anyway.

Wanda's back arched as she let out a moan and you kissed her chest, her blazer falling open to reveal an extremely unbuttoned shirt. She tried to push your hand further, desperately chasing her release but you pulled away, taking your hand and licking your fingers, watching as Wanda gulped.

"Please..."

"But darling, I think the guards are gone." You smirked as the witch basically threw a temper tantrum.

"So? I haven't felt this good in so long" Wanda shoved her own hand back to where yours was. It was strangely extremely hot to see her try and get back to her high. She suddenly opened her eyes and looked at you. You could see the red wisps surrounding you before you nearly doubled over, looking up at Wanda who wore an evil smile.

"Now you know how I feel. Are you going to get back to it?" Wanda had never done this before. When you had known her, she had little to no control over her powers, only being able to control things with her mind and read others thoughts. She had been practicing.

"Fuck you."

"Well yes, that's what I'm trying to get you to do."

You dropped to your knees and took the rest of her underwear off, slowly licking her as she swung a leg over your shoulder. "Shit y/n, just like that."

You worked your fingers in and out of her, feeling everything you were doing to her on yourself thanks to her magic. You got slightly sloppy as you both neared your climaxes. You suck and bit along her thigh and on her clit until you felt her clench around your fingers. You both saw stars as her magic continued to fuck you, drawing out your orgasms until you were both sweaty messes.

~~~~~

You never did get the painting that night. You didn't really get anything you wanted that night. You sat on the top of your building, one leg swinging and a bottle of something strong in your hand, just watching the city buzz at night. As you sat there watching the tiny people come home from their jobs to their loving families, you wondered if you could have had something like that with Wanda. Then you laughed as you remembered that she was probably wrapped up in the arms of Siri, taking another swig from the bottle, you got up and prepared for your next job.

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: The First Drawing You See From Your Soulmate is Tattooed on Your Skin

A detective having a tell would probably be considered inappropriate to most people. Detectives were supposed to read tells, not have them. But then again, Benoit had never been much for keeping up appearances. Besides, what was the harm in rubbing his thumb along his right wrist? It helped him focus; it helped him think.

Or at least, that was what he’d told himself. He wasn’t entirely lying, either, rather the larger whole of it all was more so that when he rubbed that spot on his skin, he felt calm. Composed. He liked to think that that was the feeling his soulmate had intended when they painted that image, whenever they made or would make it. Whatever it was. After all, it had plenty of blue in it.

He was pretty sure it was meant to be a pond or some kind of body of water; that might explain the blues and greens and maybe the bits of white that he could make out. And if he squinted his eyes a little, he could swear there were little flecks of gold. Goldfish, maybe? Honestly, he had no clue. Benoit wasn’t much for complaining or expressing a lack of gratefulness, but he couldn’t help but sometimes feel envious of those whose tattoos covered a larger part of their body. Not a massive amount, but at least just enough to be able to tell precisely what the heck their soulmate’s image was trying to portray. Clearly, the image was larger than what that patch of his skin could afford, and honest to God, he’d spent a good part of his life trying to make out what it was!

(The embarrassment of it all, he would sometimes muse deprecatingly: That the acclaimed “Last of the Gentlemen Sleuths” could solve the most absurd cases in the country, yet had spent most of his natural-born life completely stumped by what might as well have counted as a body part!)

And yet, Benoit could never stay frustrated about it; not when his thumb gently grazed against the image, imagining the smoothness of his skin ebbing into the aquatic swirls of the proposed water. But just for extra precaution, he saw no harm in distracting himself.

That afternoon’s distraction? A quick skim of the local paper, accompanied by a mug of hot tea. He tried not to think of how such a method revealed his age, instead snapping the paper open to a page discussing the local goings-on. It was the usual sort of content: The community theater’s spring production was seeking house crew members, a mom and pop-style restaurant was having an anniversary special . . . It was the same sort of thing Benoit had grown used to expecting.

But what his pale blue eyes landed on next didn’t make the rest pale by comparison -- it downright washed all else from existence: An art show.

Benoit considered himself a well-rounded person, but it was more so in an almost tongue in cheek sort of manner: As a detective, it was his job to be appropriately versed in an assortment of fields. However, a jack of all trades was never truly a master of none. Benoit’s experiences with art theft and forgeries had lent him a hand in only about as much observation as was necessary for the respective occurrences.

