#your art and ideas encompass my entire thoughts and being do you know that??

[marshymallo]

UGH i need him so bad

Price, the romantic

[drinix]

A Vow for Eternity

03 - Do I wanna know?

General Kirigan X reader

Part 02

Warnings: None at all. This series encompass mainly romance, fluff, angst.

Summary: A Princess embroiled in an arranged betrothal to the most feared General Aleksander Kirigan, the leader of the Second Army in Ravka. Would this be a mere political alliance or something more than it meets the eye?

Happy Reading!!

Bonus:

“It’s better than being engaged to a Prince in Fjearda, a Duke in Shu-Han or a politician in Ketterdam” You sighed as Genya styled your hair into loose curls. “At least I get to stay in Ravka, in the premises of the Grand Palace”

Genya smiled as she ran her fingers through your hair making sure not to make it messy. You had been requested to attend a dinner party hosted by the Queen and coincidentally the General was invited too. Almost a week had elapsed since your taxing first encounter at the Winter Fete and not once did he visit you since then, except sending Genya to attend to your needs and keeping two of his soldiers at your door.

Your father had left for Ketterdam again due to certain commitments related to diplomatic affairs so you were left in the Grand Palace with no one to talk to except Genya as your cousins were mostly tied down by horse races in Caryeva or engrossed in building ships and purchasing state of the art weapons to fight the many wars that the country was enmeshed in. The absence of their company led to you and Genya becoming friends in no time.

“Don’t stress too much about the dinner, princess.” Genya said, as she added final touches to your face. “Will the King take part in it too?”

“Most probably, yes. He is the one who set this up after all. I have no idea how long this dinner will go on” You heard Genya sighing as you said it. You weren’t sure whether it was a sigh of despair or relief. It sounded more like the latter.

“Is everything all right, Genya?” You turned towards her, reaching out for her hand. “You can tell me anything, you know” Genya looked at you in the corner of her eyes. “Nothing y/n. I’m more than fine” Yeah you could see that. Genya has been acting weirdly whenever you mentioned the King.

“You are most gorgeous today, y/n” Genya diverted the topic. “General Kirigan won’t be able to take his eyes off you” She giggled before mimicking General Kirigan’s deep voice. “You look lovely my y/n”

You scoffed at how she poised exactly like him, commanding the attention of the entire world to him. “He will be taunted at the thought of sitting next to me, so will I. Besides, I assume he has more significant concerns that need his attention than me” Everyone was buzzing about how the Sun Summoner trailed behind everywhere General Kirigan went. Clearly Alina was not fond of your betrothal to the General. You tried to shrug off the thought of Alina being General’s significant other. No need for you to worry about it anyway.

As you made your way towards the dining hall, a familiar figure in the black kefta was standing in the hallway turning his back to you.

“Princess, I have been waiting for you.” His voice resounded through the passageway as he turned back to face you. His attention in the blink of an eye turned to your dress.

You felt as if your throat throbbed with a hard swallow as his unfaltering gaze trailed down from your face over to where your black silky dress embraced your hips, the scrutiny was almost obscene and erotic like the physical touch of a lover who wouldn’t step back without mapping every inch of your body with his attention.

You wished you had worn something else instead of the black dress Genya chose for you. Something simple enough not to intrigue his attention taking in every detail of you. All your life, you were the one who saw through the people who often left unnoticed. For once, you wanted to be noticed by someone, immersing in every intricate trifle about you. And he noticed you. He looked at you in the way every woman wanted to be looked at.

“I thought you’d be busy with work to attend the dinner” You already knew about his hectic work schedule and how duty conscious he is.

“This is a part of my work too moya tsarevna” He muttered, whilst shooting a glance towards the dining hall.

“Isn’t it tiresome to work day and night and not having a moment for yourself ? Or is it a luxury that you cannot afford?”

“If I had chosen to indulge in luxuries of life then the Grisha won’t be recognized as they are today without having to run away from being persecuted” That glare of him could pierce through the thin ice that you were in. “Are you always so keen to be annoying ?”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to” You had ruffled his black wispy feathers and secretly enjoyed every moment of it. “I’m famished. Shall we?” Continuing to bicker with each other was not the best of ideas, specially when you were in a place where everyone kept an eagle eye on your every move.

You said, gesturing towards to the hall. He nodded, offering you his arm. You looked up at him with a doubtful expression.

“Hold my hand princess, otherwise they would get the wrong impression.” He said, stepping closer to you.

“Which is?” You entwined your hand with his.

“That we have become two nemeses who are always at each other’s throats” You were so close to each other that the tufts of your tousled hair were touching his face as it billowed in the wind, while you two walked into the hall. He didn’t seem to mind it.

“Isn’t it the truth though? You just made it obvious that you can’t stand me” You whispered under breath as you saw the King and the Queen at the table.

“Did I?” His deep yet softened words tingled in your ear, sending a spike of chill down your spine.

“We thought of making this rather an intimate dinner” The queen interrupted your conversation. “It’s been some time since all of us sat together for dinner. Now that we have a new member in the family, this is the perfect time”

A table lied in the hall filled with sumptuous food with just the King, Queen, Vasily, Nikolai, you and of course your Black General. Vasily was the Commander of the First Army sitting at the same table as the General Kirigan, the Leader of the Second Army. The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Vasily’s disparaging stances of Grisha were no secret to anyone in the palace.

“I agreed to this dinner because of you, y/n. Not that I’d enjoy this dinner specially in the presence of our esteemed General Kirigan.” He gestured the butler to pour wine to his glass.

“Likewise, moi tsarevich” General Kirigan seethed, casually gulping his Kvas. “We both have a common reason for being here” He laced his fingers in yours delicately which left you surprised with incredulity.

“Ah….I almost forgot to send my congratulations your way, y/n, on your rather quaint betrothal.” Vasily sneered at you without batting an eye to the stern glance of his father. He heaved a deep sigh before opening his mouth to speak what he was going to say next. “Or should I say my condolences?”

You felt the General’s harsh squeeze on your hand as his darkly obsidian eyes were locked on Vasily with seething rage which could tear him into pieces. His clenched jaw and throbbing veins in his neck denoted how enraged he was at the preposterous remark of your cousin.

As his dark wisps of shadows engulfed the room, you put your hand over his, gently stroking his fingers while casting a soft glance in his eyes. As his eyes met with yours, his boiling rage subsided as the darkness that encompassed the room gradually disappeared.

It was an impulsive gesture which left you in a dilemma as to why you were compelled to do it in the first place. Maybe you wanted to evade a brawl between the two of them.

“We are quite happy to be in this union, Vasily” You lied downright.

“Indeed” General Kirigan affirmed, smiling gently at you. “Sometimes when I look at her I wonder, how I got so lucky” You were not certain whether he actually meant that or it was another sarcasm of his to get under your skin.

“Congratulations to you, on behalf of all of us” The King finally opened his mouth. The mastermind behind the tumult of a betrothal that you were enmeshed in.

“Public announcements have been already made and what is left for us to do is planning the wedding” The Queen beamed with excitement. Of course, she was so thrilled about your wedding as throwing banquets, tea parties, and many celebrations for the most trivial reasons were one of her best forte.

Your lips twitched in surprise as you didn’t expect the table to turn this way.

“Right now?” You muttered. “Isn’t it too early for such celebrations?”

“I don’t think it would be a sensible idea to rush into things as of yet, moya tsaritsa” General Kirigan cut in. “I’m rather occupied with my duties at the Little Palace, with the arrival of the Sun Summoner.” The latter part of his response made your eyes roll. His subdued yet authoritative tone made the Queen drew back her propositions. “Perhaps, Princess y/n may need some time getting used to her life in the palace”. You nodded in agreement. There was nothing new for you to get used to except General Kirigan, yet you nodded your head so hard that made Nikolai almost cackle.

“In your own pace then, General Kirigan” She said, diffidently.

You summoned a smile, casting a sideway glance at the General, quite elated that he played along with you.

“Please enjoy the food, otherwise it will get cold” The last thing the King wanted to see was the alliance he set up so tactically to fall apart because his eldest couldn’t keep his mouth shut or his wife couldn’t stop meddling with it. Nikolai was notably silent. You knew he was never fond of being in the presence of Vasily. No one was actually.

After that awkwardly intolerable dinner which engendered almost a brawl between Vasily and General Kirigan, the General offered to walk you to your room.

“That dinner was the worst dinner I’ve ever had in my life” He didn’t look so fussy about it though.

“Now we’re talking” You teased, looking at him.

“It was terrible, even I agree”

It was a respite that you two at least had something to agree upon.

“We make a really good team, considering all the drama at the dinner today” He looked back at you.

“You have such exceptional acting skills, General. I’ll give you that” You chuckled.

“I just stated the truth, Princess. I didn’t pretend to have something that does not exist ”

“I lied about us”

“I didn’t” He said. As he stressed those words, a wave of confusion wafted over you.

You paused walking for a while at the arched long windows of the corridor. The moon glistened in the sky, with sparkling constellations surrounding it. You stared at the sky in awe of its beauty. You never really got the chance watch the stars which was one of the hobbies that you loved, since you came back to the palace.

“Do you like watching the stars, princess” He asked as he leaned against the window, next to you.

“Yes. They are so beautiful” A radiant smiled adorned your lips as your eyes were riveted in the stars.

“Captivating” He whispered, facing you.

You flicked your gaze back to him. “The stars, you mean?”

“No, I mean you” There he was, looking at you like there was something worth looking at. His expression was serious. But you liked how it softened slightly when he looked at you. His lips never moved yet his eyes communicated and spoke louder than any of his actions.

You felt your cheeks flushing as you looked down averting his gaze. It was the first time that someone ever said something like that to you; someone that you wanted to be complimented by.

“Thank you, I guess” You blurted out. “I know this betrothal is difficult for you as much as it’s to me. But I don’t want you to hate me or pretend to like me. It’ll only make things more aggravating”

“Does this look like I’m pretending to like you, princess?” Maybe, yes. Given your aristocratic status, you were often in the company of people with plastered smiles on the faces, insipid conversations and a plethora of deceptive pretenses of how delighted they were to be in your presence. Given how he treated you at the Winter Fete, maybe a hard yes.

“I cannot deny that you can be a little irksome sometimes. But we can work it out” He smirked.

“You are exasperating, General. In case, if you haven’t noticed.” A cheeky smile settled on your face. “Parading in your fur cloaks as if you are some prima donna”

His chestnut eyes traced down from your eyes, to your nose tip to every inch of your lips. “I do know how to look the part”

Indeed he knew, in every sense of the word.

There were men. Generally handsome men. Then there was General Kirigan.

“Princess” It made you come back to reality from your distraction in a flash. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you like to go horseback riding with me, tomorrow morning? I got to know that you’re so fond of horse riding” You felt his hand tangled in your hand as his fingers lightly brushed against your skin, sending an electrifying sensation through your core.

How the heck did he come to know that?

“Since when have you started to care about things I like?” You replied with another question without moving your hand back this time.

“I’m not your enemy” He said. “There are certain things that I want us to come to terms and this is one of them.”

[museqmeg]

Reporter’s Notes - Ch 2: Target (a vashmeryl fic)

Reporter’s Notes - Chapter Two: Target

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A vashmeryl fic

Author’s Note:

This chapter is inspired by the wonderful art by @redundantz_z They are a fantastic artist - please check them out!

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The sharp recoil of the small derringer in Meryl’s small hands still caught her off guard. It didn’t help matters when she kept missing the target of empty bean cans that were only 15 yards away. She thought that was a good distance to start with the small pistol since watching Vash with his behemoth of a handgun and the range in which he was accurate. The trio of Roberto, Meryl, and Vash had set up for camp this late afternoon and she had asked Roberto to borrow his derringer for target practice. She bought a box of ammunition for her own practice at their last stop. She didn’t want to disgruntle her mentor by wasting his bullets. Given the recent events, she thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to at least know how to point and shoot. Her university education in November never required her to think about such things. “Focus on application,” as Roberto had put it. So she was going to give it a go.

She was entirely frustrated with the whole endeavor. It was so small, why was it giving her such a hard time? Was she really that terrible? She restocked the chamber and held the gun up to her target again, trying to focus and take aim. One shot… two. She still missed! “Ugh, this is stupid… Why do I keep missing? Just point and shoot dummy!” she groused.

“What’cha doin’ Meryl?” 

The bemused voice behind her made her jump and turn around cursing, almost dropping the tiny pistol.

“Vash! Are you insane?! I could have shot you!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” He said with a face that told her ‘not likely.’ Her chambers were empty and he clearly heard the rounds go off and counted.

She was about to tell him off, embarrassed at him catching her failing miserably at a skill he was so clearly adept at. She then felt a large mass envelope her tiny body. A warm hand came over her right hand and a slightly colder one over her left. She froze.

“Here…” Vash breathed into her ear. He lowered his body to her eye level and guided both their hands and gun up to their shared eyeline. 

She took a quick, cautious glance over to his face and watched as he squinted his right eye and then the left. She couldn’t help but think of a bullfrog in a book from her childhood. Slowly blinking each eye and looking silly. 

She was about to share her memory with him when he said, “Ah! It looks like you’re not using your dominant left eye.”

“What?” She retorted. “It’s my right side.”

“It’s a common tendency when learning to shoot. Yes, you do use your right hand to write. I noticed it when you were interviewing me and taking notes. However, not everyone’s dominant hand translates to their dominant, shooting eye. It’s called being ‘cross-dominant.’”

“Huh?” Meryl was even more confused.

“I’ll show you,” Vash answered as he gently took the derringer from her hands, clicked the safety, and tucked it away in his coat pocket. His hands came back around and in front of her making a triangle shape that encompassed one of the bean cans.

“Look through my hands. Close your right eye, then your left. Which one stayed in the triangle?” Vash asked.

“Umm… the left.” She mumbled.

“See? That’s why you were off target by a couple of feet.” He said triumphantly. “You were consistent though, so at least your hands are steady.”

“Huh…” She mused and turned her head over her left shoulder to look into his face to show she understood… and was completely struck by how strikingly teal his eyes were. Being this close she could get a full view of his eyes behind his orange-tinted sunglasses. She didn’t know anyone with eyes that vibrant. Was that why he wore the glasses? To diminish the color? It definitely would give people pause. It was otherworldly in this desert hellscape. Or maybe because they were so light-colored, they were sensitive to the sunlight?

He grinned at her and said, “Here, let’s give it another shot.” Then winked.

“Haha… I didn’t know you were a fan of puns.” She smiled back and rolled her eyes.

He chuckled and pulled the derringer back out from his coat pocket. “Hold out your left hand.” 

She did and watched as he carefully placed the gun in her hand telling her, “Start with a relaxed grip and make sure your fingers rest under the trigger guard before tightening the grip, just not too tight. Good! Now let your thumb rest on the left side. There… Now your right hand can join the grip with your right thumb over the left thumb. You don’t want them to crossover. Okay! Now since we’re not shooting, your right index finger can rest lengthwise alongside the pistol until you’re ready to engage the trigger. Don’t want any dangerous accidents!” 

Meryl was having a very hard time concentrating. Especially when his own index finger came over hers and the tiny derringer. She was reminded just how much bigger he was than her. His finger ran down the whole length of the pistol while hers maybe only came down about halfway. She gulped and was suddenly aware of his frame over and around her again. She noticed how his coat had unintentionally enveloped them both. She thought that had he wanted to, he could zip them both up into it with room to spare with his lean body and her petite frame. 

She gulped and took a steady breath through her nose. Big mistake, all that came in was Vash. He smelled like the desert, earthy and dry with a hint of Roberto’s secondhand nicotine from smoking in the truck while they drove. There was the clear smell of gunpowder too, which she expected, and something else… It was sweet and bright. What that lemon? There was something else she couldn’t place, but it was so bright and sweet. And something that reminded her of the mild teas she once received as a gift that were so aromatic. It reminded her of sunshine. 

That’s what Vash was… sunshine. Trying ever so hard to be kind and considerate. Never wanting anyone to feel distressed or unhappy. Helping and saving whoever he could. Not the Humanoid Typhoon character the world painted him to be.

“Ready to try again?” Vash asked, pulling her out of her daze.

“Y-yes!” She chirped. 

He finally stood back from her and took a few paces back to allow her to take aim. She turned her head to him and he gave her one of his signature warm smiles and a thumbs up with his glinting prosthesis. Ever the encouraging Vash.

She faced forward again, refilling the chamber, checking her grip, and releasing the safety before bringing the pistol up to her newly found, dominant eye. She allowed herself to breathe and sharpen her focus. It was much easier without Vash all around her.

She sighted the can and blocked out her surroundings, moving her index finger from the position Vash taught her and around the trigger. A quick grip and the bullet grazed the can. She made a slight adjustment and pulled again… she hit it!

A loud whoop came from behind her and she saw Vash laughing and waving his hand above his head in congratulations. 

She smiled broadly back at him and said, “Thank you!”

He continued waving at her as she smiled, thinking about how kind and considerate he was with her very beginner endeavor compared to his mastery of this art. She thought again how Vash was really a ray of sunshine, waving back at him.

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So… I got the idea for Vash’s scent from an official cologne that was released for him. I just had to include it in his sunny description.

The coat idea is something my husband does to me with his giant, winter coat.

I was able to use some of my archery and gun safety experience for this little fic. I hope I got everything right. It’s been a while…

Thanks for reading! :)

[possibly-eli]

time to actually make the post this was supposed to lead to. putting this under a read-more for my own comfort and also its probably going to be looonnggggg

so lately ive been properly pondering on the kind of world i feel like id be most comfortable living in. yaknow, economic-system wise. i havent really thought a whole lot about the social aspect of anything yet because ive been too busy thinking about This

and like. put simply; housing and utilities are free (ideally food as well but i'll elaborate on that in a second). its still ~generally~ capitalist, unfortunately, because i find myself not really able to comprehend what a completely non-capitalist world would look like, and this seems at least feasable, however aggressively unlikely it is to happen ever

the idea is essentials are free, but extra stuff isnt. so housing and utilities (and again; ideally food but ill expand on that) would be free, everything else would still cost. food would encompass ALL food, since. its All Food. fuck the sugar tax. utilities would be everything required in a house (electricity, water, plumbing, internet connection, lights. it might be a toss-up on gas but considering electricity would be free, thatd be an extra thing. appliances also since. those are important and technically Are the utilities) the housing itself would be free, as well which means that people would work for Wants, rather than Needs. its not like everyone ever is spontaneously going to stop Wanting things over night just because the world is slightly better to live in now. me being able to afford a place to live and not constantly worry about paying shit wont make me stop wanting art supplies. it just means that people will be less stressed because theyre not at risk of death if they dont work. it also means that the quality of whatever work they Will do will be better, because they wont be stressed and overworked. am i making sense so far education and healthcare could Also be made free, possibly. thats a bit up in the air, considering it is entirely reliant on assumptions that people go into those kinds of jobs for passion, rather than solely pay. but then again, i could be wrong. who knows. but the fact that people dont have to pay for housing, utilities and food*, itll mean it SHOULD be easier to pay off medical expenses. teachers and doctors construction workers would all still be paid for their work, obviously, but itd come from somewhere other than the clients themselves, i guess. details i cant figure out right now

the asterisk regarding food is that, maybe, if the idea of people working solely for wants is too big a stretch; food could still cost money. to make it a less strenuous, but still present, Need.

said as if this would ever, ever happen. i cannot express how badly i want it to. like obviously itd be a pain in the ass to work out the details of; im not educated in finances or whatever. i have a fucking LC education and passionate google searches under my belt. but i dunno, the idea of living in a world that is just like. less stressful is really nice, to me. at least, i view it as less stressful. youre guaranteed housing, and electricity, and food*. if you cant work, youre not at risk of being kicked out of your home or. fucking dying i got so lost in the daydream sauce about this that i genuinely forgot this Wasnt the world i live in. that in this one, i will have to rely on disability payments so ill be able to live. an allowance that they could just decide to deny me. i have to set up a medical insurance plan so ill be able to see a doctor about my multiple medical issues. i have to set up a medical card so ill be able to buy my medication so i dont have a heart attack. i dunno. maybe i just kind of really really wish the world wasnt so fucking malicious

and its not like thisd be a thing thatd only benefit disabled people. itd benefit fucking everybody except fucking billionaires. because to realistically have this happen, itd probably take a lot of finances From billionaires and that just fucking wont happen because they just cant bear to part with a fraction of their fucking. 38 billion. what the fuck do they need it for. there is nothing they can do with fucking. 40 billion that they cant do with 1. or fucking. 100 million i dont know. im so fucking upset about it. im just really fucking upset

i dont know what exactly the workers-having-the-means-of-production would be. itd all still probably be mostly the same, just a lot of major things would be free. it still wouldnt be ideal, but itd be so much better than this. in theory, a cap could be put on the amount of money a single entity could have (maybe with some variation, but for singular people itd be like. idk. 100 million maximum), and anything beyond that will just be donated back into the rest of the world so it wont just be One Asshole Having Literally All The Money

am i making sense? i really kind of hope im making sense. this idea is really important to me, i guess

would you guys still like me if i talked about my thoughts on the state of the world and the economy and some pretty anti-capitalist ideas

[bluwails]

Ive been real inspired by @chipper-smol 's au. I find myself snickering at Ghost/feral's antic mainly because I have young siblings and in my home there is never a dull moment. Child antics are literally my life rn and I cant help but relate.

