#dark garden palette

[claitea]

OH ARTFIGHT TEAM THEMES GOT REVEALED

i'm TheSoapyDolphin over there, i'm picking team wither!

#clai speaks #was so torn between teams but unfortunately....... dark color palette won me over orz #sitting here with two Extremely nature-themed gardener ocs. in the Not Bloom team #i actually wanted to add more refs and overhaul one oc completely but i didnt have the timeee weeueghhqueg nooooo #but anyway i'll deal with that during the fight hopefully #and i didnt do Much in previous fights i HOPE i can do more this year #yall hand over your art fight usernames i need to start planning who to attack 🔫

[posebean]

fantasys your alkaloid‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️  ref sheet of alkaloid for my alkakurei fantasy au that i totally didnt abandon crazy:B here (notes abt world+magic system and other stuff on that post)

stuff abt their outfits and etc under read more

hiiro is fresh from his village baby boy left to go find his nii-san with only his clothes and a trusty satchel at his side- he just goes around looking for his nii-san and etcetc idk how long the gap is but he finds tatsumi and mayo and stays with them for some time and during that time tatsun gets him a coat because baby boy literally only has those and hes just been doing work for some guild (idk how to explain bc guilds require education but i guess tatsun pulled strings for him) so he has money to live while also looking for his nii-san and sometimes he has to go to cold places and one time he comes home after a job in a cold place and hes sick and tatsun is like hiiro-san please take this jacket with you :..) so now hiiro has a coat custom-made for him :3! he's good with elemental magic (the 5 core elements water wind fire earth plant) very versatile and a skilled little guy (not as talented as his nii-san but no one is as talented as nii-san!) anyways yadda yadda he gets a message or smth and is preparing to leave tatsun and mayo but (spoilers for meru fic) meru points him towards the town where everyone else is and yea he goes and finds his nii-san and now his goal has changed from find nii-san to convince nii-san to go back home but he befriends everyone else too and i think they do eventually go on some kind of adventure together maybe more the three younger ppl aira hiiro and kohaku

aira is a little silly fellow he dresses nicely (very inspired by fs2 but i cant stop looking at it and thinking damn he french colored......) and loves magic so much he admires all the grand mages and everyone in the upper echelons and loves watching other people cast spells and such unfortunately for him while he has a decently high innate talent, his control is God Awful which results in magic never going well for him- with no control at all, literally negative control, he can try to cast one spell and something completely different will be cast instead- and the skill level varies too it's literally just a roll of a dice for him if he tries to cast a simple flame spell he might end up flooding the room with a wall of water, it's that bad kkshfkj also he acts like he doesn't like it but he actually loves rabuhan-junior so much he secretly spoils the hamster named after him and rabuhan junior loves him back rabuhan-junior likes to sleep in his hat or on aira's head whenever kohaku goes out and leaves rabu-han junior with aira tatsun has very normal clothes bro dresses like a dad (did you know both of his fs have the same color palettes i didnt but using them as reference made me realize, anyways-) his clothes are very comfortable and easy to move around in, especially given his injury from [spoiler event here ]. he also has a cane and his injured leg has pain suppressor sigils and bandages wrapped all over it his leg isn't completely unusable like its not broken or anything its more like. a kind of necrosis like if you unwrapped it there would be a dark mark thats like icky and sometimes it flares up and hurts tatsun so much that he falls over and :( he found the cane one day in the catacomb (wonder who put it there) he added the begonia himself as a reminder of his sin... shiro is his little mouse familiar that he conjured with the help of kaname! she's a sweet little thing, often found sleeping on an open book on tatsumi's desk. she has the tatsumi-colored ears and legs because she was conjured up rather than a pact familiar. regarding magic tatsun is pretty average on both control and power, but that doesnt really matter because most of the spells he uses are passive spells more used for healing/doing work. he likes to garden and has a beautiful garden of all kinds of flowers at the chapel :) he just doesn't dare touch the flowers in the catacomb, because he knows someone else already takes care of those also that purple gem hanging around his neck is a gift from mayomayo it doesn't do anything and has no magic but tatsun still likes it :) mayomayo dresses in all dark colors because he believes that if he always dresses in dark colors no one will ever have to be bothered by seeing his existence he comes from a lineage that practices forbidden magic, not necessarily all dark but some of the more ... interesting spells . something happens in his past and he ends up leaving, taking with him his tome and well. proceeding to get chased by all kinds of monsters out in the wild because for some reason he just attracts all kinds of beasts poor guy magic-wise he does have the forbidden magic from his family but he more specializes in healing and curse removal- he doesn't dare do anything else for fear of (redacted). besides, maybe he'll one day be able to actually save somebody instead of hurting them, maybe his existence would be worth it some day. the ribbon in his hair (the green/teal one) is from tatsun :) he said mayo would look good in brighter colors and mayo disagreed so tatsun gave it to him and now its become part of his outfit and (i combust into a thousand bits ) also because of that mayo feels like he has to give tatsun something back so thats why he gives tatsumi a purple gem he had that used to hang from his spell tome anyways i still love this au very much and i hope you enjoyed now i will proceed to forget about it again /j i still really wanna write kohaku's fic and then maybe one last one for rinne-kun or smth because aghghj there's still so much that's not developed yet but (explodes)