But . . . he knew those swirls. He knew that blue, those greens, that white -- he recognized how the gold was patterned! Sure, the cheap ink job of a colored newspaper picture might have dulled the quality ever so slightly but there was no mistake to be made: That painting was his. No . . . It was theirs!

You tried to make calming breaths without making your anxiety obvious. A nervous but otherwise acceptable smile twitched into place, fooling the guests as they wandered about the gallery. Or, at least, you certainly hoped it was fooling them; but it was probably all to be outdone by the fact that you’d been nursing the same champagne flute for the last half-hour.

Is this what “making it” feels like? you wondered. Because if it was . . . you weren’t too fond of it. You felt bad for not relishing this opportunity; the art world was highly competitive, and you were more than blessed to have had the chance to not only display your work in a showroom, but to have said room be dedicated entirely to your pieces. But in that blessing was also a curse: The curse of criticism, of weary eyes, of people both waiting to pounce on you with ribbings of how you lack the magnanimity of the classics or the free thinking of the contemporaries --

Shitshitshitsmile! You did as you were told -- both by your brain, and by your manager earlier when they walked you through how you were to compose yourself through this entire ordeal. Just smile, enunciate when spoken to, and let the potential schmoozing flow and oh god, that Karen-looking lady who definitely owns a house in Martha’s Vineyard for when she wants to get away from her husband for a day totally hated that piece you’d spent months working on, didn’t she?!

The thought made your stomach twist, your already awkward smile along with it. You inhaled sharply. You had to find something to distract yourself with. 

You turned and faced the painting nearest to you. Some might call it vanity, but you were actually quite pleased with this particular piece. That, and its blueness gave you a sense of . . . serenity. You imagined the ripples washing over you and into you, the scent and sound of the painted environment gently caressing your nose and drowning out both the stench of perfume and pretentious chattering . . . And also, apparently, the sound of approaching footsteps.

You hadn’t realized anyone had joined your side until the rumble of a southern baritone carded through the water.

“It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it?”

You hadn’t meant to jump and appear so clumsy.

“Oh, sh -- ” You cut yourself short as you eyed the droplets of spilled, room temperature champagne. If your manager found out that you had cussed around a potential buyer, they would’ve mounted your head on the wall. Thankfully, however, the stranger didn’t appear at all fazed. If anything, the chuckle he responded with sounded genuinely amused.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m terribly sorry!” he insisted, holding up his left hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you; I can imagine most anyone would be mighty transfixed over a piece like this.”

You gulped as you looked up at your unintentional scarer. His eyes were the same blue as the one that brought you calm just moments earlier, yet they had the almost opposite effect to you now. As you looked into them, you didn’t feel calm; not necessarily: Instead, you felt your heart beginning to ripple the pattern of the painting, your cheeks burning as bright as the gold swirling amongst the little waves. And yet you found yourself transfixed by them, only offered freedom when the older gentleman offered you a hint of a smile. A warm one.

Crap! Uh -- Answer his question! Think of something to say! your mind scrambled.

“Uh . . .” you stammered. The only way to save what atoms of confidence you still had left was to turn your eyes back to the painting. “I -- I should hope so.” Smooth. You tried to remember your calming breaths. You heard the man hum, shifting his position ever so slightly in your peripheral.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked, revealing just how close to you he truly was. You could feel the warmth of his person and the richness of his voice vibrating into you. Or perhaps it was butterflies? Maybe both? Well, whatever it was, it almost made you stumble over your words. You’d spent the entire evening up to that point rehearsing stories of your inspirations, recounting whatever education you had to people who probably didn’t give a crap.

But this instance was different: Maybe it was foolishness sourced from a sudden and sophomoric attraction, but you almost wanted to believe that perhaps this man genuinely cared. That he was genuinely interested in what you as the actual artist had to say and not you as some painting mannequin made to recite lines over and over.

The excitement of such a possibility broke through your nerves . . . and, unfortunately, right out of your mouth.

“I just really wanted to paint a mermaid in a mall coin fountain,” you admitted. You wanted to kick yourself. Up until that point, you’d been rather proud of your nifty little idea. But when you said it out loud, you sounded ridiculous! You could barely hide the reactionary wince, much less how your breathing hitched and hiccuped with nervousness. Just as soon as it had come, the hope that perhaps this man was different disappeared, leaving you awaiting his ridicule.

A ridicule that never came. Instead, there was quiet between the both of you. Perhaps he was at a loss for words?