So while on a nostalgic trip i was struck with this poorly written fic. And I hope you enjoy.

No edits because we die like men!

The time for rest had asserted its hold over Hallownest again as bugs wound down from the days toils. The servants and knights had quietly excused themselves to their personal quarters and the kingsmoulds that marched dutifully down each hall had slowed to a silent pace.

The white Lady had taken in the idea to walk the palace before retiring to her personal quarters for the evening. Dryya, her most respected and loyal guard, walked quietly behind her as she stiffled a yawn much to the white lady's amusement. She had dismissed her hours ago to rest but she stubbornly stuck to her and insisted on being around to protect her on her leisurely stroll.

" Your majesty, you need not worry for me. I will-" Dryya gaped stiffling another sign of encroaching sleepiness," -be with you until you retire to your bedroom."

She still felt fascination bubble under the surface as she observed her; a warm aura seeping off of her.

As a higher being they will never need these things like rest or daily meals. But they merely adopted the actions to blend more with the society around them. Just like her dear wyrm, Things like sleep were never on the forefront of their mind. They could spend decades awake and unbothered by the need. But they made resting a habit to demonstrate that one should rest after work.

Shuffling down the halls toward her favorite veranda befor she heard an unfamiliar scuffling. It was hurried but small. Most likely a small bug.

"Behind me your majesty." Dryya hissed pulling her nail from her side her alert instantly raised. As late as it was not many would be awake, much less in the halls working so fervently.

As they turned the corner they spotted two familiar horns working quickly with a brush and bottles of ink.

It was the feral vessel.

" You cheeky Sqwib! " she screamed shocking the little vessel. Their small hand dropping the brush they'd use to vandalize the walls. "You are at it again!" Dryya huffed indignant at the vessel as she marched over, sheathing her nail, and quickly bonking them between the horns.

" Do you know how you terrified the Queen?" She growled seizing their ink colored hands. " and to top that, you dare vandalize the white palace yet again!"

"Dear knight, there is no reason to be so harsh. " the white Lady softly appealed. "The walls can be cleaned and the ink replaced but the trust from a child cannot." She calmly lectured using a branch to pet the vessel.

"You are to lenient with them my lady." She huffed releasing them. Dryya was no fan of the feral vessel. Time and time again they'd watch and suffer their pranks. Many a time her nail was stolen only for it to be returned muddy or, miraculously, bent at the tip.

She was not the only one of the five knights to have their belongings weaseled from them and returned in less then favorable conditions.

"They are just being a child Dryya." WL cooed as she slowly squatted in front of them. "Soften your heart towards them. If only for me."

The knight reluctantly huffed again as she faced away. "Praise the Queen's endless patience, you little tyrant, you are saved for now. "

The white Lady smiled warmly as she looked the small vessel over. At this time they were meant to be tucked away in bed. The schedule their father made, though strict was optimize for their healthy growth. She suspected in full that the pure vessel had curled themselves into bed without a second thought, while their sibling ran through the halls causing their daily commotion.

In all honesty, she found their outbursts charming. Each trick, prank and shenanigan they pulled continuously showed her how lively they truly were. When they'd arrived from the abyss with their sibling, she lamented at their sight. Seeing them as nothing more than walking corpses until she heard of what would honestly sound like a farce. They'd barely stepped foot into the white palace before they entered a meeting between the dreamers, with no command or reason, and unleashed the most ungodly revolting smell. Shocking and disgusting the entire gathering forcing them to vacate the room entirely.

When her wyrm ranted about them that evening on how they indignantly, stomping their tiny grub feet and blantly ignoring him, forced them to clean the entire room alongside the retainers as punishment she could not help but laugh in an odd mix of relief and joy releasing a knot in her chest she did not know she held.

Looking again to the picture on the wall it was of clearly her dear wyrm. Her giggle chimming like bells as she observed it further. It was simple and childish as but it was an accurate representation of her wyrm. His elegant crown like horns now simple zigzags, their fangs drawn large and silly, with their tongue poked out in a not very gentlemen manner. (She suspects this is how they saw their father when they ranted at them.) It was crude, hurriedly painted, and was encompassed by tiny hand marks and had all the makings of a goofy Caricature and she wished she could save it.

"I see the throws of art beckoned you from your deep sleep small one." knowing full well they did it to mess with the king again. "maybe we should have Lurien tutor you to bring out your talents?" She questioned aloud watching the vessel furiously shake their head from the corner of their eye.

"Then what brings you from bed?"

The child twisted at their fingers looking down as they snuck peeks at her face.

They signed quickly keeping their ink covered hands slightly in sight. But It obvious it was something else. It was no news to her that they held many things back from them. And the curiosity of what it could be danced in the back of her mind, but she refused to force them anymore than they'd allow.

"You know you require rest in order to grow." She purred gently as she angled her small one's mask toward her.

Their mask tilted in a way that mimicked a pouty huff. Her heart swelling at how cute they were. She could not help but poke a small amount of fun.

"So you do not wish to grow anymore?" She questioned exaggeratedly tilting her head and placing a branch to her cheek.

They seemed to freeze at the and mull the thought around in their head. To her, this was the sweetest gesture. She'd remembered when the two vessels first molted and got their bearings. Though they thought no one was watching, she caught them do a small jig in celebration of their new body. Wiggling their newly formed fingers, touching their more angled faces and observing their budding wings.

" I'd say you'd want to." She whispered calmly retrieving her handkerchief to clean them.

"How can one so small hold such large secrets?" She hummed wiping the pink ink from them.

The vessel signed, a cheeky air to them as they flexed their arms nearly rupturing her heart from cuteness alone.

"Dryya please get someone to assist in cleaning up. " with a bow Dryya reluctantly left grumbling to herself.

"Now as much as I would love for you and to stay up and get into all kinds of mischief. I would say its time for bed. " She cooed admiring their clean face.

The vessel gestured again with more emphasis.

"I see." She hmmed making a show of thinking of what to do. In reality she had an idea of what to do. Somewhere deep in her memory was a song that. She could not remember the face that sang it to her but she remembers it working nearly every time. Ushering her to sleep. "Then would you care to accompany me on the veranda?" She asked pointing to the large glass door not far behind them.

Nodding they streched their arms up towards her. Obligating the gesture she swept them up in her branches as she walked slowly to the door.

she allowed small blooms to bloom on her creating a pleasant perfume before sitting on her stool already set up outside.

The vessel signed again gesturing at themselves.

Chuckling she squeezed them close to her. "Not essentially. You are of two pale beings and void." She murred quietly; her light warming them as they sunk into her lap. "You don't really need sleep. But its good because it helps you grow." She hummed wrapping her branches around them.

They gestured wildly again wiggling their fingers above their head causing her to erupted in laughter.

"Yes." She snickered "maybe if my wyrm slept and rested more they would grow as well I will be sure to suggest it to them later." Feeling the small ones shoulders shake in signs of laughter she hugged them.

" you remind me much of him in his younger years." She thought aloud as the vessel shook their head furiously. " well the both of you refuse to sleep on time so I imagine you two are similar in that sense." She mused as the small threw a small tantrum.

"Very well, shall I sing you something to assist you to sleep?" They nodded sinking back into her lap, placing their head on her chest.

As they sat, staring out into the lush garden and flickering lumaflies below she hummed a quiet tone shutting her eyes calling upon the memory.

Her branch rubbing small circles into their child's back as her voice trilled lyrics long thought lost to her:

Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby

Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay

And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow

Bless you with love for the road that you go

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune

With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

And may you need never to banish misfortune

May you find kindness in all that you meet

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

May you bring love and may you bring happiness

Be loved in return to the end of your days

Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you

I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, lai-lay

Only the soft breathing and the feeling their body relax and their shoulders ease indicated they drifted off.

"Sweet dreams my small one."

Thanks so much for reading. In all honesty i have only played hollowknight for about a month and half and im already so invested in the fandom. (I'm still getting my butt handed to me by ogrim. Please dungy boi stop throwing sh!t at me long enough so i can hit you. You broke all my fragile charms alreday!-🥺😢) You guys are so creative and fluffy and have no problem hurting my tender sensibilities.

For those curious the song is called sleepsong by secret garden. I used to listen to it ages ago before bed.

[joyfulhopelox]

Rosy Carnation

Pairing: painter!Min Yoongi x skater!reader (non-idol! au)

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Warnings: some talk about social anxiety, Yoongi is a bit harsh in the beginning but rest is just pure fluff

Word count: 6k

rating: pg

Summary: There was nothing in this world that Yoongi hated more than busybodies. Unfortunately for him one particular ditzy skater decides to break the peace by crashing into his life and offering him a rosy carnation

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner (thank you @mochi-molala for giving me the artistic approval for this think you didn’t realise how much it helped)

This is part 3 of my Love Blossom series and quite unedited, i tried but some mistakes may have escaped my notice

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

There was nothing more peaceful than being able to sit by the river in the early hours of the morning. Every day without fail, Yoongi would take advantage of the sleeping city and set camp by the riverside situated just on the outskirts.

The place was far from being secluded, its location sign-posted by the popular park that housed it. But he knew that during those hours no one bothered to visit, everyone was busy with their office jobs. It wasn’t that he was unemployed, it just so happened that his job allowed him to work from wherever and at whatever time. In fact, the more scenic the location the better for him. As a painter he had the freedom to choose his office, and his most prefered location happened to be by the riverside. The stillness of the morning, the sun just about to peek out from under the city skyline and the sound of the birds conversing amongst each other relaxed him. And if there was one thing that permitted Yoongi to paint without restrictions, was the tranquility of everything around him.

His normal spot, under a beech tree, was rarely used, the pathway that passed by it not being used by the general population. Sometimes he would spot the occasional cyclist passing by on their way to work, sometimes he would hear the scraping of the skateboards doing tricks in the skate park located behind the wall of trees that surrounded him. But no one ever bothered him, or was bothered by him. And it suited him and his needs just fine.

Yoongi disliked it when his flow was interrupted. Luckily for him, it rarely happened. No one threw him more than a glance as no one found the scene to be out of place. Sometimes he would be pulled out of his thoughts by the yap of a dog that got too excited at the prospect of a new human. Other times he would be questioned by the curious child that has never seen a painter at work. Those did not inconvenience him, the innocence and sincerity of the interference was enough to not disturb him.

However, what he miscalculated that day was the early start of the fishing season. One bad trait of being a painter working under your own schedule was losing track of time. And so when that one morning he trudged along with his canvas and his tools to his sacred spot only to find it occupied by fishermen he almost had a panic attack. He forgot all about that, and so unprepared, he did not know what to do or where to relocate. Pausing for a couple of minutes, his eyes scrutinising the men sitting on the riverbank in complete stillness, he contemplated on setting up his stool next to them. But when one of them yelled in glee at having caught a fish, he decided he’d rather not. Fishermen needed to be still because of the nature of their activity, that did not mean they were quiet people overall.

Disappointed and a bit frazzled, Yoongi picked up his canvas from where he set it next to his foot and left the area to scout for a substitute.

After what felt like a good few minutes of walking in circles, he found himself passing by a small public garden right in the middle of the greenery encompassing the riverside. He inspected it quietly, his eyes taking in the flower arrangements and the neatly cut grass. Has that always been there? Probably, it is not like he ventured out of his safe spot. But now, when forced to he realised that maybe there were other places where he could sit and paint in peace. Determinately, he walked into the small gated garden familiarising himself with the layout. There were some benches strewn across the space, all of them framed by vibrant rose bushes, some young oak trees judging by their height but what caught his eye most importantly was the small gazebo tucked away at the back of the garden gated by rows of variously coloured carnations. He decided that it would be the perfect spot, it would have to do for now. Not like he had any other choice. The morning was almost gone, the heat of the midday sun bleeding its way into the breeze. Soon the park will get busier and busier.

Dumping his belongings on the ground he sets off to unpack everything so he could get started. He felt strangely excited about this new spot he had found. Somehow, the novelty of the environment has given him the inspiration that he needed for today’s session. He normally shied away from new experiences, new people and most importantly unexpected circumstances, but this circumstance was more than welcome.

As he sat on his stool, paint brush in hand, the blank canvas staring at him, daring him to fill it with his vision he bit his lip. Suddenly so many ideas zoomed through his mind that he had a hard time deciphering which one sounded the best.

However, none of them made it on the actual canvas.

A skateboard zoomed straight past his feet,out of control, knocking into his carefully placed tools; acrylics and brushes scattered all over the ground in various corners of the gazebo. An exasperated yell and some harsh pants followed said abomination. Yoongi, who was too stunned to even form a sentence or comprehend what was happening around him, stared as you ran towards him at full speed.

“I’m so sorry, sorry sorry sorry” you repeated zooming towards him at breakneck speed. Still in shock Yoongi still couldn’t process what was happening around him. You were going to barrel straight into him but all he could do was blink, his brain still trying to catch up with the situation. One moment you were running towards the skateboard and the next moment found you laying sprawled at his feet.

“Ouch” Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times, and reality finally caught up with him.

He stared at the mess around him. His canvas was lying on the ground a few good feet away from him, its white clean surface now completely smudged with dirt and his acrylics and brushes were all scattered at his feet. The sight of his paints not only disorganised in such a fashion but also crushed and spilled all over the ground caused his stomach to drop. They were not the cheapest and they were also the only ones he had left. It was clear there was nothing to salvage, he had to go once more to the art store and buy more.

“Ohmygod i am so sorry!” The frantic voice was loud enough to make Yoongi wince.

You were not having a good day, and it showed. You started the morning by burning your toast. Then you forgot to grab your keys, which resulted in you having to beg your landlord for the spare in the early hours of the morning. To say they were not pleased was an understatement. You spilled coffee on your white top on your way to the park. And to top it all off you ended up hurtling towards an extremely handsome man.

You decided in the morning that you would try to learn that late kickflip your friends have been trying to teach you, but as a new skater you decided to practice in the garden just off the side of the skate park. One foot placement went wrong and your skate ran from under your feet flying towards the unsuspecting victim.

Luckily it did not hit him, however it scattered all of his belongings all over the dirty ground. It felt as if you were watching all of that happen in slow motion, when in reality it probably only took you a second to react. Trying to help and get a hold of your skate, you rushed to catch it in time before it disappeared into the row of carnations. But you miscalculated entirely the distance between you and the stranger, his foot halting your run.

And that is how you ended up there, on the floor, at his feet, covered in his paints.

You sprung up as fast as you could ignoring the tingling in your leg and started apologising profusely. However, the harshness at which you crashed on the floor combined with the speed at which you got up were a fatal combination. The blood rushed to your feet quicker than you could process and your knees gave out from under you. In an attempt to not crash onto the floor again you grabbed onto the closest stable object you could. Only, it happened to not be an object but a person. So with a clammy hand you latched onto the man in front of you.

Yoongi did not know what to do. You had grabbed onto him with such conviction that his brain malfunctioned. He hated to be touched, especially by strangers. And so when the fight or flight instinct kicked in he shrugged you off violently causing you to crumple on the floor once again.

“Ouch.” Your butt hurt and you wanted to be annoyed at him, but when you looked up to let your feelings known and your eyes locked onto his panicked ones, you paused. He looked ready to run off on you. “I- uh, am sorry” You tried once more to get up, this time as slowly as you could. You knew there would be a bruise later but it was not something you were unfamiliar with.

Yoongi did not respond to you. He couldn’t, his brain was still ready to shut down. He normally ran away from any human interaction, the nature of his job enough to facilitate such behaviour. Being faced with it and in such an unexpected way caused his anxiety to be at an all time high. And so he did what he normally does best; he retreated within himself completely ignoring your apology.

Silently he stepped away from you and crouched down to start picking up his belongings. With an anguished sigh he took in the mess that his acrylics had become. It was going to cost him a lot to be able to replace them but what other choice did he have?

Taking his silence as a sign of anger, you panicked. If there was one thing you could not stand was to see someone angry. Especially when it was directed at you. In an attempt to amend yourself to him you crouched down next to him and started picking up his stuff. “I am really sorry. I didn't mean to. It was just a new trick that i wanted to learn, and i am a newbie at all this and so i was scared to go to the skate park and try them. And I am a clutz and I knew this was going to happen at some point! The day has already started on such a bad note-”

You knew you were rambling, you were nervous. But Yoongi did not care about that. He just wanted you gone. He wanted his peace back, he wanted to get his work done and retreat back to his home and most importantly, he wanted you to get your hands off of his possessions.

Without looking at you, he harshly grabbed for the brushes that you had gathered in your hand. “Leave” he surprised himself at how resolute he managed to sound despite the slight waver in his voice.

“Are you angry? Oh my god you are! I am so sorry again, let me make it up to you! I really did not mean to destroy your work!” you get up once more rushing towards the canvas that lay a few feet away from the two of you. Picking it up you stare at the blank piece of material.

“Oh, are you an artist?” you turn to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Completely forgetting the incident from earlier you giddily walk over, the canvas extended towards him.

Yoongi could not believe his eyes, your brash behaviour in front of a complete stranger that has made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you was baffling to him. He contemplated for a second the thought of you being deaf, but then no because you had clearly heard him the first time. His anxiety quickly morphed into annoyance, if you weren’t going to leave he decided he would.

Taking a hold of the canvas you were handing over to him he pulled it out of your hands and stuffed it under his arm. Crouching down again he hurriedly stuffs his brushes and acrylics in his bag. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could before you had the chance to touch any of his belongings again.

“Hey, i-uh. Please don’t be angry. I really am sorry. Look you don’t have to leave, i will go” Yoongi paused, his hand hovering above his palette. Chancing a glance at you, his eyes widened a fraction. You looked completely frazzled. Not even looking at him, your eyes focused on your fretting hands. He could just about see a snippet of your face and the way your bottom lip was trembling slightly made his anger melt a little. Maybe he has been a bit too harsh on you.