#enstars #alkaloid #hiiro amagi #aira shiratori #tatsumi kazehaya #mayoi ayase #fantasyau #bean art #look at rabuhan-junior he is so small please love him

[mlarayoukai]

One thing I want to talk about with pmd (at least the ds games, haven't played much of the 3d ones) is how diverse the environments are. You get generic water and lava filled caves, to gardens with stone walls and flooring and towers in the sky with holes on the floors so you can see clouds below you. One dungeon, "the nightmare" has dark purple walls and floors with holes on the ground that show pitch blackness. Some dungeons are just Forests or sea flooring, but nearly every dungeon has a unique tile and color palettes

#rob.txt

[ihrtsevyn]

HOW TO GET THE GIRL: A LOVERS GUIDE

CHAPTER ONE: tutoring who? (1k)

WARNINGS: none :)

masterlist ⊹ next »

TAGLIST: @sakiimeo @sakuxxi @ilyjxdz @artstaeh @rosas-in-the-garden @k1ttylvr @stilesks @enhagvrl @yourssincerely-mimi @rizzanna-soda @saursoob @haechansbbg @nishislcve @winuvs

You couldn't help but sigh in relief as the end of the school day approached. A lack of sleep and the constant build up of assignments further dug you into a tiresome zombie-like state.

You repeatedly tapped your pencil against your opened notebook with pages that remained blank. Your unwavering blank gaze watched as the once vibrant green leaves turned into a warmer palette indicating the approach of your favorite season. Nothing felt more serene in that moment as you watched the pretty mix of oranges, and yellows carelessly flow through the air and land to create an intricate pattern.

The peaceful motion of the leaves lulled you into a peaceful state, your eyes and head getting heavier by the second. You fought the flutter of your eyelids as long as you could before finally deciding to succumb to sleep, but before the darkness could fully take over the final bell had rung, signaling to your relief that it was finally time to pack up and head home.

Your once wearied body made quick work of packing all of your belongings, tuning out whatever your teacher had continued to ramble on in a haste. The only thing that seemed to pull you out of your autopilot-like state as you were preparing to leave the class was your deskmate, Yoon, who linked her arms with yours after slinging her backpack across her unoccupied shoulder.

"I'm so ready to go home." she whined with a forced pout. Yoon had complained to the group earlier about her lack of sleep as well, which after some bribing and forced puppy dog eyes to lily, she was able to get the meeting moved back to tomorrow. "You and me both." you sighed out before slinging your own backpack across your shoulder.

"Feels like i've been here forever." you added on as the both of you slowly trailed behind the other bustling students. "We're gonna grow old and die in this place." Yoon murmured with a tired smile, making you quietly laugh beside her. "God, I hope n-"

Before you could finish your sentence, your teacher, Ms. Park had called your name. Her tone laced with an uneased urgency making both you and Yoon snap your heads towards her desk.

She beckoned you over with a gentle smile. Slowly you untangled your arm from Yoon and headed towards her desk. "I'll wait for you outside." she reassured you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. You nodded back before slowly making your way to sit in front of the now open chair placed beside Ms. Parks desk.

She gave you a reassuring smile despite her patent anxious demeanor.

As all of the students cleared out of the room and the hallways started to get quieter and quieter she finally spoke.