“Mm,” he hummed, making you tense with expectation. You glanced at him just enough to see him nod, his blue eyes still focused on the canvas before him. “Go on . . .”

You blinked. Was he . . . for real?

“I . . . What more is there to say?” you wondered. The entire night, nobody had really asked for more on your part. They usually just took whatever purple prose you gave them and left it at that. Your initial assumption was right after all: This gentleman was cut from a different cloth from the lot.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “What inspired this?”

“Oh, uh . . . Well . . .” Was it worth telling him? Aw, hell: you’d already made a bit of a fool of yourself being honest, so what harm was there in doing it some more? “I did it because I never saw anything about a mermaid that lived in a mall fountain, collecting the coins people toss in there.”

You didn’t even have a chance to worry about his criticism before the man’s features broke into a smile. It wasn’t like the others’ more courteous grins; this one reached his eyes, making their icy coolness warm and welcoming. You hated the cheesiness of it all, but for a very split second you wished that you could be a mermaid in them.

He chuckled once again. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything concerning a coin-hoarding mermaid myself, let alone a professional art piece.” It was small, but the assurance made you offer your own smile.

“Well . . . But then maybe I have . . .” At that, your heart dropped. There it was: The anticipated criticism. He thought you were a hack after all: Uninspired, boorish, unskilled, whatever word there was to describe a person who didn’t know how to use a fan brush properly if any.

The wound stung as one so sudden should: Heavily and down to your core. You wanted the floor to open up and eat you whole. Or better yet: You wanted to climb into your apparently uninspired painting and drown in the mall fountain. But none of those could be an option, and neither was the possibility of hiding in the bathroom or an empty corridor. Instead, you had to put on a brave face and do your best to get through the moment.

“Oh?” you uttered. Your throat pained from the threat of anxiety. “Where do you suppose? I’ll admit, I’m not much into contemporary art so I don’t know the what’s what of what if you catch my drift.” You tried to weakly smile at your sad attempt for a joke. God, this so wasn’t what “making it” felt like.

But the man didn’t offer a courteous hint of laughter. Nor did he offer you a verbal response. Instead, he turned to face you. You did the same, even though you really didn’t want to. But it was the polite and expected thing to do when being confronted. Damn politeness and courteousness.

You weren’t sure how to respond when the man began to make work of his right sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff and beginning to roll the rest of it up. Your paranoia was unfortunately the first to respond due to your preexisting discomfort of the entire ordeal of an evening. You were just about prepared to scream, yelp, make any kind of distressed call -- only for it to trickle out into a gasp. An amazed exhale. The image the man presented to you on his wrist was small. Clearly, for it to be recognized for what it was, it needed a larger stretch of skin to belong to. But you knew what it was: You knew those swirls, the placements of those flecks of gold, those blues and greens surrounded by white.

For the umpteenth time that evening, your breathing changed. Only, you were pretty positive that none of your deep breathing would be necessary this time around; you would be more than happy to look at your painting on your soulmate’s skin for the rest of the night.

Epilogue:

“Mr. Blanc, please,” you insisted. “You’ve grown up with that thing on your arm, surely you’re bored with it by now. You can have your pick of the gallery. Hell, I’ll even make you something on request!”

Pickings hadn’t become slim, but the night had ended surprisingly successful. Well, surprising to you: You hadn’t expected anyone to buy anything of yours that evening, let alone six. You supposed that perhaps they just wanted to participate in the elitism brought on by owning newcomer art. Benoit, however, insisted that the buyers simply had functioning eyes. What a sweet-talker your soulmate was.

You watched as he shook his head stubbornly, eyes still fixated on the painting that adorned his wrist. He’d seen all the other remaining paintings, and even the ones that wound up selling by evening’s end. They were all gorgeous, he insisted, but . . .

“Benoit, if you will, Ms. (Y/N),” he corrected, apparently missing the irony. He gestured insistently at the composition. “And no. I . . . I truly would be quite satisfied with this one.” He heard you raspberry in defeat as you made your way back to his side, folding your arms in exasperation. 

“Seriously, though,” you sighed. “Is a painting of a mermaid dwelling in, like, a fountain you can find nearby an Auntie Anne’s really . . .” You waved a hand as if searching for the right word. “. . . Befitting? Of a detective’s abode? I was thinking more of a bucolic piece or like a portrait of some kind or . . .” You trailed off, only to be met with an amused huff.

“Some detective I am,” Benoit muttered. He broke his gaze back to you and placed his hands on his hips. “Took me well over a damn decade or two to learn what it even was. And only because you told me!”