“Yes” he offers offhandedly whilst placing his canvas back to where it was before.

At his change in tone your head snaps up and you gape at him. “What?” you breathe out in surprise. His soft but deep voice took you by surprise. It was extremely smooth and you had not expected it to come out of his mouth.

He did not offer you anything else, leaving you gawking at him, watching as he set up his canvas onto the easel. You were silent for a couple of minutes trying to understand what he had meant when it finally hit you.

“Ah! You are an artist! That is amazing, what type of paintings do you do? Is it nature?” you clapped your hands excitedly. “Of course it is nature Y/N, he is in the middle of the gazebo how dumb can you be” you muttered to yourself whilst shaking your head.

Yoongi glanced at you from his periphery. He wasn’t feeling as threatened by your presence as he had before, but that did not mean he was comfortable with you being there. He observed you for a couple of seconds watching as you muttered to yourself for the time being. He took it as a chance to set his palette down and tried to squeeze whatever was left of his acrylics onto it.

You realised a bit too late that you had started daydreaming whilst muttering to yourself and so with rosy cheeks you mutter another apology.

“You apologise too much.” Yoongi did not know where his courage had come from but he couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth. “I asked you to leave.” His harsh words caused you to flinch, but your eagerness to see him paint rooted you on the spot.

“Is-uh,” you took a deep breath in trying to calm your beating heart, “is it ok if i stay here and watch you?” You cringed at how voyeuristic that sounded. But you had to admit to yourself, the honey haired guy, with soft plump cheeks and pouty lips has caught your interest and you were not ready to part with him just yet.

Yoongi didn’t respond, he’s made it clear he wanted you gone, but he finally understood that the clumsy human that managed to wreck his set up was a stubborn one. He chose instead to ignore your presence and settle on his painting, giving you unspoken permission to do as you pleased.

Catching onto the meaning of his silence you beamed and sat yourself down.

Trying your hardest to be silent you bit your lip. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate you disturbing him any longer. Soon enough, you slipped into a daydream your eyes focused on the flowers behind the hunched form of the intriguing artist.

Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, his painting was finally finished. He had opted to use greens this time, the nature around him inspiring the concept behind this. However, he could not help but add the dots of red here and there, its fiery tumultuous colour breaking the tranquility of the greens. Just like you had thundered into his life just earlier.

“Woah” broken out of the daydream by the sound of his sigh, your eyes focused on the painting before you. You knew you were easily impressed but this painting was stunning. “That is so cool” you whispered in awe.

Yoongi blushed, he had been complimented a lot on his work, but there was something about the sincerity shining through your statement that frazzled him. He nodded in acknowledgment. He had enough knowledge to be aware that he needed to thank you for the compliment.

“Oh!” you sprung up suddenly the transition making him jump. “I am late!” You quickly picked up your skateboard. “Ah,” stopping mid run you turn back. Rushing to the bushes of carnations you pick one up. With confident stride you head back.

Yoongi watched you, once again his mind completely discombobulated by your abruptness. When you halt in front of him and push the flower into his hands he doesn’t know how to react. Instead he just sits there waiting for your next move, his mind once again preparing him to flee.

“It was nice meeting you….uh?” You realised you did not ask for his name, so as you urge the flower into his grasp you wait patiently for him to offer it to you. When after a minute of silence he doesn’t you try again. “What is your name?”

“So can you like...teach me how to paint?” you eyes brightened at the thought.

“What?” Yoongi sputtered. A week has passed since the first time you decided to literally crash into his life. A week of your mindless chatter. Even so, he had tried his best to ignore you and your childish view of the world. He was ignoring you, but it was not like he couldn’t hear you.

He was not expecting that request, and yet, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Your randomness and innocence has been taking his breath away from the moment he saw you. You were all over the place, clumsy and random. He did not want to sit and ponder at that thought, feeling the shiver of anxiety creep back in. Schooling his expression to a neutral one he shook his head and went back to his canvas.

“No” the harsh tone of his voice made you flinch.

Not noticing the effect his words had on you he carried on, “You’d do a very poor job of it, and it hurts to think you’d waste all this material for some doodles.” Not giving you a chance to respond he sighed and put his brush down. “Finally finished.” He sat and observed his work for a couple of moments. He was satisfied, it was not his best work but he liked the outcome. The blue colour scheme gave him a sense of peace.

Realising the silence had gone on too long he turned around to face you. You were unnaturally quiet, your face scrunched up as if in deep thought. He would have thought you’d gone into one of your daydreams if not for the shiny gloss in your eyes. He could not understand why his heart did that flip, or why his mouth formed into a frown mirroring your own. Had he said something wrong? Mulling over his words he decided that maybe his tone was too harsh but you spoke up before he could try to remedy it.

“Ah, i see, you are right” you sniffed trying to mask the tears in your voice. “I am quite clumsy, there is no way i can make something as beautiful as this.” You gesture to his work, the canvas a swirl of blues, it reminded you of the ocean. You did not know why his words stung, it’s not like he didn’t have a point. You were probably incapable of creating something like that. Stick figures were all you could draw, and even those tended to be lopsided.

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “Uhh-” he did not know what to say, it wasn’t as if he could take it back. He did not want to take it back, he wasn’t a liar. But maybe he could have turned you down a bit softer than he has. He may have been awkward in social situations and missed a lot of cues, but the tears gathered in your eyes were hard to miss. Even he could sense the sadness that overpowered the atmosphere.

“It’s ok, i need to, uh go. I’ll see you next time. Here” you quickly drop something next to his brushes and without a second thought you turn away from him and leave as quickly as you’d arrived.

With your back turned towards him, your feet taking you further and further away you could finally release the sob that has been threatening to surface.His words hurt. But you were well aware it was not the words that caused the tear in your heart. It was the unfeeling and harsh way he threw them at you. You contemplated whether or not you should chance a glance behind you, but decided against it. You did not think you could stand the sight of him stepping on the last bit of dignity you had. A rosy carnation.

Yoongi knew he usually missed a lot of social cues. For example when the curator asked him out for a coffee and he told them he stopped drinking caffeine because it caused insomnia. Or when the gallery director had wanted to shake his hand in greeting and he simply just stared at it. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with them, it was just that it took him a lot longer to process these cues than the average human being.

When you’d left him the carnation he simply threw a glance at it but did not give it a second thought as he carried on painting. He almost left it there when he packed up his tools- almost stepping on it. He saw it just in time, the rosy colour attracting his attention. He bent down and picked it up gently; the flower was almost wilted from the heat. Prepared to throw it away he thought of you and stopped. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your distressed eyes and the gleam of your tears weighing heavily on his mind. With a sigh he cradled the flower in his palm, he would put it in between the pages of a book and press it dry.

Yoongi had no clue why he kept visiting the gazebo to work on his paintings. His previous spot so rarely visited that he’s almost forgotten where it was. He tried to convince himself it was because fishing season has not ended and so he would have been bothered by the men setting up around him. He tried not to think of the fact that the thought of not having your voice there, or the noises of the skateboard you practiced with caused him distress. He told himself it was because after a month of having you there with him, you became part of his routine. Like the background noise of a radio in the morning.

He could not pinpoint when your mindless chatter and pleas to ask him to teach you how to paint had become comforting to him. Even at home when he would try to read, he would pick up a book and open it only to come across a rosy carnation drying in between its pages.

You had made it a habit to leave him a flower every time you came to see him. He did not ponder too long as to why, but he’s kept them all. He did not want to ponder too long on that thought either. So he ignored it, but deep down he knew why.

Your eagerness, your clumsiness, your childish view of the world were enough to melt the wall he has built around himself. Somehow, you chipped at that wall with determination just like you did on the first day you met. Ungraceful and uncoordinated.

He knew you’d wormed your way into his soul and just like the flowers he kept pressing for safekeeping, he’s ingrained the memory of you into his brain.

When you’d started to ask more personal questions he found himself answering without a second thought.

“So, uh, have you always wanted to be a painter?” You were sat next to him tinkering with the wheels of your skateboard, from time to time getting distracted at the way his long fingers were clutching the brush. You blushed, thankful he was distracted by his work.

“No,” Yoongi paused to bend down and pick his palette and you thought that was the extent of the information he was willing to provide. “My parents wanted me to be a lawyer.” With a new colour on his brush he squinted focusing on getting the lines just right, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

The silence that ensued settled heavily around the two of you. “Oh,” your voice did not sound too surprised. Yoongi glanced at you, you were gazing at him with such understanding that he found it hard to tear his gaze away. “Are they happy you chose to do what you love instead?” You carried on, trying out your luck.

Yoongi looked away from you, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say whilst your eyes were digging deep into his soul. “I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged as if to make a point. “I left home to move here and haven’t spoken to them since.”

The words, heavy as lead, echoed in your brain. But they were not unfamiliar. “I am sure they would want to talk to you. My parents died when i was young and i was raised by my grandparents.” Your voice sounded casual, but the slight change of tone made Yoongi raise his eyes to look at you. You were smiling at him, your face not giving away any of the pain you were feeling inside.

Yoongi may have been socially anxious, but he was observant, he couldn’t help it, it was the nature of his job. His eyes picked up on the way your chin trembled and his ears caught the slight waver in your voice. He didn’t know how it happened until he felt the corners of his mouth raising up. And with an uncertain smile in your direction, he managed to erase the sadness that clouded over your face.

“Pick up that brush” his tone softer than you have ever heard it.

“Huh?” You didn’t know where the change in tone had come from, but it managed to take you by surprise.

“Pick up the brush,” he repeated his head nodding in the direction of said tools. “And come here.” He stood up from his stool gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. The contact of his cold hands on your warm ones made you shiver, but in the heat of the summer it felt comforting. You savoured the way his gentle hands pulled you into the chair and handed you the brush he had been holding. Softly he guided your hand onto the canvas and your breath stopped.

His hands, the hands you had been observing ever since you met him, were smooth. His long slender fingers imprinting themselves onto the back of your hand. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way the pale skin of his slender wrist peeked from under the long sleeve he was wearing. The skin on the inside of his wrist almost translucent enough to allow his veins to show.

“Like this” he steered the brush onto the canvas, his voice so close to your ear it made you your heart skip a beat. When the bristles made contact with the material of the canvas leaving the mark of the acrylic on it, you knew. Just like the doodle he’s made, his mark on your heart would be permanent.

Yoongi didn’t know when he started craving your touch. It just happened. He carried on giving you lessons, finding it ironic how adamant he was at the beginning to refuse you. Little by little he started looking forward to his morning ritual of setting up in the garden, your clumsy self stumbling in the gazebo just as he was about to set his easel down. He would not even sit himself first, he would grab your hand allowing himself to revel in the way your smaller rough hand would fit into his larger one and sit you on the stool. Handing you the brushes he would sit next to your skateboard and watch as you tried to create something on the canvas, your brows furrowed in concentration.

How ironic that you would switch places. He would sit for a couple of hours watching your uncertain movements and listen to the small sounds of glee when you’d manage to get the brush to do what you wanted it to. His heart would pound in his chest when your tongue would flit across your lips subconsciously and the small smile gracing his lips would be a permanent fixture on his face. He did not care that he hasn’t painted in a few weeks. He was more than satisfied watching you.

When your painting session would end you’d end up talking for hours under the shade of the gazebo, the smell of flowers wafting all around you.

And you would always leave with lighter hears and the crinkle of a smile indented in the corner of your eyes and him with a rosy carnation cradled to his chest waiting to join the rest of the others.

When one morning you didn’t arrive at your usual time under the gazebo Yoongi noticed. He decided to wait for you for hours, but when the sun bled under the city skyline and the night settled in he decided it was time to go home. With a heavy heart and an empty hand he returned home hoping that the next day you would arrive and tell him about your day.

But one day turned into two, which turned into a week, which then turned into two- and before he knew it a whole month had passed.

In the beginning Yoongi would wait for you patiently, hoping that he would hear your yelps or even your greeting from afar. When that did not happen, he decided he would use that time to continue painting, maybe you’d arrive halfway through and ask him about it. When that didn’t happen either he noticed that instead of a smile on his face he now wore a frown.

After a whole month of not seeing you he became numb to the feeling. He decided that he would not let his mind ponder too much on your absence. But he could not completely block the way his thoughts would return back to you, and he could not help the wistful gaze he would throw the carnations around the gazebo.

As the months of summer wilted into the chill of autumn, the day he decided to stop waiting for you was the day you once again stumbled into him.

Running as fast as your leg permitted you halted a meter away from him, your breath coming out in harsh pants. Yoongi faltered, the grasp he had on his brush slackening, the tool clattering to the ground. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. Instead his eyes took in the way your form trembled with exhaustion, stopping at the wrapped up parcel you had under your arm.

“I am so so so sorry” you rasped, the effort causing you to cough. Looking up at him, your gaze met his dark one. He did not look upset, or even disinterested. He looked concerned, then you realised the state you came to see him in.

Yoongi took notice immediately at the lack of skateboard, this time replaced by a crutch. The way you were favouring one leg over the other concerned him. Had you been in an accident?

“I am so sorry,” you repeated, taking him back to the first moment he’s met you. Your clumsy self apologising incessantly and rambling in nervousness. “I fell one day whilst on the way here, and i broke my leg. I did not mean to stop showing up i promise! I had wanted to come see you as soon as i left the doctor’s office but the injury was worse than i could have suspected and- and” your voice wavered, trembling in exhaustion, still not having caught your breath.

Yoongi got up without a word, his silent form approaching yours. When only a few inches were left between the two of you he places both of his hands on your shoulders halting your apology. Looking up at him your gaze softens, his eyes were glossy but his mouth curled up in a smile.

“You’re ok” he repeated over and over as if to reassure himself. Your eyes now mirroring his own watery ones you nod.

In a flash he hugs you tightly, your crutch clattering to the ground and the parcel under the other arm making a dull thud as it hit the dirty floor. You gasped in surprise, your arms not knowing where to settle themselves. After a couple of seconds your brain catches up and relaxes and you melt into his hug. Despite his hands being always cold, his hug is warm and inviting.

You think back to the first time you met, how his cold words told you to leave him be. The drastic change in his attitude and demeanour make you smile softly. You burrowed your head in his shoulder inhaling his scent. He smelt of oils and acetone with an undertone of something floral, and you gasp. Carnations.

As if remembering something important you pulled yourself away from his touch, the cold autumn air making you shiver at the loss of contact.

Yoongi is confused for a moment, his eyes widening in panic. Has he made the wrong move? Has he read your intentions wrong? His heart clenches at the thought of you not returning the feelings that bloomed in his chest. But when you offer him a reassuring smile and bend down, grabbing onto his arm for support his emotions settle.

“This is for you” your hands were shaking. Handing over the mysterious parcel, you waited patiently for him to take it.

He glances at it uncertainly, but when you push it towards him his hand wraps around it. With as much skill as he could he opened it with one hand. Tearing the paper away he gasped. The corner of a canvas is sticking through the whole.

Looking at you in surprise your nervous eyes urge him to carry on. So he does.

The paper now completely teared open, his eyes settle onto a familiar flower painted onto the canvas. A carnation.

You watched him open your gift. You had tried your hardest during the time you were stuck at home with a cast on to practice and after weeks of painful frustrated tears, you’d finally managed to get it right. You had wanted to convey your feelings in a way that he would understand without feeling the pressure to conform to societal norms. To show him how much his effort to accommodate you and include you in his secluded life meant to you.

“Did you know,” you were whispering, “that rosy carnations mean admiration?”

Yoongi finally got it, realisation dawning over his features. He looked up at you, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his chest. You were still smiling at him a tear now running down your cheek. “I wanted to convey my admiration for you in a way that would be permanent.” The hand on his arm tightened as if you make a point. “So i tried my best to do that.”

Yoongi smiled, not the uncertain smile you were used to, a full smile, the gums of his teeth showing, his features softening.

“A painting is not eternal, but with the artist the painting it over and over again it can be.” His free hand cups your cheek gently. “So stay with me.”

Main Masterlist

[the-voltage-diaries]

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου - Lucifer x Diavolo

AO3 Link

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου: Greek for ‘My Polar Star’

Word Count: 1859

A/N: I don’t know what this is. All I know is that @simpingw0lfi3​​​​​​​ refused to do it, so I did. Of course, please don’t expect this to be perfect because... it really isn’t. 

Vote of thanks: @akaiiro-yume​​​​​ for checking and correcting all the grammatical fuck ups I did, making sure I didn’t stop writing this halfway and going through any mental breakdown I might have had instead for me. And, of course, @some-ikemen-snob​​​​​ for making sure this SCREAMED Lucifer energy this way and that. only for now, but ily both.

Devildom 14th February, 20XX Saturday, 7:57 PM

Dear Diary,

      I suppose I've never written a journal entry such as this in the past, for I haven't found either the desire or the will to task myself with writing my thoughts down in a manner wherein I speak to an inanimate object. That said, I have been told writing is, in a manner of speaking, therapeutic, and I believe I could do with some of that right now. It would be false to assume I don’t still harbour any inhibitions towards using my time in this manner, especially when I'd much rather be by Diavolo’s side. The very same Diavolo who, as a matter of fact, happens to be the subject of this writing session today. Strangely enough, and if I recall correctly, he was also the one who introduced - which is putting it rather mildly - me to the “art” of journal entries. I admit, I haven’t given this activity the kind of gravity which was probably expected out of me, but then again, today is a little different from the rest. I'm not entirely certain as to where to begin, but I do believe I have been told in situations like these, one should do whatever... feels right.

      Diavolo is... well, where do I even begin? He is the future of Devildom, as a few might call it - myself included. While he does appear to be quite the cheerful and at times careless lord, it’d be a lie to deny that he is just as wise and compassionate underneath that wave of buoyancy radiating off of him. Honest to a fault, but with his moral compass always pointing towards the best interest of those around him. I’ll admit, sometimes it proves to be rather difficult to believe that he indeed is a demon. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to compare him to the Polaris considering he does quite radiate the charisma from himself, shining admirably amidst a dark sea of onlookers. While in name he rules over all the demons in the land of Devildom, the right set of eyes won’t take too long to deduce the eloquence with which his fingers reach out to the soul of every single resident of the land, holding them together better than gravity ever bound humans to the earth. 

      Saying that is all there is to him would be a lie whiter than the wet snow, making its way to the tips of my fingers and sliding off gently onto this page. That, of course, doesn’t mean describing how I feel towards him is no herculean task. There are some cases when a language -  no matter the plethora of vocabulary it offers - just isn’t sufficient enough, and this certainly is one of those cases. For the time being, let’s just owe my lack of articulacy to the bond of mutual respect and trust Diavolo and I share, built over centuries upon centuries, braving the ravages of time, and even perhaps the less than pleasing antics my brothers tend to pull. But while the impression the ruler of all demons and I tend to emit may seem to be distanced by a careful degree of professionalism, I don’t believe anybody knows that that might not be the case. Even Diavolo himself. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really, for they simply can’t know.

      Why do I believe that to not be the case, then? Well, I would wonder why I felt so strongly about it had I not known the reason myself. The very same reason which is now a secret so surreptitious that I can’t help but consider burning this piece of paper once I finish writing to ensure it is never revealed to another set of eyes. Such dastardly is the nature of this emotion, tricking one into its delusive warmth, encompassing them with the belief that nothing truly is impossible, that what they feel might just be true and meaningful enough to be returned by the other they feel for, only to cackle with glee and turn away when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy it was believed to turn out to be. The very same emotion which in layman’s terms is apparently called... love.