"Well, first I want to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. You're excelling in my class with the highest grade and you turn all of your work in on time." she quietly consoled while fixing her glasses.

Her efforts to comfort you were futile as you knew you did well in her class, the only thing you were anxious about was the sudden disruption of your exit, and why.

"Do you know the basketball team's star player?" she suddenly asked, her once busy and frantic hands now stilled as she brought a packet up to her face.

"Nishimura Riki?" you questioned with a slight tilt to your head. Of course you knew him, you had been making fake scenarios of the two of you so you were able to sleep at night since you were 13.

She hummed in response before pushing the stack of papers over to you. "These are your current grades." she informed before clasping her hands together.

You slightly hunched over her desk to view the papers. Both of your names were highlighted, yours sitting at the top with a grade average of 99.7, while his remained at the bottom with a grade average of 28.6.

Your eyes widened at the gap but in the end you weren't that surprised. He had been absent for most lessons and if he did end up attending once every blue moon, he'd have to leave in the middle of it because of practice.

"Well, as you see his grades aren't the best, and now that the basketball team is training for their upcoming winter game, he's become more occupied than before."

You nodded along quietly as you fidgeted with your fingers, you had a burning feeling in your gut that you knew where this conversation was headed and you couldn't tell if it excited you or made you want to throw up.

"And since you're my top student in class and have tutored other students before who have come out with great results— I was hoping that you'd be able to take some time throughout the week to tutor him?"

She continued to drawl on and on about why she picked you but it landed on deaf ears as you drowned out her rambles. Tutor, Nishimura?

The kid you had a crush on since you were 11 because he sat and ate lunch with you when nobody else did? The boy who would give you his umbrella if you forgot yours because he knew you had a longer walk home than him? The Nishimura that hadn't spared you a glance now that you were in highschool and he was popular, while you were stuck reporting about his achievements?

The both of you were mere acquaintances back then but it still stung when you two stopped interacting altogether. Even when your interactions dispersed into nothing, your feelings still lingered and possibly even grew stronger.

"Are you up for it?" she suddenly asked, her hopeful and soft tone drawing your once occupied gaze away from the paper in front of you and back onto her.

Your mouth sat agape for a moment as you went over the information in your head again and again. Ms. Park seemed to sense your hesitancy in accepting her offer which made her add on to her proposal.

"If you're willing to do this i'd really appreciate it. You're the only student I fully trust to take on this task considering many of the other self-proclaimed tutors don't take it as seriously."

Another lengthy moment of silence passed through before you released an exhale you didn't even realize you were holding.

"Okay, I'll do it."

𓂃 . ࣪ ˖ ∿

"YOU'RE TUTORING WHO?!"

#ihrtsevyn #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen headcanons #riki nishimura x reader #nishimura riki scenarios #enhypen niki x reader #niki x reader #ni ki x reader #enhypen niki #niki imagines

[non-plutonian-druid]

wow i wonder who that guy is!

[ID: Ben, Diego, Mr. Pennycrumb, and old Five drawn in a style resembling Over the Garden Wall's art style. The color palette is very orange. Ben and Diego are crouching in a dark room behind a barrel and a trunk, while Five looms over them, holding an axe. Five is heavily backlit, and the area surrounding Ben and Diego is shrouded in darkness. Mr Pennycrumb is trying to climb over the trunk to reach Five, but Ben is holding him back. Five is not behaving threateningly- he is holding the axe neutrally and is just standing- but the lighting, the angle, and the boys' fear makes him seem more imposing than he actually is. End ID.]

#tua #the umbrella academy #ben hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #mr pennycrumb #that might be the exact same caption as i put on the preview but im too lazy to check #sorry guys! im super late to otgw season but here it is anyway! #my art #once again i go 'i think im gonna draw a guy in three point perspective' and then wonder why i have done that to myself yet again #never tagged this with the au tag lmao #its been like five months #ben and diego get stuck in the woods

[dried-mushroom]

Do you believe in magic, Doll?

The Grabber x reader (explicit)

TW-Kidnapping, sex, lowkey Stockholm syndrome

word count- 2.6k

A/N- I find myself writing this unironically funny bc I have only watched the trailer :) I feel like this isn't amazing but oh well 🤷‍♀️

You really shouldn't be doing this. You should have gotten a taxi back home, But no, you had to get your car serviced and now you have no car. You're now stuck briskly walking through some oddly familiar neighbourhood at the peak of dusk when the sky is dusted a beautiful pink, it was a true contrast to the boring palette choices of house paint. The real reason you didn't wish to be in this seemingly neverending street was something that sent a cold shiver up your spine whenever you spared it a thought.