      I’m not entirely certain I understand the extent of its exquisite existence myself, to be truthful. All I know is no matter how intensely I try to shut the door on its escaping fumes, it turns futile the second I lay my eyes on the man in question. While the rest of the known universe sees an omnipotent leader binding everyone together, making them sing the same tune in harmony, I see what I can only consider an anchor, grounding me, making it so that I can’t ever fall into the abyss of the darkness that breathes inside of me and float away. He is the quintessence of the best of what the world has to offer, with his golden eyes sparkling like stardust, weaving their ever-lasting magic into the hearts of whoever they come across - be it human, or demon, or angel - wrapping them in their never-ending warmth, letting them sink into the depths of benevolence they promise. His hair are the cerise of a raging inferno, sheltering beneath their canopy a quick, sensible, erudite mind. His smile is but a warm culmination of everything optimistic and positive, like a flame inviting moths to it, reaching out to give their innermost yearnings a hand to grab on to and never let go. Simply divine. And this is where the paths diverge, I suppose.

      They see a to-be Demon King, I see Diavolo.

      But alas, love is a fickle mistress. Getting too lost in the charm of her alluring arms will only result in a doom of them wrapping around your neck, enticing, until you realise their hold is tightening. Not to hold on, but to suffocate. I might have gotten so lost in that fiery gaze that I didn’t notice it start to crawl along my skin, leaving a charred, burnt path in its wake. The very anchor which I believed to be the one to ground me and hold me close etched itself deeper into the oceanic floor of delirium, drowning me. The threads of his stardust wrapped themselves around me and clutched hard enough to strangle. Before I knew it, the symphony of something meaningful became the cacophony of a nightmare.

      This red thread strung through itself earlier today the series of events I’d rather forget. I’ve known how I feel towards Diavolo for a while now, and I had been searching for an opportunity to come clean and let him know about it for the last few days. Not to say I hadn’t gotten said opportunities at all, but one could owe it to me being too prideful to admit I was finally opening up to the idea of accepting feelings and... emotions. Around that time was when Solomon let slip a few details about the significance of Valentine’s day in the human world as an annual occurrence to celebrate romantic love, friendship, and admiration, and with enough persistence, Asmodeus managed to convince Diavolo to declare the day as an official holiday. Just a few hours ago I walked along the empty hallways to Diavolo’s office, knowing him, Barbatos and I to be the only ones in the building, still choosing work over any form of inactivity. By then, I had talked myself into finally telling the most powerful of all demons about the feelings I harboured towards him. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was indeed a tad hopeful, wishing for the feelings to be returned. Once I reached the door to his private office, my hand settled above the smooth hardwood to give it a knock. And that’s when I noticed that the door was already slightly ajar. I heard a voice inside, other than Diavolo’s, and I took the liberty to glance inside, only for my hopes to come crashing down when the realisation struck me: I shouldn’t have done that.

      Inside his office, Diavolo sat in his seat with his mouth pressed against another, a hand trailing across the small face with dark green locks framing it with elegance while the other held on to the person’s waist, pulling him closer. My eyes widened when the smaller man of the two let out a muffled whimper, perched on Diavolo’s lap. Barbatos. I felt my heart squeeze out a pained croak at the sight, and even though every single nerve in my body begged me to move away and forget I ever saw anything, my legs didn’t move. They stayed glued to their spot on the floor even as I felt it crumble beneath my feet, just the way my eyes stayed on Diavolo. My lip trembled with a longing I never thought I’d experience when Barbatos intertwined his fingers with Diavolo’s, smiling into the kiss they shared, like the perfect harmony which was always meant to be. It was when Diavolo broke the kiss, eyes meeting the other’s and whispers of love and confessions floating across the room until they settled on my ears, that I finally felt the mask crack. The facade I had worked on for centuries to lay the foundation of crumbled as my fists clenched, letting myself have a moment of weakness when a lone tear of frustration, delay, anger, and self loathing dripped down my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling, a voiceless laugh tumbling across my lips at the cognisance that the Polaris I was reaching out for, shining proud in the middle of a dark, cloudless sky, was beyond my reach, and... never supposed to be mine. How far I could stretch, how willing were my fingers to make one last attempt to touch it’s light and bask in it - all of that didn’t matter anymore.

      I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking once as I tucked away whatever it is I was going to tell Diavolo in some corner of my mind, crushing the key with a hard snap of my fingers. My eyes found Barbatos again, glazing over with a heartfelt wish for him to find his happiness, at least. It was with one last aching smile towards Diavolo and a euphoric laugh spilling from Barbatos’ lips that I turned on my heel, shaking my head at the fate I was handed. Needless to say, I hold no malice towards either of them - they’re both precious to me, as much as I dislike admitting it.

      I believe I have shared more than what was required, and I shall burn this piece of paper lest anyone finds it. One might call it wishful thinking on my part, but I do pray that watching the last signs of anything I harbour towards the one who wasn’t meant to be mine from the start burn as the embers of the fire consume it whole makes me put a lid on my feelings once and for all, for they were never supposed matter. They weren’t supposed to exist to begin with.

      After all, only a prince deserves a fairy-tale with a happy ending, and I am no prince.

Lucifer.

[herrscherofmagic]

Fr, the HI3rd writing has been kinda wonky.

It's great when it comes to characters and emotions, but the worldbuilding and logic is all over. This game really needs a story rework to re-organize some of that worldbuilding and fill in the various gaps T_T

That being said, I've still enjoyed the story and I think the post-Moon story content has been getting more coherent and well-thought-out. Plus I believe there's a very solid set of rules/logic underpinning the whole setting; the issue isn't the world's logic but rather the poor presentation of said logic.

I've been brainstorming ideas for my own HI3rd AU fanfic/story/art series, and a lot of this brainstorming has led me to ask questions about some pretty fundamental stuff like Stigmata, "Herrscher Personas", Imaginary Space, bubble worlds, consciousness mapping, and so on. As I've reviewed the story time and again and put in countless hours of thought into it across the last couple of years, I've noticed a lot of connections between these different ideas. There's definitely some excellent worldbuilding in this story but it does take a huge amount of work to uncover it, and that really should change.

It's also helped me to consider both Genshin and HSR as well. For instance, dreams, memory, & wishes seem to function fairly similarly in both Genshin and HI3rd, but Genshin has done a much better job of presenting those concepts. Understanding how those things work in Genshin made it easier to figure it out in HI3rd, basically. Even GGZ has helped me a bit but not to the same extent.

@hiraethsdesires, if you've got any big questions about the HI3rd & greater Hoyoverse setting, feel free to let me know!

I've spent way too much time thinking about this stuff so there's a good chance that I might be able to help you navigate some of the messy bits of the story and worldbuilding.

And since I plan on making my own HI3rd-centric fan stories, I've also put a lot of thought into how these ideas need to be presented and explained in order to make sense. I can't say I'm an absolute expert, but I think I've at least done an okayish job so far ^.^

As a side note, I followed the first link in your post (the reddit one) and I was so surprised to see my own comment there ahfjl;adfhd;ahadfklh it always throws me off when I find my months-old internet discussions >.<

side-side note: I'm sorry but that Gamerant article really doesn't do much of any proper explanation of the Imaginary Tree or Sea of Quanta. Maybe it would work for someone totally unfamiliar with these games but anyone with at least some basic understanding of any of these stories would probably need more than just that article to figure it out.

If I had to explain the Tree and SoQ to an HSR-only player, the simplest explanation I can come up with would be this:

The Imaginary Tree is the source of all worlds. Imaginary Energy flows through the Tree and forms "leaves" on the branches of this tree, each one an entire world of its own. However, the Sea of Quanta is an opposing force to the Tree. If a world "detaches" from the Imaginary Tree then it will sink into the Sea and slowly dissolve into nothingness unless it finds a sort of "anchor" to stabilize itself. These are so-called "bubble worlds". Thus the Imaginary Tree and Sea of Quanta exist as two opposing and all-encompassing forces, the former being a force of creation and the latter being a force of destruction.

There's obviously a lot more complexity, but that explanation should be enough to cover the basics for someone familiar with HSR but not with HI3rd. I think? Idk x-x

so,

based on the hi3 shit ive been researching in wikis, blogs and reddit for stellar chasm (my hi3 x hsr crossover story in the making)

hi3 writing is all over the place and that hyv writers prolly- partially gave up on some parts/arcs that leaves some hi3 players unsatisfied, is what i'm barely understanding

(discussion about hi3 x hsr crossover story im making, along with hi3 topics under cut)

i do however finally understand quite a lot though (except for the math and... numbers... shinanigans)

i'm just hoping my hsr following is aware of hi3 or even the basics of the imaginary tree + sea of quanta, cause ima be involving it a lot of hi3 things for the prologue,

just for Herrscher!Reader's arrival to make sense, establishing her personality for you readers to be aware of, her relationships with hi3 characters, and just an overall introduction

then again, stellar chasm is for avid hsr and hi3 enjoyers, but for the pure hsr readers... hmh, i wouldnt know how they'll react, but i can assume theyre aware of hyv's other games

i haven't reached the final chapters of hi3 plot in game and i also dont mind being spoiled from the information im researching—but what i can say is that i believe hi3 lore enjoyers feel robbed about the overall writing progression in the canon story, which is honestly really sucky and i feel quite bad about it

not to mention, we still have yet to know how our beloved welt yang of anti entropy ended up in the universe of honkai star rail, but honestly i can feel their love for hsr, so we might get that aspect explained in the future

nonetheless,

the frantic mess and unsatisfied feelings towards the hi3 writers who're in charge with the storyline in hi3 remind me that ill have to step up my game for this crossover story i'll be creating for you all, i want a good story because i am someone who craves a good universe that can scratch our brain's itch in the right places, so why not write instead? for myself and you all hi3 and hsr lovers.

anyhow, thank you for reading until the end, i would love to hear all of your thoughts within my inboxes or just overall interact with me about this (while i plan, edit and write the prologue of stellar chasm and the 2nd chapter of TMW)

for the ppl who wanna be informed;

hi3 arc summaries reddit disccusion link

imaginary tree + sea of quanta explained/disccusions reddit

[fruitydiaz-archived]

with the comfort of a billion stars (and you)

chimney and eddie get high in eddie's backyard and talk about what it means to be a good father

because of @hetheybuck's tags on this post about chimney and eddie being blaze buddies

drug use | sweet conversations | stargazing

1,691 words

AO3 link

Chimney wrapped his arms around himself instinctively as he slipped out into Eddie’s backyard, rubbing his hands rapidly along the tops of his arms as he breathed out, watching his air puff out into the cold like white smoke before quickly dissipating. The bite of the cold air against his skin was a welcome reprieve to the flush brought on by too many bodies in too small of a space.

He thought he was alone for a moment, leveling out his breaths and staring up at the sky, squinting as if he could stare just long enough to actually be able to make out some stars in the black of the LA sky—before he heard another sharp intake of breath from his side. He turned, staring down the line of Eddie’s backyard, surprised to find Eddie there, alone, curled up on a lawn chair, head tipped back as he blew out a soft puff of smoke, a joint dangling from his fingers. Chimney blinked, hesitating just for a second, before he stepped off Eddie’s porch and made his way over to the chairs.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Chimney called out as he neared him. Eddie’s head tipped back forward, eyes wide, then squinting in the dark as he tried to make out who was approaching him. The corners of his lips curled up into a soft smile.

“Every once in a while. It was a bit much in there,” He explained with a shrug. Chimney smiled back at him before settling down into the chair next to Eddie.

“I hear ya.”

Eddie smiled again, glancing down at the ground and nodding a bit before stretching his arm out towards Chimney. He shuffled the joint between his fingers, holding it out in offering. Chimney considered it and then looked back at Eddie, eyebrows raised.

“You sure?”

“Course, Chim. It’s my house. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t share?”

Chimney nodded appreciatively, taking the joint and holding it up to his mouth, inhaling gently. It’d been a while since the last time he smoked and he struggled to maintain a cough, tipping his head back against the chair like Eddie had and releasing the smoke back into the air.

“God,” He said on the exhale. “It’s been a while.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgment, taking the joint back from Chimney’s stretched out hand.

They didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, both of them staring up at the night sky, trading off the joint every once in a while, in comfortable silence.

It was nice, Chimney thought, getting to have this quiet moment with Eddie. They didn’t get to do this often; always racing off to different emergencies or juggling conversations with everyone else on the team. This was nice. He felt loose and relaxed—and maybe that had something to do with the weed—but he was also pretty sure it had something to do with Eddie, and maybe something to do with how dark the sky was, and how instinctively he knew that staring up there were actually billions of stars in the sky, and how actually he wasn’t staring at some flat surface but rather the entire universe that expanded all around them, and how even though he couldn’t see any stars, light from those stars was currently traveling at speeds he’d never ever be able to comprehend, and how some of those stars that he couldn’t see but could see under different circumstances were actually dead, like long dead, and how some stars were dying at right this very second, and how some stars were being born this very second, and how all of that made him feel very small and comforted and insignificant and important all at the same time.

He was a little high.

When Eddie’s hand knocked against his, joint stretched out between his fingers, Chimney laughed a little and waved him off. Eddie smiled, taking one last drag before tapping it out on the ashtray next to him and setting it down.

Another moment of silence stretched between them. Chimney furrowed his eyebrows.

“I’m scared of being a terrible dad,” He said suddenly, no idea where the thought came from. He saw Eddie nod slowly from the corner of his eye, like he was fully expecting Chimney to say that.

“How do you do it?” He asked, turning to face Eddie, who turned back towards him, eyebrows raising. “With Christopher. How do you...how do you...not mess it up?”

Eddie snorted and took a deep breath before answering, the corners of his lips curling softly.

“I mess up all the time, Chim.”

Chimney frowned. That’s not at all what he wanted Eddie to say.

“You’ll mess up,” Eddie continued, turning forward again, his face serious. He looked back up at the sky and sighed, rolling his neck from side to side. Chimney waited for him to say more but he didn’t.

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better, Eddie,” Chimney pointed out. Eddie giggled a little. It made Chimney giggle a little, though he kept trying to force his face back down into a scowl. This was serious. He was serious.

“No, I know,” Eddie straightened up in his chair. “I think...I think the sooner you realize that you will mess up—the less you’ll...mess up.” Chimney blinked and Eddie frowned, face scrunching up like he was trying to work exactly what he was trying to say. “I mean. We’re in charge of this...little life, now, you know? Sometimes I still feel like a kid myself but—I’ve got to be responsible for my actual kid now. And...I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. My parents weren’t...the best examples. So I’m just...doing my best. That’s all we can do.”

He nodded again, more confidently this time, solid. Eddie turned back to Chimney.

“I think Christopher’s okay, right?”

“Eddie,” Chimney said, voice stern. “Christopher is amazing. And you do this all on your own. I can’t imagine. I’m...so lucky to have Maddie.”

“I don’t really do it alone,” Eddie smiled. “Buck helps a lot. And we have Carla.”

“You're his dad,” Chimney felt the need to remind him. Eddie ducked his head, smiling wider, prouder.

“I am.”

There was a pause. Chimney watched, transfixed as Eddie dug the heel of his shoe into the dirt in front of him, dragging abstract patterns into the ground. It was fascinating.

“I think we’re too hard on ourselves,” Chimney said. Eddie snorted again.

“That’s what Buck says.”

“He would know.”

“He would know.”

Another pause.

“I don’t want to be like my dad.”

“You won’t be.”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie sighed, flattening his foot and dragging it through all of the lines he had just made. Chimney was pretty sure he heard his heart break. Over the dirt art.

“Well, you will be, sometimes, in tiny ways. But you’re not him. You’re...parts of him, parts of your mom, and parts of you, you know?”

“I hope I’m mostly parts of my mom.” His voice sounded wistful.

“You’re mostly parts of you.” Eddie didn’t see the way Chimney’s face pinched in disappointment, still staring at the patch of dirt on the ground.

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” Eddie’s tone was determined and final—and with that he pulled his legs back up into the chair and leaned back, blinking back up at the stars. He looked strikingly childlike, loose and relaxed.

Chimney sniffed. He felt—he felt warm. It was cold out but he felt this warmth radiating from somewhere in his chest or maybe his stomach—somewhere in his core, he wasn’t really sure—and it spread everywhere throughout his body. He almost felt like it spread even further, encompassing Eddie and his backyard and his house along with everyone inside it and all of LA.

The last few months had been hard. The last couple of years had been hard. Hell—life had been hard. And sometimes it was easy for Chimney to get lost in that; to look at Maddie fighting to pick herself back up, to look at Albert pushing to become a firefighter, to watch the Lees take on his kid brother and watch him go through the same process their dead son had, to watch Eddie and Bobby recover from their shootings, to watch Bobby and Athena mend their relationship, to watch Buck fall apart and stitch himself back together, to watch Hen and Karen grow attached to Nia only to lose her when they had expected it all along and somehow that hurt worse, to pretend through it all that he could shoulder the responsibility of having it all together, to be the friend and partner and father that he knew he needed to be.

It wasn’t about him—but it was. And he felt heavy and tired.

But sitting next to Eddie, a little high, comforted by Eddie’s sincere words—Eddie who would never sugarcoat it, would never lie, who always chose his words with careful intention—he felt lighter. Looking up at the sky, feeling the presence of stars young and old, alive and dead, feeling but not seeing, knowing that just inside were all his friends and family, laughing and reconnecting and healing after months and years of trauma, knowing that all around them billions of lives were being lived. And while bad things happened and people got hurt—good things happened too.

Good things like his baby girl being born. Good things like his baby brother making it out of a terrible car accident.

Good things like survival and healing and happiness and love. Things that persisted.

It was all around him constantly. He didn’t feel it all the time—but he did then.

“Hey, Eddie? I love you.”

Eddie stilled for just a second before his face cracked into a wide grin and his shoulders started to shake as he giggled, again.

“I love you too, man.” Chimney swiveled around in his seat.

“No, seriously, I mean it. Family we chose, right?”

Eddie’s giggles died down and he studied Chimney’s face carefully, smile softening, before nodding.

“Yeah, Chim. Family we chose.”

[blindwyrm]

Basics of Energy Work - Part One

Expanding Awareness Energy work is a subtle art, a foundational building block to successful magic. Almost all magical practices involve some form of energy work - and there are countless forms - but how it will function from individual to individual will differ greatly. To put it simply, energy work is the practice of manipulating unseen energies. Everything - people, places, animals, inanimate objects, even our thoughts - vibrates at a specific energetic frequency and emits energy. By learning how to identify and tune into these energies, we can use them to direct our magic and spell work. Chances are, you have worked your own personal energy before. More often than not, your own energy will be the easiest for you to tap into. To do this, we need to learn how to expand our awareness. Meditation Meditation is a good practice to have when pursuing any kind of magical endeavor; there are many ways to meditate and there is much to achieve through it. The overall key to meditation is, generally, focus. You are training your mind to simply observe with non judgement; not to simply clear your mind of any thought at all, which is the common misconception. There is not just one way to meditate - if sitting cross legged in a room bathed with incense as you engage breathing exercises works for you, great! Some people meditate through dance, yoga, exercise, crafts, etc. Anything where your mind can drift, “tune out” so to speak, as your body instinctively goes through the motions. There are also several forms of guided meditations that you can use for specific goals, such as attentiveness, visualization, improving memory, empowerment, etc. Elemental meditation is popular among the witchcraft community. What’s great about guided meditation is it extremely accessible through apps and things like youtube (favorites of mine are the fire meditation and the water meditation from magickians!) and makes the whole process of learning to meditate a lot less intimidating.  As meditation relates to energy work, it will sharpen your ability for visualization, increase your focus, have you more in touch with your physical and inner self as both the same and separate entities, and increase your awareness of changes in and around you - all of this working towards an enhanced ability to sense energy and its movement.  What is this mystical “energy?”  If you’re having trouble wrapping your head around the idea of the elusive and all encompassing vaguery of “energy”, don’t worry. The idea may seem intimidating, but they are not inaccessible. If you are struggling, it only indicates that you are human. This will take practice and it will require you to understand the concepts on a physical level. Luckily, these are steps that nearly every magical practitioner, old and new, has and will continue to work on for the rest of their spiritual journey. Every question you have has likely already been answered. Some may just take a bit of research to find! However, I’m going to try and provide at least some cursory information here. To get a real idea of what “energy” feels like, set aside some quiet time for youself. Close the door, dim the lights, turn off your phone. Light your candles and make sure you will be left alone. Sit down on the floor and make yourself comfortable - not too comfortable! You don’t want to fall asleep. Draw in some deep breaths and clear your mind, as you did in your meditation. Continue until you feel your breathing regulated and yourself relaxed. Now, close your eyes and rub your palms together, like you’re trying to warm them up, then pull them an inch or two apart. You should feel a charged sensation tingling between your hands, maybe even like a ball, vibrating and pulsating in your hands. If you concentrate, you may even be able to feel a sort of magnetic resistance if you attempt to push it back together. That’s energy. It’s really that simple. If you don’t feel it at first, just try again. The more you do this, the easier it will become to identify your own and different types of energy all around you through a technique called centering, which will be discussed below.  Grounding The term grounding, sometimes called Earthing, means to recalibrate your energy. Essentially, the purpose of grounding is to shake off “excess” energy and ground yourself back in reality, into the rhythm of the plane on which we exist. And while grounding does restore balance and connectedness, there are greater implications to explore when it comes to grounding. Everything on this earth is shaped by forces and presence of the Earth and cosmos, and as such, “this connection is deeply inherent to a sustainable state of well being. The Earth, as an organic and inorganic system, is constantly bathing all life on the planet with its highly ordered and coherent electromagnetic field. The natural tendency of an organism is to couple with the Earth’s energy field and come to a mutual state of cooperation and harmony within its environment, finding its niche and proper place within a system. What we need to understand is that all systems strive to achieve, return to and/or maintain a state of coherence. Whether one is aware of it or not, we are always taking part in a constant process within our universe, coupling with other energy fields and finding some sort of balance within this space. This happens everywhere within the context of an ecosystem, whenever two forces interact for any reason. The more organized or coherent these fields are, the more effectively and efficiently energy can be [manipulated.]”  Grounding allows us to cultivate a relationship with the earth and facilitate a healthier, more coherent state of being. It allows us to align our energy for more accurate working. Like meditation, there are many ways to ground; a list of some of my personal favorite methods can be found (here.) Shielding and Centering Shielding is important for magical workings as it provides a protective barrier to maintain our center. To do this, you’ll want to get a feel for your personal energy first. A good way to do is something called centering. Throughout the day, you naturally will pick up on all kinds of external energy; some good, some bad, most of it probably neither of the two - either way, it is energy that is not yours. Meditation and shadow work will be useful in identifying what feels distinctly you, but you should be able to know when you’re not feeling entirely you. If you’ve been feeling particularly out of sorts, a good tip to get back in touch with yourself before centering or shielding is to spend some time in self care. Turn off your phone and go to your room or a friendly space in nature, a library, a favorite haunt and engage in a creative project, put on your favorite music, eat your favorite food. Be mindful of your physical space, your body, sensations your are experiencing. Be attentive to you and only you; your wants, needs, feelings, comforts, etc. Take a bath and allow yourself to relax. Your only responsibility right now is you have no responsibilities - if even for just a short while. Just do what you can to access some “me time” to do something you love to do and observe yourself. Take note of what you choose to do that brings you joy, why those things make you feel happy and fulfilled, how exactly these feelings and activities resonate with you. Record this in your Book of Shadows, as it is useful information to getting to yourself on a more intimate level. Learn to recognize this energy and get familiar with what it means to feel yourself. It can be easy to get lost. Centering can get you back, especially when you make these feelings more accessible to yourself.  To center, we’re going to go back to the exercise in the beginning; in a quiet place, meditate and rub your palms together - build up that energy between them again. When you pull your hands apart, you want to visualize this sensation. What color is it? What does it feel like? Is it light? Heavy? Is it vibrating? Focus on the pulsation and how it pushes against you. Allow it to move and grow. Picture it contracting and growing until you no longer can. Pull it in close to you, somewhere you can focus on it - many people use their solar plexus or heart chakras. This is the same energy you’re going to use to shield yourself. Instead of centering this energy, however, you’re going to push it out to envelope you. Visualization in your meditation and centering exercises should help with this; visualizing energy usually makes it easier for people to push it outward. Again, knowing what specifically makes this your protective energy will be useful - what color is it? Texture? Is it elemental? Perhaps your energy doesn’t feel like light, but water or air. Maybe white is a protective color to you or maybe green is, for Earth. Maybe your energy shield is a network of stars in the shape of your zodiac constellation. Maybe the outside is reflective, to reflect any negativity directed your way. Maybe its a shield of smoke, to conceal yourself. No matter what it looks like to you, just make sure it is yours. Don’t feel pressured to commit to something either - your idea of what these concepts look like will grow and change as much as you do.  Push this energy outward and around you, as if you are creating a protective bubble for yourself. To enhance the intensity of desired outcome, surround yourself with corresponding elements. Light white candles or wear black tourmaline. I personally like to use dragon’s blood incense or oils. There are many things you can do in tandem with any of these practices, so long as they make sense for you and are helping you to achieve your desired results. This shield will become stronger the more you do this and keep you protected from psychic attacks, curses and hexes, negative energy, and bad intent.  These exercises are all building blocks to unlocking great power within oneself, but they are also a great power on their own as well. Taking the time and patience to hone these skills will aid you in all your magical endeavors, whether through sharper focus, strong visual associations, enforced protective barriers, and/or knowing your true self above all else. Once you have established your abilities, you will be able to do them any time, anywhere and begin to play more with energy, both internal and external. In the follow up, I will focus on charging and programming. 

[stevesharrlngtons]

108. Go ahead, baby, I got plenty of time. + Roman 🖤

prompt requests open

“We just have one more stop…” Roman trailed off, ducking his head down to peer up through the windshield at the fast passing scenery. 

Roman had insisted on taking you out to dinner that night, to the nicest restaurant Hemlock Grove had to offer. With plush velvet chairs and pricey cuts of meat and aged whiskey and wines. He made a show of holding your hand on the tabletop, fiddling with your fingers during conversations, cupping your palm gently while he ate. When he needed both hands for something, he’d only part for for a moment, before quickly resuming his previous grip. 

After two delicious courses and fifty dollar sundaes with rich espressos, you’d both left feeling fat and happy. You were idly discussing plans for the weekend, when Roman took a right down Main Street instead of a left that would lead to the Godfrey Mansion.

“Is this finally it?” You asked, “Is this where you finally kill me?”

Roman chuckled, the hand that lay on your thigh gave your exposed skin a squeeze. 

“Not just yet,” He mused, flicking on his turn signal to drive deeper a web of backroads and brush. 

“Oh thank lord,” You sighed dramatically, “That gives me more time to earn my keep with you.” 

Roman snorted and gave you another pulsing squeeze before removing his hand completely to aid his other in turning the wheel of his Jaguar. You could feel the ghost weight of his palm and fingers still tingling your skin. 

He had removed his hand to steer into a sharp turn onto a long gravel road flanked by a lumbering sea of trees. You looked out the passenger window to see the blur of passing greenery and couldn’t help but wonder what Roman was up to. He wasn’t a fan of the outdoors, openly scoffing at the idea of hikes and camping trips. He didn’t like public bodies of water or picnics anywhere but artistically groomed parks. While your murder joke had been just that, you wondered if Roman had in fact killed someone and they were folded in the trunk, waiting for the both of you to dig a hole in the middle of nowhere Pennslynia to dispose of them… You’d have to dig two holes if that were true. You’d strangle Roman to death if he made you dig a grave in heels and a brand new dress. 

Just as you were about to seriously inquire on what in the living fuck you two were doing out in the woods, Roman turned once more, which placed you both in front of a massive home. Smaller than the encompassing Godfrey estate, but large nonetheless. This home was much more angular, modern, with a much more muted color palette. 

Roman put the car in park and removed the keys from the ignition and simply stared at you. Utterly confused as to why you were at this mystery house was your final destination of the night, you just raised your eyebrows with a shake of your head. 

“Well, let’s get out.” He said frankly, before opening his door and stepping out into the cold. 

You followed his actions, though you were still completely puzzled by his behavior and the reason for this visit. When you exited the car, Roman extended his hand out for you to take, which you did without hesitation. 

“C’mon,” He gestured with his head to the house and you both started to walk up the drive to the entrance. 

“Do you know who lives here?” You asked, glancing around for any neighbors or the owners.

“You could say that.” Roman replied with a glint in his eyes, before he began to rummage through his pockets. 

“You’re being awful cryptic…” You laugh uncomfortably as Roman procedures a set of keys, which he uses to open the front door. 

Roman pushed it open with an effort so it swung wide open to reveal the entire first floor; the entire first floor that was completely empty. 

Roman said nothing as he guided you by the hand across the threshold. The sound of the soles of your shoes echoed through the house as you both walked across spotless hardwood. The house smelt like fresh paint and industrial glue. 

The home was open concept and extremely modern, something you would no doubt spy on the pages of a magazine. While it felt a bit cold, you saw so much potential all around.

“Do you like it?” Roman asked as he looked at you while your eyes scanned the bare home. 

“I mean -- yes. It’s beautiful. Is it a new place for The Tower or something? Like housing for clients or patients or something?” You said, eyes still inspecting the marble countertops and printine fixtures. 

“No, not exactly.” Roman swallowed thickly, so loud that you could hear him. 

You stopped your wandering and looked at Roman, who suddenly seemed nervous. Not in a sniveling, shaking, sweating way. Roman could never look anything but dignified and regal. But, his eyes were narrowed and blinking, his jaw was clenched and his shoulders squared as if he were waiting for the worst.

“I, uh, I actually bought this place. Out of pocket, not for Godfrey. I bought it for us.”

Us.

At the mention your eyes grew as large as dinner plates and your stomach dropped to your feet. 

“What?” You asked, completely baffled. 

“Yeah, I found it a few months ago and just closed escrow last week. It’s ours. I bought it for us to live in.” 

You opened your mouth multiple times, lips flapping like a fish as you tried to form words to reply to him with. 

“Fuck, do you hate it? Shit, fuck! OK, baby, just hear me out --” But you cut him off. 

Because you couldn’t find the words to tell him how happy you were, so your lips on his right now would have to suffice. You crushed your mouth to his and wound your shaking fingers in his hair, making sure he couldn’t move an inch away from your affections. Roman made a small grunt at the impact, but quickly recovered, taking a healthy grip of your ass as he kissed you back with fervor.

When you did finally pull apart from your heated kiss, both of you with labored breaths, you had tears on your cheeks. 

“I love it, Ro. I love it, so much. I can’t believe you did this for us.” You sniffled and Roman preened. 

“For you. For us to move on and start over. Away from that fucking mansion and all the pain it’s caused. It’s just us from now on,” He said, taking your face in his hands.

You hiccuped with a large smile, elated. 

Sure, some people might be angry that their partner bought a home without their knowing, but you didn’t care. You just loved the fact that Roman had thought of your collective future, of your new little family, of the love he had for you. You were high off of the adrenaline of surprise and the giddy bubble in your chest from Roman’s spoiling.

“I love you,” You cooed before kissing him once more. 

It wasn’t really a kiss, more of you both just both pressing your smiles together to properly convey your happiness in the moment. 

“Can we look around?” You knew Roman had work early the next morning. 

“Go ahead, baby, we got plenty of time.” He grinned, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You squealed with excitement, practically bouncing in your Manolos as you took Roman’s hand and started for the stairs. 

Roman went willingly, his arms straight as an arrow as you drug him around the house, chirping about art galleries, landscaping and antique dealers. He simply nodded and watched you with loving affection, his chest puffed out from the feeling of making you so happy, from the feeling of providing for you, for doing something right. 

He watched with his heart in his throat as you began to plan your future together.

[inkandpen22]

Time is Irrelevant (2/?): Vive La France

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader 

Warnings: swearing, mention of death 

Word Count: 4.5k (she’s long lol sorry about it)

Part Summary: Y/N wakes up dazed and confused. From then on, things only get more confused as she starts to realize she’s in 18th century France with a strange man. 

Masterlist

I gradually open my eyes, my vision blurry at first. A bright light burns them and I feel as though I’m staring into the gates of Heaven. Then, the memory of what happened jolts me awake. Startled, I frantically scan my surroundings. I come to the horrifying conclusion that I’m no longer at the table in the student union. In fact, I have no clue where I am! I’m in a bedroom, on a bed with tall dark wood posts. The room looks too grand and vintage to be anywhere on campus. It’s baby blue walls and crown molding don’t exactly scream cinderblock dorm room. The furniture appears to be so detailed and too fragile to touch, which will be a problem because I woke up on the bed. Am I in a museum?

I stand up cautiously, afraid someone may barge in. I glance down and I see I’m in a white cotton nightgown. A grandma nightgown, seriously? How did I get here and why am I in grandma's pajamas? As I take in my appearance, I don’t see any injuries or bruising, that’s good. I feel alright, panicked, but alright. My brain is pounding against my skull. I can hear my mom now, ranting in my mind. She’d say, “don’t hurry to get up! You could have a concussion.” I rarely listen to her and I don’t plan on starting now.

I step closer to what appears to be a balcony and I peer out to get an idea of where I am. Leaning over the iron rail, I see a dirt road below. People crowd the streets, they maintain a loud banter. Their clothes, they’re odd. Wait, is that man wearing a white wig? Where the hell am I? A gold plated carriage goes by down the street and a man yells at the top of his lungs in what sounds to me as French. As I focus on the commotion, all I hear is French. I take note of the architecture of the surrounding buildings and it all is very French, specifically Parisian. I’m not an expert who has never been to France but I would say the architecture of Paris is pretty iconic. Wait no, this can’t be real! It couldn’t be possible in Paris! How could I possibly be in the United States one minute, then wake up in France? It’s not possible. My heart drops, I’ve been kidnapped and taken out of the country!

“Good! You’re awake!”

I jump at the sudden voice. When I whip around, I spot the strange man from before entering the room.

“Put this on,” he instructs, tossing me a gown nonchalantly. “You stand out like a lily in a field full of daisies.”

I take in his appearance. He’s decked out in colonial-era clothing like the cluster of people down below. My mind screams, reminding me that this is all ridiculous. There’s no way I’m in France and there must be a good reason as to why everyone is dressed as though we’re about to go eat some cake with Marie Antonette. I snickered lightly, baffled at the idea of any of this being real. I’m clearly still asleep.

“Y/N!” The strange professor snaps his fingers and I'm pulled from my thoughts. “Please, before we’re late!”

I snap out of the daze and remember that this man has kidnapped me. Chucking the dress onto the bed, I proceed to bark at him. “Where am I?! Where have you taken me?!” My voice progressively escaping me in screams.

He grins slyly, staring into my soul. “I believe you've already figured that out for yourself…”

I shake my head, laughing at what he’s suggesting. He must think I’m an idiot. He narrows his eyes at me, curious.

“Oh please,” I tease him. “You can’t possibly think I would believe any of this? I’m in college, not kindergarten! Now, let me go!” I start to approach the door but he steps in my way.

His fingers wrap around my forearm with a forceful grip. “Look Y/N, we don’t have time for this! You ARE indeed in France. You ARE in 1778! Now, get dressed! We can’t be late!”

I stare into his eyes as he shouts this nonsense to me. The miniature oceans that encompass them. They have this electricity about them that draws me in and I feel hypnotized. Yet, I must remain level headed if I plan on escaping and surviving this.

Aggressively, I yank my arm free. “Let go of me you psycho! Have you lost your mind? There’s no way-”

The professor wraps his arm around me and presses his free hand over my mouth. I scream for someone to help, but my words are muffled against his hand.

“But it is!” He argues, “I possess the ability to time travel! Okay! The Eye of Harmony, Rassilon's Star, it exists!”

Upon hearing his words, I stop fighting him, utterly stunned. His hands ease off of my face and release my arm. My chest rises and plummets at an inconsistent rate. There are very few people who speak of the star. It’s legend, ancient mythology, lost in history.

“But…” I struggle to find the words, “but that's not possible.” My volume has lost its touch. My words flowing out like little puffs of wind.

“But it is! Now, get dressed and I’ll explain everything!” He tells me, seemingly eager to clear the air.

I watch silently as he turns to leave abruptly. Does he drop the bombshell that he may have the most powerful stone in the world then goes to leave? Of course, he would.

As he walks away, he presses, “we have somewhere we need to be and soon!”

Processing the situation, I take matters into my own hands. “Will you just wait for a second?!”

Irritable, he crosses his arms, “what it is?”

“I believe I deserve some sort of explanation! Now! I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me some sort of explanation now!”

He huffs, rubbing his temple. “We’re in France! I need you in that dress! We have an appointment and running late! There’s your explanation! Now if you’ll please,” he gestures towards the gown on the bed.

Swallowing hard, I comprehend the fact that he won’t be so forthcoming with me. I’ve seen plenty of thrillers where a girl is kidnaped and she acts out or doesn’t do anything which leads to her demise. I always shout at the girls to play along until the right opportunity arises. For all I know, I’m somewhere close to school and he’s messing with my head. All I’m sure about is I have to make it home.

“1778 you claim?” I clarify as I pick up the dress on the bed. As I examine the attire, I’m reminded of how uncomfortable women dressed. “This should be interesting...” If I’m going to play along I’ll need the proper attire and this isn’t it. I huff, “I’ll need a corset, heels, shift, pannier-”

The professor waves his hands for me to quiet down. “Yes! Yes, I know! I’ll be sending Joséphine in to help you. Any further questions?”

I shake my head, still struggling to cope.

“Very well,” he bows his head. As soon as he appeared he disappears into the halls. As soon as the door shuts, I feel as though I’m on the verge of fainting. I stumble over to the balcony in search of an escape route. I may only have minutes before he returns.

“I must be dreaming,” I tell myself to remain sane.

He’s really taking this whole charade about time travel seriously. Apart of me wishes to believe what he’s saying is true, the part of me that loves history blindly. If I’m truly in 1778 Paris that would incredible. Yet, I know logically time travel is impossible. Except, according to legend, the Eye of Harmony is said to allow time travel. Of course, that’s just ancient mythology, folklore. There’s no one alive that’s seen the star.

I watch the people in the streets below in awe. It all seems so real, the wagons, women dressed in corsets, and men dressed like the Founding Fathers. He must’ve drugged me, that’s the only explanation. Suddenly, the door creaks behind me and I jump like a scared cat. A lady, whom I assume is Joséphine, enters the room.

“Bonsoir Madame,” she greets me with a curtsy.

“Bonsoir…” I mutter, terrified but trying to remain calm.

Joséphine offers me a reassuring smile. I’m guessing she’s about my age, perhaps a few years older but not much. She guides me over to the vanity gently. At first, I stay as still as a statue. I watch as she picks up a few containers on the table and skims the labels.

“Ah oui!” She blurts out, apparently, she’s found what she was looking for.

After she selects a brush from the jar, she prepares to start on my makeup but I stop her.

“I’m okay, really! I just-”

“Non, non, non,” she objects. “ce soir madame vous devez avoir l'air parfait!”