For weeks now, children had been plucked from the very neighbourhood you currently were walking through. Usually, around the kidnappings, people said they saw a mysterious black van, with black tinted windows, and no sight of the driver. You felt bad for those poor parents, without their loved ones, but you honestly were thankful that it had only been children so far. You kept walking along the cracked sidewalk, the eerie lack of noise made you feel sick to your stomach, no loud cars drove past, no children out playing in their yards, and no adult doing a scrap of garden work, it was rather odd indeed.

As you kept walking, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye, which made your heart jump to your throat immediately, It could be a strange coincidence you kept telling yourself, but you could see a dark van slowly toggling behind you. You had the sudden urge to puke as the realisation hit you, the van wasn't moving past you, just lingering behind, following you. There was nothing you possibly do to defend yourself at the moment, you had nothing that resembled a weapon on you, and you know what happens in all those gory horror movies when you try to run (You die. Painfully). You just sucked in a deep breath and just pretended to not take any notice of the vehicle slowly crawling further and further towards you.

You knew your fate was sealed when the van caught up, right next to you and abruptly stopped, this made you leap right back to the tall metal fence situated behind you, the wire poking uncomfortably hard through the shirt you were wearing. The lack of noise and movement made you want to crawl in a ball, you prayed that this was just a dream. Just a scary dream, but as the tinted window rolled down, revealing an older, even handsome man, wearing a black hat and a pair of glasses, your feeling of dread suddenly washed away. His coarse, yet smooth voice broke the chill air between the both of you,

"Hello there sweetheart, I've only just moved here, and I've kinda gotten myself in a dilemma, I need some help finding um the town's dump, I have some old things I need to rid of but silly me didn't remember the address, is there any way you could give me directions?"

The man sounded sweet and naive and made you blush with the cute nickname but you couldn't help but have a shred of doubt resurface as this was quite an odd request and could be a trap for you but alas, you didn't wish to anger the man.

"Umm, if I am correct, it would be on the outskirts of town, probably near Dennison Street."

The man smiled at you, a sweet smile, with no obvious evil lurking within it. You were still a far way from the van, purely for your own safety. The man suddenly opened the car door, automatically sending you further onto the hard fence. You took notice of the clothes he was wearing, a tight black shirt, which comfortably sat around his biceps, and a pair of black jeans. He outstretched a rather large palm out and spoke,

"Well, darling, let me look at the girl that has saved me plenty of wasted time and helped someone in need."

You approached the nameless man slowly, cautiously. He had an almost playful aura to him, and the closer you got, the more attractive the naive man was, with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and veins webbing across his hands and up to his arms, he also was extremely tall, compared to you anyhow. When you got close enough to the man, you placed your hand into his, and let out a breath you had zero idea how long you had been holding it for, as he encased it and leant down to press a soft kiss onto one of your knuckles, sending an odd warmth through your body. As he let your hand go, the man's eyes lit up, as if having a "lightbulb moment".

"Tell me. Do you believe in magic, Doll?"

The nickname rolled off his tongue smoothly, just like honey. You nodded your head, not too eagerly, just as you had the "Don't tall to strangers" motto run through the back of your brain. The man grinned as he watched your reaction.

"Well then, follow me."

He strode towards the back of the black van, which now you noticed had the words of Abracadabra. Entertainment supplies 'hmm a magician, not a terrible profession' you thought to yourself. While he walked he let a hand gracefully glide over the van's metal almost gingerly. You slowly followed him, just keeping a distance, again just for safety.

When you got around to the back of the van, you didn't stand so close to the van, or the magician himself. The man spoke up once again,

"Okay Doll, can you just face me? mmm that's good, now just stay still for me hmm."

You obeyed the man, standing in front of him facing him, looking up into his ocean blue eyes, as he bit into a devious smile, looking back down into your eyes. Then he drew an arm up and seemingly pulled something out from behind your ear. A Hershey Kiss, 'how sweet' you thought. He dropped the small chocolate into your hand,

"My treat, for being so kind." "Aw thank you, sir, you didn't need to."