Great, so if this really is 1778 then I’m about to get a heavy dose of lead poisoning. This white powder she’s spreading on my face makes me look like Casper. I respect the bold fashion of this era but rosy cheeks, cherry lips, and silk white skin, not my best look.

Once I’m suffocating in my dress, she pushes me down into the chair in front of the vanity and roughly yanks my auburn hair up. I study in the mirror as she pins my hair down to my scalp and digs the pins into my head. How the hell am I supposed to balance this clump of hair on my head? It’s taller than my entire head.

“Ouch!” I bark.

“Pardon, Madame,” she apologizes softly.

After I appear the part, Joséphine leads me through the house. It’s beautiful. The detail in the crown modeling and art-like wallpaper are so unique. I gawk at the walls as we walk through each room. She leads the way through the double front doors to a carriage where I’m met by the strange professor.

“Merci,” I thank Joséphine, though the experience wasn’t the most enjoyable.

She bows her head and leaves to return inside. I approach the professor, who’s dressed in the traditional french male attire of the time, wig in all. For a moment, it takes my breath away. I read so many books and seen so many movies about the era but nothing as felt more real than this.

“Nice wig,” I tease a bit, stifling a giggle.

“Dido,” he jokes in return.

“My head feels ten pounds heavier,” I poke at the cotton ball on my head. “How do I balance it?”

“You’ll learn. Takes practice.” The professor chuckles then snap his fingers for the footman to open the door of the carriage. Gesturing toward the door, he allows me to enter first.

I swift my gaze toward our mode of transpiration. I’ve never seen an authentic 18th-century carriage of this magnitude. The gold frame and light baby blue fabric are luxurious. I can only imagine how much history is within this carriage, at least will be I suppose.

“Are you admiring it or afraid of it?” The professor chuckles beside me.

“It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I’m not saying I entirely believe him with his fairytales but nonetheless, this experience so far has been like passages from my textbooks. I can feel him staring at me as I examine the carriage. It’s all too remarkable for me to look away.

“I see Joséphine did your hair and makeup as well, good,” He states with a grin. “If we’ll be at court, you’ll need to look the part.”

Before I have the chance to question his meaning, he offers me his hand to help me into the carriage. I’m hesitant. After all, this dude did kidnap me. As for his reasoning, I’m still in the dark. All I know is, possibly, that I’m in an entirely different country and almost three hundred years in the past, so he claims. I have no idea who he is or why he has me here. Yet, for some strange reason, I find myself trusting him slightly and against my better judgment. It’s his eyes. Every time I fall into them my gut tells me to trust him.

The professor sits across from me and settles in. The footman shuts the door and the driver calls to the horses to go along.

“Court?” I interrogate him, “as in the royal court?”

“Yes, precisely,” he replies as if it makes perfect sense.

He must be bonkers! There is no way we could be on our way to Versailles during the era of the monarchy and dressed like this!

“Right, right…” I raise a brow, “and who is king exactly?”

He rubs his hands up and down his thighs nervously. “That’s where you come in!”

“Me?!”

Quite frankly some rulers were just plain crazy and were temperamental! Plus, the French and English were constantly at war during the 18th century! This isn’t the time to visit for peace and quiet.

He scoffs, leaning forward to keep his voice down. “That’s the reason you’re here Miss Historian! You’re in charge of knowing everything about every century we visit!”

I narrow my eyes, “every century? Last I checked I never agreed to travel across time with you?!”

If that’s even what we’re doing. If he expects me to go to another destination with him he’s sorely mistaken.

He grins, not believing me for a second. “Oh, so you much rather go home? Sit behind a desk instead of meeting the very people you’re studying?”

If any of this was true, he’d have a point. I’ll never grant him the satisfaction of admitting that.

I scoff, “fine! You said it was 1778, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he answers quickly.

“Okay… ” I stare up at the ceiling to focus, reviewing my knowledge of the French monarchy. It appears in my mind like a timeline. I mumble, “1778…  that’s in the middle of the American Revolution which means it’s before the French Revolution so the king would be… oh my god!”

My hand flies up to my mouth. I can’t believe it! If this man is telling the truth, then we’re in quite the most interesting year.

His eyes widen in horror and he grips my hands between us. “What?! What is it?!”

“Louis XVI! Louis XVI is the king! Oh, this is too good! Marie freaking Antoinette! Seriously? I can’t believe this!” I squeal, jumping up and down in my seat uncontrollably, causing the carriage to rock.

A part of me is starting to fall for the man’s word, perhaps I really am in 1778. At least then I could actually meet Louis XVI. For a second, I felt myself believing wholeheartedly.

“Is he cruel?! Kind Hearted?! Best king France has ever had?!”

I laugh, has he never picked up a history book?

“Sir, have you never heard of Louis XVI before? He’s infamous! What about the French Revolution? I mean… if we really are where you say we are, we’re living in it!”

He pouts, peering at me like an offended child. “No actually, I have heard of him! I guess you could just say he’s after my time. I’m better acquainted with his father,” he adds in a mutter.

I scrunch my eyebrows, “after your time? How could he be after-”

He cuts me off, “forget it. I’ll explain at a better time. As for now, your job is to inform me of everything I need to know about the French court. I know how to handle royalty and the protocol. All I need is for you to help me with the background information on these individuals. Though all royals are superficially the same I have to gain their trust on a personal level. In exchange, I’ll help you play the part of a lady of the court.”

I huff as I readjust my skirt, somewhat offended. Simply because I wasn’t born an aristocrat with a stick up my butt doesn’t mean I don’t know how to act civilized.

“I know how to be a lady! I can curtsy and whatnot!”

He stifles a laugh, raising a brow. “Y/N, have you ever even met a royal?”

He’s right once again. In my defense, America isn’t exactly crawling with monarchs. We got rid of that whole issue centuries ago.

“No…” I timidly admit.

He has a point, which annoys me. I may have been taught table manners and proper etiquette by my grandmother growing up but her rules are nothing compared to a royal court’s. I would be walking into a lion’s den without Danny’s guidance.

“So then, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand. A mischievous grin coats his lips.  

For all I know, I could be agreeing to anything. He could turn back on his word at any moment. I don’t trust him, not in the slightest. Yet, If I agree for the time being, it could buy me my freedom. I take a chance.

I shake his hand, “deal.”

His eyes widen, “almost forgot!”

He reaches into his frilly French jacket pocket and reveals a key. A standard old, metal key with a long string attached.

“You’ll be needing it.” He assures me as he shifts toward me and begins to put it around my neck.

“What is it?” I ask, still in awe.  

“A key…” He sasses.

“Ugh,” I roll my eyes, “obviously! I’m asking why do I need it?”

“It’s to my Tardis,” he states as though everyone has one.

“What the hell-”

The carriage jolts to a stop abruptly. Soon, the driver opens the door for us and offers his hand for assistance. My mind is still focused on the blast the professor just sent in my direction. I’m still stuck on his statement, he’s after my time. What did he mean by that? Then, I learn that magic is basically real, along with time-travel.

My train of thought is soon interrupted by the professor calling my name. I hadn’t noticed him climb out of the carriage I was so deep within myself. I accept the hand of the driver and step down out of the carriage. Many of them that are similar to our own are lined up single file. Danny offers me his arm which I take instantly. I gawk at the copper-colored palace with gold embellishments. I’ve always wanted to visit Versailles. I never would have guessed it would be in this setting. I imagined hundreds of tourists with their phones out, too occupied to enjoy the magnificence in front of them. Instead, I’m surrounded by men in bright colored breeches and women wearing wigs that could reach the heavens.

“Are you alright?” he peers down at me, worried.

“Yes, it’s just… I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit, breathlessly.  

Men and women dressed in extravagant jewels and clothes. Only the highest social figures are gawking at the palace, arm in arm.

“It’s the king’s twenty-fourth birthday ball,” he informs me as we stroll into the palace doors behind various couples of the time.

My pulse must be through the roof I’m so anxious. My mind is racing. Danny is putting on a convincing show that we belong here. He has is his role well-rehearsed it appears.

“Stay close,” he instructs, searching the entrance hall.

I grip his arm, halting before we go in.

“What is it?” The man questions.

“What your name?” I comprehend I’ve never learned it. With everything going on, there was never a proper moment. Now, I realize there will never be.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answers with a sly grin.

“’ The Doctor?’ Well, I’m sorry to break it to you but there’s more than just one doctor in the world,” I laugh, this man can’t be serious.

“No,” he huffs, “my name is Doctor. I’m a... you know what, never mind. I’ll-”

“You’ll explain later,” I finish.

“Look at you catching on quickly,” he compliments and pinches my cheek. I swat his hand away with a frown. Geez, he’s annoying. He’s like the Energizer bunny in human form.

“Let’s head inside,” he instructs, guiding me along.

I adjust my skirt briefly, correcting any wrinkles from the ride here. He clears his throat and my eyes meet him as he gestures toward the ceiling with a smirk. It takes every cell of my being and a lot of self-control to not let my jaw drop. Absentmindedly, my arm falls from the Doctor as he continues to walk down the Hall of Mirrors and leaves me in awe of the architecture. I slowly come to a stop as I become engrossed in the details.

It suddenly hits me like a pile of bricks, this is all real. Everything the Doctor has said must be true. I went along with his word but now I truly believe it. The hand-painted ceiling, the solid gold statues that reflect in the mirrors, the marble walls surrounding them, and the crystal chandeliers that line the grand hall. The remaining light of the setting sun pours in through the windows and bounces off the floor. There is no possible way Versailles could be like this in modern times, it’s far too untouched and pristine. This means I’m honestly, without a doubt, in the year 1778. My heart feels as though it’s plummeted to my stomach. Oh my God, this is remarkable! This is every history lover’s dream! I’m living out my textbooks. I’m experiencing history first hand!

It must’ve taken the Doctor very little time to notice my absence. He calmly approaches me, visibly aware of my clear baffled state. I believe my reaction is valid considering the circumstances.

He whispers, “is it what you imagined based on your history books?”

I shake my head, nearly speechless. All I can do is gawk at everyone and everything around me. “It’s beyond anything I could imagine!” I finally break my attention away from the exquisite art to meet his gaze. “I believe you,” I confess to him.

Slight grin forms on the edge of his lips and his eyes fall to the floor with a slight chuckle. “I always knew you would…” He mutters under his breath.

Offering me his arm, he escorts me into a crowded ballroom. The Doctor must know the layout of the palace quite well unless he’s simply following the flow of the crowd. An orchestra plays in the background as drinks are passed around by servants with trays. I spin around slowly, staring up at the ceiling and chandeliers. All of the stories in these walls, the royals that have lived here, what will become of this palace, my head is spinning as I review the details. The music comes to a sudden halt along with the movement and banter in the room. All attention turns toward the double doors across the ballroom as they swing open. People shuffle closer, peering over each other’s heads to sneak a peek. Trumpets play a melody familiar to anyone, the signal of the King and Queen entering the room. Through the space between heads, I can see glimpses of the young notorious couple. Marie Antoinette’s tall and decorated wig, her pale and porcelain-like skin, her extraordinary gown, all perfect. The crowd disburses and form their miniature groups again. The Doctor snatches two champagne flutes from a passing tray and hands one to me.

“Doctor,” I whisper to him cautiously, in case of prying ears. “Why are we here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic but I don’t understand the purpose?”

He pulls me aside behind one of the pillars for some privacy. He scans the room to make sure no one is watching us. His actions have me wondering if our purpose here could put us in danger.

“How much do you know about the monarchs and the palace itself?”

My brows rise in astonishment, I start to question myself on how he doesn’t find the answer obvious by now. I spent a whole semester studying King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, the French Revolution, and Versailles alone. Of course, that doesn’t make me an expert by any means but I would say I’m well-read.

He catches on to my sass and dismisses it. “Fine, fine fine, so you know a lot! Tell me more please!”

I nod, gathering the important bits from memory to summarize it all. To condense all of this history into such a brief yet crucial conversation is anything but fun.

“Okay well, I think the most important fact we have to consider is currently Her Majesty is pregnant with the couple’s first child. The baby will be a girl. Her name will be Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte de Bourbon. The couple will attempt to have more children, to have a male heir, but none will live past the age of eleven. The French Revolution won’t begin for another ten years. Both the King and the Queen will lose their lives, sadly, along with many members of the aristocracy. Then, Napoleon will become emperor. As for Versailles, it was completed in 1668 for King Louis XIV. During the revolution basically, everything will be taken from here. In modern times, the 21st century, most of it will be returned. That’s a summary of some basic information.”

The Doctor gawks at me, “you know all of this by heart? You wonderful little human. How do you memorize it all?”

I shrug, glancing in the direction of where I last saw the royal couple. “I suppose I’ve always cared so much about these people and their stories that it never really leaves me.”

The unfamiliar faces in this room are forming the world I must live in hundreds of years from now and none of them know it. The world will be completely altered by the end of the century. Every single person in this room is set to believe their roles here are unwavering. Little do they know that in less than a decade, all of it will be gone, nothing but a memory.

“I forgot to mention,” The Doctor mumbles and holds up the key that has slipped beneath the front of my dress. “Never lose it. Draw as little attention to it as possible. While we’re here, your job is to play Miss Know-it-all and mine is to find this journal.”

We’re interrupted by the grandfather clock when it dings in the corner. The Doctor’s head whips over in its direction, he checks the time.

“I have to go,” he informs me in a rush.

“But I-” I start, having a million questions.

“I’ll be back. Blend into the crowd! We’ll leave as soon as possible,” he instructs before disappearing into the cluster of people.

I stand awkwardly alone, afraid to move the slightest step. I’m surrounded by a bunch of dead people. Well, they’re not dead now, but when I’m alive they will be. I’m Versailles, holy shit! And I’m not even on a tourist trip to Versailles, no I’m at a ball in the Revolution Era! I would jump up and down squealing but I doubt that’s allowed. Instead, I’ll just smile to myself like an idiot and sip on this champagne.

__________________

Masterlist

[connorgoldie604]

Artist Research

Tetsuo Aoki (1940 - unknown)

"The theme of my artwork is to express the pleasure, the deepness and the importance of touching each other. The original world of woodblock with Japanese paper (Washi) and Chinese ink (Sumi) is my basis."

Tetsuo Aoki – 青木鐵男 is a Japanese woodblock printmaker, who was born in 1940. He utilises wood to engrave his designs and uses a black and white colour scheme consistently throughout his prints. 

His elongated, disproportional and overstretched characters immediately caught my eye and he is now one of my biggest inspirations. I love the layouts he uses and the overall distorted aesthetic of his work. Aoki’s graphic style is far from ordinary. He utilizes defined shapes and little shadowing which creates a sense of sentimentality. 

Bryan Nash Gill (1961 - 2013)

"Art is (or should be) an authentic experience, which brings you closer to understanding yourself in relation to your surroundings." - Bryan Nash Gill

Bryan creates large-scale relief prints from the cross-sections of trees. It is up to us as viewers to find meaning in Bryans art. Personally, I find his art both beautiful and thought-provoking; it portrays the idea of growth and change yet makes me think about sustainability and the living things that surround us humans. 

Bryan believes that the journey is more important than the destination; "Strict concentration on the making, the process, is more important than the result." His take on the process of art is almost a metaphor for all things organic - he lived in the moment and did not let his thoughts guide him.

Gill creates patterns from fallen or damaged trees which he rescues from the property surrounding his studio. He prepares blocks of recycled wood, coats it in a thin layer of ink then makes prints by carefully pressing the contours of the wood until the intricate designs transfer from tree to paper. It is important to Gill that the entire tree and all it’s intricisies is documented.

Hulya Ozdemir

“I think my paintings are timeless. My portraits do not remain imprisoned in a single statement. Their gazes are changing, just like us. One day in the same picture is sad, another day is possible to see a happy face.” - Hulya Ozdemir 

Hulya Ozdemir  is an illustrator and painter of watercolor portraits who was born in Istanbul, Turkey in 1972. Hulya focuses predominantly on female portraits and showcases women becoming self confident and breaking out of social norms created by a make-dominated society. Hulya does not sketch her work beforehand, she draws directly onto paper, adds patterns and then paints; “I can say, I rarely know what will happen in the next step.” 

Her work displays womens beauty and individuality through the use of texture, bold colours and many patterns. Her use of colour, pattern and texture stould out to me, and I used it as inspiration for a mixed media print.

Glenn Jones

Glenn Jones found internet fame in the 2000s with his unique T-shirt designs. His tees have even be worn by stars on the Big Bang Theory. He is an illustrator who’s work is now being published as prints. Glenns collection of prints are inspired by growing up and living in NZ, he has stated that he want’s to put  “my own spin on our pop culture”. 

His prints are some what comedic, he depicts relatable Kiwi experiences with a humorous touch. One source states “his prints are a statement in a picture about our collective identities and the shared experiences of living in Aotearoa in the early 21st century.” His kiwiana style and clever twists with a touch of nostalgia is inspiring. I find his work both quirky and fun.

Barry Ross Smith 

"I like to create a rapport with the viewer by playing with our reminiscences. Creating icons from our shared Kiwi past, the beach, the bach, the farm but mostly the people. We can identify with these characters as family, friends or someone we know." - Barry Ross Smith

Barry Ross Smith is a visual artist born in Kamo, Northland, New Zealand. When he first started producing art his medium was sign writing, and he has now been painting for over 25 years. As stated by New Zealand Fine Prints Ltd; “His work typically engages with the conception of myth and cultural identity, often exploring these avenues from a New Zealand male’s perspective.”His art is inspired by the relationship between individuals and their immediate environment, specifically our communion with the land & encompassing oceans. His work has been described as “hymns to rural New Zealand … tellingly observed and cleverly rendered” by NZ Hearld Critic TJ Mcnamara.

I admire Barry because his work showcases our beautiful land and animals. Aswell as how work, Barry inspires me as a person. He is involved with Pest free NZ; and helps restore native wildlife from extinction. He values New Zealand land not only in his work but in his day to day life, which I find extremely inspiring as I value sustainability and our saving our environment. I also find his use of surrealism and kiwiana themes interesting as it is something I want to experiment with in the future.

Tony Ogle

"Screen-printing allows me to express my love of the New Zealand landscape and ocean environment with strong colours in a direct and graphic manner".

Tony Ogle was born in 1959 and is one of New Zealand's most successful printmakers. Ogle’s prints are full of colour, vibrant and celebrates New Zealands coastal landscapes. His works are extremely technically complex and handmade, with only one edition ever produced. Ogle’s joyful prints celebrates the Kiwi beach life and showcases his authentic connection with New Zealand coastal landscapes.

He is inspired by locations off the beaten track and untouched stitches of the NZ coastlines that portray "unchanged timelessness". Tony strives to capture what he calls a "sense of place" in his art prints. 

His work is inspiring since I can relate to it as a Kiwi and I admire how he uses texture to convey a sense of calmness, he perfectly captures Aotearoas essence. 

Charles Frederick Goldie

Charles Frederick Goldie was born in Auckland, New Zealand, on 20 October 1870.   He is an ancestor of mine, who painted Māori history paintings and portraits of tattooed chiefs. His paintings have been turned into many prints nowadays, I’ve even seen his paintings on postcards and magnets whilst travelling the South Island. 

Goldie's career began in 1900 when he started painting images  depicting elderly Māori with moko, the 'noble relics of a noble race'. By 1904 Goldie was considered the leading portrait painter of Māori, and was renowned for his technical brilliance.  His portraits have become vitally significant to New Zealand art.

Goldie feared that Māori were about to die out or be assimilated by the pakeha so he set out to record the last survivors. This is reinforced through the poses of his elderly subjects and the titles of many of his paintings eg; Last of the Cannibals, A Noble Relic of a Noble Race. Two of his most celebrated works, Darby and Joan and The Widow, portray Goldie’s awareness of the hardships Maori were experiencing. Many Māori individuals see Goldie's works as taonga which represents irreplaceable ancestral images of koroua and kuia. Māori believe the wairua( spirit) of the subject resides in each picture. 

I am inspired by Goldie not only because I feel a cultural connection to him but because of his love for Māori culture. His paintings are full of intricate details, and his paintings often look like they can breathe which I find incredible. 

Lauren Liess

A crooked smile, wildflowers from the side of the road, a chip in the good china; I love it when things are slightly off and tell a story, because to me, that’s real life. And it’s beautiful.

Lauren Liess is an interior designer who’s style I find inspiring and aesthetic. What caught my eye is her use of prints and nature in her interior design. Her style is simple, relaxed and authentic. She utilizes natural materials, thoughtful art and decor that focuses on people rather than things. 

She has a toes-in-the-stream aesthetic and is obsessed with the outdoors, “I’m obsessed with what’s going on outside,” and utilizes a black, white and wood pallet paired with lots of greenery, “When you bring in bits of nature …artwork, interesting accents and fabrics, [the colors are] a museum showcase for it. It’s a textural, natural base.” 

I relate to her as we are both inspired by the outdoors. I also like how she incorporates living plants and wood into her modern style. 

[etoileholland]

La vie en rose

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: while at a museum in Paris, you meet Tom, a boy so beautiful that the masterpieces pale in comparison to him.

A/N: This was originally a series that I made for @scarletxwidow​ back in 2017 (long before I ever had this blog), but I recently found it and decided to give it a new life. I have another part to this story written out, would anyone care to read the rest? Let me know! And as always, please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

(The photo is not mine; all credit goes to its respective owners)

Wow, it’s even more beautiful up close. You thought, admiring the Monet painting that encompassed the entire wall. Her eyes traced the swift veridian brushstrokes, appreciating the tranquility of the water surfaces encapsulated onto the expansive canvas.

After university you had booked a plane to Paris to experience the art and the culture firsthand. One of your first stops was to the Musée de L’Orangerie, to see Monet’s “waterlillies” painting. You had worked different odd jobs and saved money to afford a plane ticket, but it seemed well worth it.

It was a particularly rainy Tuesday night and the museum was practically empty. There were a few people around, but the rain was so bad that it seemed like everyone had stayed home. The museum had a dreamlike feel to it, with the beautiful paintings adorning the walls, and the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; it was surreal to say the least.

Your ears perked up when you heard a tour guide explaining a painting to a couple at the other end of the room. Looking over at the elderly couple, you noticed that they walked hand in hand; something that had warmed your heart instantly. It was rare to see love that has stood the test of time, but then again, it made sense in a city that’s known for love. The tour guide quickly finished reciting the history of the painting, motioning to the couple to follow him to another section of the museum, leaving the hall silent again.

Sitting down at the bench that was in front of the waterlilies painting, you set your bag down next to you and pulled out a well loved book that you had purchased at a used bookstore back home. The book, titled ‘guide de visite’, was slightly outdated, but went into great depth of the paintings here at the museum. You had immediately fallen in with the book, having read it many a time, each time vowing to yourself that you would see these paintings in person. Flipping through the delicate pages of the book, you stopped when you found the descriptions for the waterlillies painting, becoming entranced with the printed text.

Face buried in the book, you hadn’t noticed the figure standing behind you until he had moved into your peripheral vision. Shifting your gaze slightly upwards, you saw that the person was looking over at you. You observed him curiously, noticing his curly brown hair that was lightly tousled, and his long black and white tweed overcoat. He seemed around your age, and had a certain allure about him. He smiled when your eyes met, but instead of smiling back you averted your gaze back to the painting.

“Excuse me love,” his soft voice lightly echoing through the empty room, “would you mind if I sat next to you?” He asked, standing there as he awaited your answer.

Nodding your head yes, you carefully picked up your bag and set it gently on your lap. He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, his sneaky side glances not going unnoticed by you. You could feel yourself blushing as you tried to keep your focus on the painting instead of the handsome boy sat right next to you, which proved to be quite difficult.

Nervously touching the watch on his wrist, he cleared his throat, before saying, “I was admiring the Monet, but it was taking away from your beauty.” His cheeks were pink as he smiled, as he was scanning your features to make sure that he didn’t weird you out with that comment.

Flustered, you brought the book up to your face so that he wouldn’t see you blush, and you uttered out a small “Oh, um thank you.”

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He said, smiling as he waited for you to say your name, which you did.

“Enchanté.” He said as he continued to admire your features. You didn’t know why this very good looking guy was paying attention to you, let alone admiring you, and the thought of that alone left you feeling flustered.

The two of you sat there for a while, taking in the painting, but him sitting so close to you made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You cleared your throat as you stuffed your book in your bag and stood up.

“Wait, hold on a second.” He pleaded, “I just need to know one thing.” He asked while you nodded, sitting back down next to him.“You’ve been looking at the painting for a while, is it your favorite?”

“Definitely. It’s just do beautiful, you know? The colours blending together beautifully, and the brushstrokes are just pleasing to the eyes.” You let out a small laugh, and all Tom did was smile.

“Do you know a lot about the other paintings here?” He asked, his voice soft, along with his gaze.

“Yes, actually. Years ago I purchased this,” you motioned to the book on your lap, “and it tells of a lot of the paintings here. Although, some of the pieces aren’t here anymore but it’s nice to have a little piece of history, I guess.” You smiled nervously, mentally telling yourself to not sound so nerdy. Tom smiled softly at you, enjoying how passionate you were about art.

“So you’ve probably memorised the whole book then if you read that on a long flight.” He responded in an effort to keep the conversation up.

“Yeah, maybe so.”

He smiled again, and his smile was so adorable that in turn, made you smile too. Maybe he was the real masterpiece here, you thought. The masterpieces in this room don’t compare to his beauty.

“Well then,” he paused, nervously looking down at hands, “maybe do you mind being my tour guide? My brother Sam brought me here but then ditched me to get coffee with some American girl, can you believe it? It was his idea to drag me here but then left me the first chance he got. Typical.” He let out a small laugh, and you mentally thanked whoever Sam was, because if he didn’t leave Tom, then you probably wouldn’t be talking to him right now.

“So I’ve been wandering around, admiring the art, but it would be nice to be with someone who really understands art.” He hinted, his eyes twinkling under the museum lighting. You didn’t realise that he was closer to you than before, but you didn’t mind.

“Well you could have gone with the tour guide, I’m sure they know more than I do.”

“True, but the guide isn’t nearly as beautiful as you, darling.” He responded, the ‘darling’ rolling off his tongue like caramel. Thank god you were sitting, because if you were standing you would have melted into the floor.

“Well, alright then, follow me.” You said, gathering your belongings, while Tom held out his hand for you to grab so you could get up. His hands were soft yet firm, and as you stood up you let go of his hand immediately. He frowned when you let go of his hand too quickly for his liking, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed right behind you, as you began your tour.

You two made your way around the museum, admiring the Picasso’s and the Matisse’s. You had your book open as you showed him the pages, reading the description from the book to him as you two admired the paintings. You often caught him staring at you instead of the art, and you playfully pushed him. “Oi mate, pay more attention to the artwork.” You exclaimed as you mimicked his accent.

He laughed, throwing his hands up like he was surrendering. “I can’t help but stare at how beautiful you are, and how adorable your accent is. The artists would understand that I’m basking in the beauty of the real artwork here.” You two blushed as you uttered out a small “thank you,” and continued the tour.

At that moment, one of the museum workers came up to you and Tom and spoke. “Excuse-moi mademoiselle et monsieur, le musée ferme ses portes dans quinze minutes. Merci beaucoup.” He left as swiftly as he came, leaving you both as Tom stood there puzzled.

“What did he say?” Tom asked as he looked over at you, and you replied, “The museum is closing its doors in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Tom said as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down so that you wouldn’t see his visible frown.

“Mmhmm.” You added, clearing your throat.

You were sad in knowing that your nice afternoon with Tom was coming to an end. You were enjoying his company, and it seemed that he was enjoying yours as well. The workers were ushering you two closer to the entrance, turning off the lights in the back part of the museum to signify that it was closing.

“Darling, thank you so much for the lovely day, and for being such a good tour guide. I should probably call Sam to make sure he’s alright, and to see if he needs saving or not.” He laughed, although there was a hint of sadness laced in his voice.

“Thank you as well, I had a really nice day. And thank you for letting me ramble on about the art pieces.” You laughed, and Tom just looked at you and smiled.

“Of course, I could listen to you talk about art all day.” He said, and you felt that you were blushing again. You played with your hands nervously as you two walked towards the front entrance of the museum.

You made your way outside, noticing that it was still pouring, so you and Tom stood underneath the awning so that you wouldn’t get drenched. You were about to speak when someone interrupted you.

“Do you need a taxi ride home, mademoiselle?” The doorman asked you.

“Yes please.” You responded. He nodded and went to the curb to hail you a taxi.

You were hoping that he would have a hard time hailing a taxi so that you and Tom could speak some more.

“Do you need a ride back home?” You asked Tom as he nodded his head no.

“Not yet, Sam said he was going to a café right next to the museum, and I think it may be that one right there.” He pointed at a quaint café right down the street. “I should call him and make sure.” He said glumly, realistically knowing that this may be your last encounter together.

Tom contemplated asking for your number, and as he worked up the courage to do so, the doorman ran back with an umbrella in hand. He opened it and motioned for you to get underneath it.

“The taxi is here for you, mademoiselle. Have a safe travel.”

“Okay, one second please.” You turned to Tom and placed a small kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for everything, hopefully we’ll see each other soon.” You said, as you handed him your museum book. “You can have this to remember me by.” You waved to him, being led away by the doorman, towards the taxi.

Tom admired the book, knowing that it was one of your favourite things. He looked at you one last time as you turned around and waved goodbye. He waved too and stood there, holding the book close to his chest. He sighed as he watched the taxi drive away, knowing that he would probably never see you again.

——

The next day was bright and sunny, and you decided to go shopping at the Champs-Élysées. It was a famous street lined with expensive stores, and although you couldn’t afford much, you wanted to walk around and at least pretend you could. You also needed a distraction from Tom, knowing that you may never see him again. Paris is a large city, and for all you know, he could’ve flown back home. And even if he was still here, the chances of running into him again are quite slim.

You took a taxi from your hotel and made your way to the eighth arrondissement, staring out the window to take the whole city in. To say it was breathtaking was an understatement; words couldn’t describe the beauty of Paris.

After a short taxi ride, you first went to Ladurée to try some of their famous macarons, as well as to have a cup of coffee. You walked into the small café and was immediately hit with the aromatic smells of macarons and desserts. You found a small table to sit at, and ordered an espresso and an assorted plate of macarons.

You pulled out the Great Gastby from your bag, and made yourself comfortable. You imagined how F. Scott Fitzgerald must have felt back in the 1920s in France, and wondered if he had sat where you are now, writing little pieces of stories on a napkin and enjoying the ambiance. From outside, you could hear that a street performer was playing “la vie en rose” on a violin, and in this exact moment, everything was perfect.

You basked in the sunshine and listened to the conversations around you. There was more English spoken here than at the museum, which made sense, since this was a tourist hotspot. One thing you didn’t notice, however, was a familiar voice of someone a few tables away.

“You know, I never thought I would say this, but I’m glad you ditched me at the museum.” Tom said, grinning.

“Hey I’m glad I ditched you too, the American girl was cute. Her company’s much better than yours anyway.” Sam laughed as Tom tossed a piece of macaron at him.

“I mean it though, it was seriously perfect yesterday. Well, almost, at least until the doorman whisked her away into a taxi. I didn’t even get to ask for her number.” He said, flipping through the pages of your book. He carried it around with him, in hopes that he would run into you again.

“I know, you gushed about her all day yesterday. I get it, she’s like your soulmate or whatever.” He scoffed as Tom flicked another piece of macaron at him.

“I’m serious though, she was perfect. The masterpieces paled to her beauty in comparison. I think even the Mona Lisa would be jealous of her.” He sighed, sinking dramatically down into his chair.

“God I wish I had asked for her number sooner, like right when I first met her.”

After hearing that, Sam shook his head. “No because then she would have thought you were a creep or something, and you know, she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.” He laughed as Tom shot him a glare. He slumped backwards into his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he placed his arms over his face.

“God you’re dramatic.” Sam stated, staring at Tom, who let out a small groan. People sitting around them were staring, and Sam poked Tom in the stomach, causing him to shoot back up in his chair.

“I hate you, you know that?” Tom retorted.

“No you don’t, you love me.” Sam grinned as Tom rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll try to be more help to you. What did she look like?” Sam asked, looking over at Tom who now had a smile on his face.

Tom described in great detail your height, hair color and what you were wearing. He described how your hair was up in a ponytail, with little strands of hair framing your face, and how there were light flecks in your eyes. He gushed about the freckles on the bridge of your nose and how when you laughed, your eyes crinkled. He mentioned how you loved to read and that you loved art, and that you weren’t from France.

He rambled on as Sam looked around the café to see if anyone met his description. He saw you sitting in the corner, reading your book and eating your macarons, and Sam had a feeling that may be you. You matched the description, but he also noticed that your bookmark was the admittance ticket from the museum they went to yesterday.

“So basically the girl sitting over there?” Sam smirked, and Tom quickly turned his head to see who he was referring to. He snapped his head around so quickly that he practically gave himself whiplash.

“Yes exactly!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, and the the older ladies sitting by them glanced at him disapprovingly. He jumped up, nearly running into the server as he made his way to your table. You didn’t even notice Tom standing in front of you, until he slightly cleared his throat.

“Oh, hello.” You said shyly while grinning at him. You motioned for him to sit down across from you, and he didn’t hesitate to do so.

“Hey.” He answered as he tried to keep his composure. “Must be fate, huh darling?” He added, popping one of your macarons into his mouth.

——

Mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow​ @sunflowerhollands​ @fangirlwithasweettooth​ @musicalkeys​ @lmaotshollandd​ @taciturnspidey​ @graceluvsyouu​

[thegirlwhohasnochill]

The Disease of Addiction

Euphoria Special Episode Part 1: Rue (Recap & Review)

Before I begin my official review of this episode, I would like to preface my thoughts with a bit of a primer about spoilers and trigger warnings. The show covers a range of topics from addiction to mental health. Still, I specifically want to warn anyone reading that I explicitly talk about and mention the topic of suicide in my review. If this is triggering for you in any way, please, don’t read ahead and take care of yourself! Okay, that’s it; I hope you enjoy my thoughts, and please let me know if you have any feedback or comments for my review and things I can change or fix in the future.

Where to begin with such a loaded episode...we knew the format and style of the episode would be simplistic based on the current realities of filming amidst a pandemic and what we saw to be a scene from Season 2 that the creator Sam Levinson expanded upon. Zendaya herself let us know that the episode's storytelling method would be vastly different from what we’ve already seen on the show. The format and simplicity of the episode, in contrast to the loaded dialogue and content of the scenes, are perfect. The camera takes you right into the middle of these conversations with Rue and Ali. But before we can even dive into what they talk about, we have to address the elephant in the room that is Rules. The episode begins with what is probably one of the most gut-wrenching sequences I have seen on the show. Because we know the reality and truth of their current predicament, Rue’s peppered kisses across Jules’ body and her tight squeezes and hugs from behind Jules evoke a strong sense of loss and pain for the viewer. The sheer intensity of the physicality of Rue’s affection for Jules is so overpowering and overwhelmingly present, we can almost feel the imbalance in their relationship through the screen. There is something to be said for the harsh reality of Rue’s dependence on Jules being reflected even in such a non-objective dream-like sequence. And yet, even in Rue’s wildest dreams and happiest stupor, she does not imagine the sobriety of her future. To me, that is indeed the crux of her character and the essence of this episode. Ali himself says, “The point is your sobriety.” And while it may feel like a focal point of discussion, the conversation flows in a way that seems to bounce back and forth between the two like a simple tennis match. It is easy to follow between Ali’s most potent clearest convictions about how the world works and Rue’s drug-addled hazy perception. The inherent contrast between their mental states and the different points of life in which they are both standing hit the viewer at alternate moments.

But we know Rue is not sober even as she lies to Ali and stumbles out of the bathroom, the shaky camerawork conveying her recent use. She is wearing the same shirt from the dream but has her signature hoodie on, her messy curly locks running down her back and glassy eyes staring straight ahead. The scene moves from her imagination of life with Jules to her lies about use. Her eventual admittance to being a high-functioning user happens as quickly as the conversation moves from sobriety to faith.

So I might be biased and hence don’t think I am incorrect in admitting that Zendaya has never given us a bad performance in her life. Even as she lies to Ali’s face and he is quick to call out her apparent contradictions, the faint slurring of her voice and her glazed eyes tell all. As striking as the conversation is, it feels even stranger for me to admit I felt comforted by Rue’s confession to thoughts of ending her life. And even as she admits to the darkest moments in her mind, Ali’s face and reaction are an even better neutralizer for what would generally be such an alarming thing to say to someone you barely know. As they continue to discuss her eventual relapse and all the reasons behind it (including racing thoughts encompassing “all the things I remember and all the things I wish I didn’t”), the viewer can envision the sequence of events that was shown to us in the finale - her fights with her mother and sister, her first time using when her father was fast asleep, her father’s death, her sister finding her after her overdose.

As much as I would like to quote the entire episode, I have to say Ali’s monologue about the idea that none of us are born evil and that society views mental illness and addiction as a personal moral failure rather than an overarching system many of us are incapable of overcoming, to be one of, if not the most decisive moments of the entire show. The line about coming out of the womb with “a few wires crossed” but still a beautiful baby girl eventually messing her way up through life struck a chord in me. I didn’t ask to be born this way. I don’t feel in control of my mind or the way it ever seems to work. And I’m always going to be a bad person. The disease of addiction and mental illness lets you - no, it makes you - view everything you have ever done in your life as not a consequence of the way your mind works, but as an active choice, you have consistently made, as you screwed up everything you’ve ever loved, and let down everyone you have ever cared about. The disease is not you as a person or even the way you think, and yet it is powerful enough to feel that way. Almost like the rapid cycling between mania and depression, the disease flips between, making you feel like the most powerful, invincible person alive and the absolute scum of the earth. There is nothing in between.

Ali’s backstory and his monologues about his change in faith from Christianity (when he was previously known as Martin) to Islam and the world's revolutions were fascinating. Side note: I did think the line about women converting to Islam was unnecessary, but I digress.

Rue’s understanding of the Narcotics Anonymous program's steps was the perfect way to bring in the conversation of faith. As she mentions her difficulty in coming to terms with the idea that there is greater power in charge of her behaviour and the way she surrenders herself to drugs, Ali chimes in with, “You don’t believe there is a power on Earth greater than Rue.” She disagrees and continues quoting and citing different sources she believes to be omniscient and great. And I absolutely agree with her. To me, there is no greater power than the source of art, the music that keeps me going, that feels like it’s the only thing keeping me from stopping the blood pumping through my veins. I understand Rue. But I also understand Ali. And yet, when Rue goes on to talk about the inexplicable workings of the world, my heart stops. There is no reason. There is no reason for the absolute pain and loss and suffering I’ve experienced, for the trauma I’ve witnessed and endured. For the absolutely horrifying things, the people closest to me have lived through. It is merely chaos. There is no reason I wake up every single day, regretting the fact that I did indeed wake up and that I am alive and breathing. So I Understand Rue. But Ali’s monologue about the moral arc of the universe and the unfathomable ways in which life and history line themselves up, to open our very eyes to the realizations we come to daily, is overwhelming. And yet, while he is waxing poetic about the intricacies of the world, we can see Rue’s exhausted eyes glaze over further, still unimpressed. “Maybe I’ll start a revolution like Malcolm X or something”, she quips back. But Ali is quick to counter; revolutions are no longer revolutionary.

Life as we know it is hypocrisy and foolish symbolism, only emphasizing his point about the universe's ridiculousness. Does any of it have meaning? Or is the meaningless void just another puzzle piece in a picture we will never get to see? There is also something to be said about Rue’s facial expressions as Ali continues his train of thought about her “generation”. As we often do when we hear our elders dismissively brush off our many concerns, she almost rolls her eyes. But he is listening, and he knows. “You think you’re out here fighting a revolution, and Bank of America is on your side? Give me a fucking break.” He’s not wrong. His speech reminds me of the masses of teens on TikTok creating video content specifically catered to an audience with an aesthetic that glamorizes the image of a revolutionary teen hero. But instead of a blazing bow and arrow, it is the common cell phone and a punchy soundtrack filtered through digitized audio. What would typically come across as preachy in any show catered to teens is, in fact, poignant. It also reminds me of how self-aware Euphoria is, knowing it’s guilty of falling into the same trap it accuses the viewer of doing.  

You have to commit to bettering yourself, Ali essentially tells Rue. And to me, that is the most inherently human struggle we will ever face in our lifetimes. As long as we exist, we have to face the idea that each day is, in fact, not going to be easier than the last. And when he tells her that he believes in her and that the hope of her success (that may one day come) should be greater than the failure of her current demise holding her back, I want to cry. I keep thinking about that edit of Rue to this is me trying by Taylor Swift.

The music of the song that Jules has texted to Rue swells, and it is easy to get caught up in the angst of the moment. It accompanies the words, “I miss you.” And if it wasn’t for Ali’s conversation with his daughter as background noise, one would simply soak in the gut-wrenching pain of their separation. The juxtaposition of Ali trying his absolute best to cling to his family as Rue continues to isolate herself from her loved ones and push herself further into the abyss makes my heart physically hurt.

Ms. Marsha’s spell-binding words of wisdom about sobriety and relationships compared to Rue’s tired exhaustion imminently displayed on her face make the viewer a little wary of what comes next. Her misunderstanding of a juvenile relationship with Jules is made clear when Ali confronts her about the fact that the two of them never had a real conversation about their feelings for one another. Rue’s distrust in the idea that things will eventually work themselves out stems from the fact that she feels disappointed by how her loved ones have left her so far. She eventually spirals into this negatively destructive way of thinking. She cognitively recognizes and justifies getting left behind because she thinks and believes she deserves terrible things in life. She lists examples of past deeds to further cement her argument. But Ali counters back with the simple statement that “Drugs change who you are as a person.” Regardless of her actions, he believes she is still a genuinely good individual while she argues that she is absolutely not. My favourite part of this whole conversation and the entire episode is the manner in which Ali questions Rue’s negative cognitive patterns. Her brain and mind essentially excuse bad behaviour by convincing her that she will never be a good person. Hence she can never forgive herself, and thus, she will continue to remain in this cyclical pattern. Our actions may be inexcusable, but they do not line up with our intentions. The inevitable human struggle is not whether we are fundamentally good or bad, evil, flawed or perfect, but if we are (and again, not to quote my other favourite show, The Good Place) trying to be a better person than we previously were. If we recognize that our actions are wrong and we are capable of experiencing remorse and regret for said actions, who's to say we are entirely incapable of change. This reductive polarizing, and dismissive way of thinking is characteristic of the brains of most people living with a mental illness. Our outside influences, such as drugs, can all be contributing external factors to how we conduct ourselves through life. Ali’s short bit about redemption and human beings deeming actions unforgivable forever can easily be paralleled to direct conversations we have online about “cancel culture”. The phenomenon of dismissing and reducing someone to their mistakes instead of allowing them to grow from them is a nice sentiment. Still, if we do not truly take accountability into action and witness no real changes or remorse, we can quickly get stuck in that cycle. Even if our beliefs do not line up with our actions, drugs can eventually change that. The belief system we hold so dearly, the convictions we strongly feel, can all be washed away by the simple use of drugs, Ali explains as he tells Rue about his family background. His experiences with abuse and his eventual hypocrisy as he plays the role he always feared in his family leave the viewer speechless. As we watch him tell his tale of regret, there is no woe or sorrow in admitting he is or isn’t a fundamentally good or bad person, just the thought of his attempt to change his ways that impacts the viewer.

As the viewer waits with bated breath to see what comes out of Rue’s mouth next, it is not a surprise (to me personally). Rue has no intention of staying sober because she has no intention of staying alive much longer. Ali asks her why she feels that way. She responds with her sentiments about the cruelty of the world. Ali understands. We truly are living in dark times, witnessing truly horrific events, and the fact that we even have the capacity to care any longer is indicative of our will to stay alive. It doesn’t make much sense when you think about it, but when you are so sad, so grief-stricken by the news, by the world’s turn of events, by the mere thought of witnessing more tragedy that you cannot bear to be alive any longer, it means that you are deeply invested. Invested in the way things will turn out even if you do not personally believe you want to participate or even be privy to being complicit in a system that does nothing but churn out pain, anger, and hatred. When I was at the lowest point in my life and attempted to end my own life, I was overwhelmed by the goings-on of the world. As emotionally drained as Rue is, a part of her still cares. She wants her sister and mother to know that she really tried. Just as I wanted and still want my parents and friends to be okay without me when I do eventually leave this earth. Of course, I care about what happens to them. The idea that suicide or suicidal ideation is inherently selfish is so contradictory to the reality of how suicidal individuals genuinely feel. It is the opposite. We care more than most, and we care to the point that it hurts to extend another moment of kindness to ourselves amid all the chaos and madness of the world. But still, we try. We do our best. Ali believes in Rue. He has faith in her.

The entire episode ends on a melancholy note as Rue and Ali depart the diner with Rue wistfully staring out the window as he drives her home. Ali loves his conversations with Rue and vice-versa. The fact that two people can be sitting at a diner alone on Christmas Eve talking about the beauty and cruelty of the world and everything ranging from politics to addiction to suicide to love to family and anything in between goes to show us that humans will always find a way. The fact that two people struggling and suffering from addiction can find their own way about and amidst the chaos of the world and still have these meaningful conversations about life and existence tells us that ultimately, Trouble Don’t Last Always.

[giant-sketches]

Oh GOD!  I’ve been trying my best to get better at writing these pieces so you all can enjoy both the art and writing thoroughly, but I have to say this time it got a little corny. Which, I mean, it’s Roman so it makes since and I just hope it all makes you swoon more than cringe by the end of it. Please do enjoy though, I worked super hard on both parts!!!

- Night had set in as Roman and Virgil exited the fort to go off on their stroll. Virgil was excited to be spending some personal time with Roman and at the same time nervous. Since their bonding exercise last week he had noticed a tremendous change in Roman’s demeanor when present. Roman’s eyes would sparkle at the sight of him and his voice would become boisterous. Virgil could tell Roman was always looking forward to seeing him and enjoyed his company. So many things had changed for the better, if not suddenly. At times it was difficult to process it all, but nonetheless he was happy.

Virgil: “I’m glad you invited me out for a walk Roman.” Roman: “Of course! Tonight is your night and I intend to make it one for the history books!”

- Virgil smiled sheepishly as he slumped his blushing face away from Roman’s gaze. Noticeably that they had been walking for quite some time now and grew Virgil curious about where they were headed.

Virgil: “Where are we going Roman that’s so far out?” Roman: “We’re headed to a secret spot of mine. You’re going to love it!”

- A big smile formed on Roman’s face as he led Virgil by the hand to a special spot where he loved to stargaze. As they pushed past the foliage, Virgil’s view opened up to reveal a wide open valley covered in moonlight. Virgil was in awe at the stunning view of the star filled sky above him. Roman had gone ahead until he reached the center of the field; there he motioned for Virgil to come join him. The cool night air brushing past Virgil’s face was refreshing as he walked up towards Roman.

Virgil: “This place is beautiful Roman.” his eyes were still transfixed on the sky in wonder. Roman: “Beautiful indeed.”

- Roman wasn’t looking up at the sky as he spoke, but instead at Virgil. Slowly he slid his hand over and interlocked his fingers now between Virgil’s. Surprised, Virgil immediately turned his attention towards Roman as his face glowed bright red.

Roman: “You don’t like it?” Virgil: “No, I-I…it was unexpected is all.” he shook his head violently.

- Virgil felt silly for overacting about holding hands and tightened his grip. Roman smiled and brushed his shoulder up again Virgil’s arm. The two inched closer to one another as they stood silently gazing up at the stars. It felt as if time had stopped as both of them found themselves lost in thought about the other.

Roman: “Virgil, would it be alright for you to hold me?” Virgil: “Do you mean like a hug?”

- Unsure of what Roman meant Virgil shot him a confused look. Roman giggled and lifted up his hand while still attached to Virgil’s. Carefully he uncurled his fingers to expose his palm and used one of Virgil’s fingers as a pointer.

Roman: “Here, I want you to hold me here in your hand.” Roman pointed to the center of his palm. Virgil instantly knew what he was referring to now, but was understandably concerned.

Virgil: “Oh…are you sure? I know we’ve been having fun with my smaller growth spurts, but this-this is a big leap in size. Are you going to be o-” Roman: “I’ll be alright. I trust you completely, also I’ve even started dreaming about this moment.” Did Virgil hear that right? Virgil: “Yo-you’ve been dreaming about me?!” Roman: “You don’t need to be so surprised about it! I-It’s embarrassing enough to say out loud.”

- Roman retracted his hands and cupped them together against his chest. He was trying desperately to quiet his heartbeat. Honestly, it was never his plan to reveal such a fact to anyone, more so the person in question. All Roman could do was hope Virgil would make his dream come true.

Roman: “So what do you say?” His eyes twinkled in anticipation for a favorable answer. Virgil: “Sure.” he responded softly.

- Roman was elated with Virgil’s response as he began bouncing up and down with joy. Then, without warning, Virgil touched his right hand gently to Roman’s face and stroked it. His hand was cold from the brisk night air and the sudden touch caused Roman’s face to redden. As Roman lifted his hands up to caress Virgil back he failed to notice that the hand had already outgrown his entire head and was continuing to expand. Virgil grew taller at a casual pace and as he began towering over Roman, he kept smiling towards him as reassurance. Once he reached a certain point, Virgil bent down to his knees and stretched out his hand towards Roman.

Virgil: “Only a little more to go. Once I get big enough you can climb right on.”

- In front of Roman now was a giant hand that was big enough to hold him like a doll. Still, he wanted it to be bigger, he wanted to be completely encompassed by that hand. It appeared that Virgil also wanted this as he continued to grow. His form was now covering up Roman’s view of the Moon. Roman chuckled at the thought of Virgil being the Moon and himself the North Star.

Virgil: “I think this height will do. By the way, what were you laughing about earlier?”

- Virgil had stopped growing as Roman quickly climbed aboard. The hand was now the perfect size for Roman to sit upon and still have space to roam about. Gingerly, Virgil shifted his position upwards and started to rise onto his feet. He now stood at a staggering 130 feet tall with a tiny Roman resting in his palm.

Roman: “I thought you resembled the moon.” he whispered. Virgil: “The moon? Is it because of my size?” Roman: “There’s that, but you’ve always had an air of mystery about you. You’re also not half bad looking.” Virgil: “Roman, we have the same face…” Roman: “See! Then if I’m handsome you must be as well.” Virgil: “You really are a character sometimes, you know that?” Roman: “Of course! I am a man of the theater after all!”

- Virgil couldn’t stop himself from laughing and Roman did the same. Both found themselves completely amused by the other as the night went on. Virgil carefully moved Roman to his shoulder and the two continued to gaze up at the starry sky. As Roman snuggled up against Virgil’s neck he pointed out the constellations. Virgil would in turn playfully draw his own constellations with his arm outstretched. Roman loved Virgil’s creativity and began pointing out his own constellations and formed stories about them. Their exchange of laughter and smiles between each other could only be described as magical.

Roman: “Hey Virgil, I know this will sound crazy but I want you to hear me out first.” Virgil: “What is it?” Roman: “I want you to grow even bigger.” Roman pressed his head up against Virgil’s neck affectionately. Virgil: “Bigger?! You want me to grow even taller than this? You’re right, that does sound crazy.” he was bewildered by Roman’s request. Roman: “You don’t want to?” Virgil: “No, it’s not that I don’t want to…why do you want me to grow more anyway?” Roman: “I want to be your North Star.” Virgil: “My North Star? What does that even mean?” his voice cracked. Roman: “You see that star up there near the Moon? The one that’s shining the brightest is called the North Star. I want to feel like that tiny star next to the giant Moon is all.” Virgil: “You don’t feel like that right now?” Roman: “No, it’s not about how I feel right now. Sometimes, despite how I act, even I have my insecurities. Once in a while I feel like one of those regular stars, one out of many. That no matter how hard I try to stand out I’ll always be lost in someone else’s glow.”

- Virgil had gone silent. He never imagined Roman of all people could feel anxious about such things; he pretty much exuded confidence. Virgil could relate heavily to those kinds of feelings and wanted Roman to feel like the bright, beaming star he truly was.

Virgil: “Then let’s do it. Let’s make you a star!” Roman: “You mean it?” Virgil: “As long as you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.”

- Virgil lifted up his hand to his shoulder and placed it horizontally against his collarbone in order to keep his palm flat. Roman was overcome with excitement as he climbed back onto Virgil’s hand once again.

Virgil: “I’m going to start growing again and this time I’m going to get really big, are you ready?” Roman: “Ready!”

- Right after Roman responded enthusiastically Virgil began to stretch upwards rapidly. Standing tall, Virgil grew almost exponentially as he whizzed by 200, 300, 400 feet and onward. Roman was so small that Virgil’s fingers that once matched the height of a person, now resembled towers. Last time Virgil had grown to this height was back in the facility when he lost control, but this time was different. He had been practicing constantly in order to never again put his friends in danger. There was no pain, dizziness, or sudden pulses; he was in complete control. All Roman could do was look on in astonishment as Virgil finally rested at an enormous height of 700 feet tall. Unsure about talking, Virgil meekly smiled at an almost microscopically small Roman staring up at him with wide eyes. Cautiously, Virgil began moving his arm upwards towards the night sky. The sudden movement caused Roman to lose his footing a bit as he fell to his knees. Virgil noticed this, but believed that stopping his current movement abruptly wouldn’t be a wise idea and carried on until his arm was fully straightened. Roman was lost as to what Virgil was trying to do until he saw how close he was to the night sky. He gasped in surprise and turned back to look at Virgil. Virgil smiled gently, squinting his eyes, and gave a nod. With that Roman sprung to his feet and started racing up Virgil’s pointer finger. Now at the tip-top Roman energetically shouted,

Roman: “How do I look? Am I the North Star now?” Virgil: “You look even brighter.” he answered quietly.

- Roman blushed deeply and a huge smile covered his face. He truly was bright as the moonlight washed over him, highlighting his outline sharply. Roman couldn’t help thinking that this was the best moment in his entire life and it was all thanks to Virgil. He bowed gracefully towards the now massive giant he stood upon.

Roman: “Thank you Virgil.”

- No one could imagine how much those words meant to Virgil. He had been thanked for being the way he is. After all those moments of being belittled, viciously insulted, and treated less than human, someone finally loved the way he was. He had to hold back his tears in order not to flood the valley down below, but his heart was pounding loudly. Roman could feel each beat underneath his feet as he straightened up. The cool night air was getting to him, especially at that height.

Roman: “It’s pretty chilly up here, huh?”

- Virgil couldn’t relate as at his current size he couldn’t even feel the wind, let alone get cold. He was also enjoying his new size and wasn’t ready to shrink back down. Still, he couldn’t let Roman freeze so he instead offered an alternative.

Virgil: “I’ll warm you up then.” Roman: “What do you mean?” Virgil: “First walk down back to my palm.”

- Roman did as he was told and hastily walked back down Virgil’s finger to his palm. Once back down Virgil slowly lowered his arm and raised his hand close to his face. Following that motion he made a fist with the thumb sticking out with his free hand and moved it over to the hand Roman was on.

Virgil: “Here, I want you to climb up on my thumb.” Roman: “Okay, but what are you going to do?”

- After a bit of trouble Roman had successfully climbed up onto Virgil’s thumb and kept himself steady by grabbing on to the nail.

Virgil: “Alright, up we go!” Roman: “Wha-”

- Suddenly, the thumb turned upwards and began moving towards Virgil’s mouth. Roman froze, was this what he thought it was? Next thing Roman knew he was being softly pushed into Virgil’s upper lip as his frame was pinched between Virgil’s thumb and pointer finger. Roman’s mind went blank as he let himself completely melt into the world’s biggest kiss. He had never experienced anything like it as the sensation of Virgil’s warm lip spread throughout his being. Although, it was a bit too warm. 

Quickly, Roman’s breathing became shallow as he huffed deeply. Even though it felt like he might suffocate, he didn’t hate it as his entire body boiled. He began to sweat profusely and his face had turned a bright scarlet as he reached his hand out from underneath Virgil’s lip and began slapping it in urgency. He had reached his limit and was on the verge of passing out.

Roman: “Vir-gil. I-I can’t take i-it any mo-ore.” His voice was weak from overheating.

- Despite his size, Virgil felt Roman slapping his hand on his lip and could hear him mumbling something. As he jerked his head back Roman gave out a loud gasp and collapsed backwards onto Virgil’s thumb. Virgil titled his thumb slightly in order to get a better view of Roman who was panting aggressively. At a glance he could tell he may have gone too far with his kiss, but nonetheless Roman wasn’t cold anymore.

Virgil: “Sorry Roman, are you okay?” Roman: “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Ju-just a little out of breath.” His breathing had become extremely shallow. Virgil: “Hey, I’m going to start shrinking back down. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out of breath so high up.” Roman: “You ha-ve a-a point.” Virgil: “Can you climb back down to my palm on your own, or do you need some help?” Roman: “I-I can do it.”

- Roman then began sluggishly dragging his feet down Virgil’s thumb and onto his palm. There he went down on his knees and further laid on his stomach with his arms tucked underneath his head.

Roman: “I’m just going to lie down for a little bit.” he whispered as his eyes closed.

- The tiny frame lying still on his palm was beyond adorable. Virgil couldn’t help but ruffle Roman’s hair amusingly with his massive finger before he swiftly started shifting downwards. He stopped at 12 feet tall and gently carried Roman closer to the treeline. There he sat down criss-cross with Roman resting in his arms, sleeping soundly. It had gotten late and while he wanted to get back to the fort, Virgil also didn’t want to wake Roman. As he continued to figure out what to do next  he was startled by the sudden sound of trees toppling over and being crushed underneath an unknown pressure. Out of the darkness came a terrifyingly familiar voice.

Remus: “Found you!~”

To be continued.

@gentlegiantdreamer​ @paranoidgurl​ @suckedinfandoms​ @pattonvirglsanders​ @crystalk17​ @sanders-sides-virgil​ @just-some-gt-trash​ @notkolaidoscop​ @bluegreeninbtwn​ @lgbtqiaemo​ @enby-phoenix​ @avenirunknown​ @rainbowbowtie​ @ncanspeak​