You unwrapped the small treat and quickly finished it. It suddenly hit you that you had been out here for probably way too long and should probably head home. You bid the weird but sweet man a good evening before going back to your original path. After a few steps, you started to feel light-headed, yet you didn't pay any mind to it, thinking that you were probably dehydrated. After some more, your legs began to feel like jelly and then suddenly everything faded to darkness.

TIME SKIP lmao

As you slowly woke, the throbbing of your skull became apparent, to ease some slight pain, you put the palm of your hand up to the wound, lightly soothing it. As you opened your eyes, your throat went dry. It hadn't been a bad dream, you weren't in your nice, comfy bed, only a few meters away from your dear coffee machine. Instead, you were sitting on an old stained (with who knows what) spring mattress, and in a barren, what resembled concrete room, perhaps a basement of some sort. You were too scared to move, even a smidge, just out of fear. You did notice that near the top of the wall, there was a small vent letting in the colours of sunrise through and a black phone hanging on the wall next to you, you didn't dare to touch it, not wanting to hear the horrors on the other end. You could see the door shut and knew that it was most likely dead-bolted shut, to stop you from even contemplating an escape. You didn't know how long you had been sitting in the musty room, it honestly felt like an eternity, the silence almost too much to bear. Suddenly the sound of the door being shoved open made you leap to the far side of the mattress, trying to get further away from the man, who now adorned a sadistic-looking mask with a sickly smile and horns. You didn't know whether to cry, laugh or just stare. He was holding a bottle of water and a bowl of something, presumably food, he suddenly spoke;

"What's your name, Doll?"

You knew that lying to the kidnapper was probably not the smartest decision, so to please the deranged man, you quietly spoke up;

"Y/N..."

The man seemed to like the response you gave as he gave an approving nod before saying one last thing.

"Hmm, I think I'm starting to like you."

TIME SKIP again lmao

You have been stuck in this room for (by your calculation) around a month. Your emotions ran rampant throughout your brain. At first, you had been sad, sobbing constantly, with the lack of human interaction and not having seen an inch of daylight in the days you had been trapped here. Then the anger took over you, the fact no one had come looking for you, no one found you.did no one care about you?. This singular thought ran freely through your brain almost 24/7, usually bringing you to punch the concrete walls bloody. Then the contentedness washed over you, you slowly had taken to your odd kidnapper. You had come to almost crave the visits he played you, either to give you food/drink or to engage in basic conversation. Usually, it was just questions about your previous life, nothing too absurd, it annoyed you slightly that he'd never share anything about himself, absolutely nothing. He sometimes would let you out of the room, to bathe and eat a decent meal, with him. Most of the time now, instead of wearing his usual odd sweater, he would wear an unbuttoned shirt, revealing a muscular torso, it took you the utmost strength not to fuck the man right at the dinner table. You really didn't have an outlet for your sexual frustration, you slowly got sick of using your hand and the man you're seemingly trapped with is really really fuckable at this moment.

You were laying on the old mattress, too hot and bothered to sleep. You knew you had to satisfy the insatiable need deep within your core. You ran a single hand down your neck, to your breasts, letting a fragile finger run over a hardened nipple, down your naval, and finally where you needed it most. You let your hand slide under the thin elastic of your panties, to come rest on your clit, slowly rubbing small circles. As you started letting breathy moans out, images of the older man flashed throughout your mind, such images were of the man pleasing himself, stroking his hard, leaking cock, or him below you, eating you out like a starving man, whilst keeping a strong grip on your hips, making you unable to buck against his eager tongue. These thoughts paired with your fingers rubbing on the little nub of nerves increased the volume of your moans and heavy breaths. Even so much, you didn't take notice of the door being opened.

"Oh well well well, what do we have here?"

The rough voice made you lift your head up, locking eyes with the man, this time with no mask. You slowly removed the hand out of your underwear, and stood up, slowly walking towards the deranged killer. You bit your lip as you looked up at him, you noticed a bulge in the trousers he was wearing and his irises were blown wide, presumably with lust. It took him a moment of blissful silence before he crashed his lips into yours, in a powerful and rough kiss. He pushed you up against the concrete wall; as you broke the kiss to start peppering kisses on his stubbled jaw, sending a shockwave through him. He was honestly stunned, as a girl had never done this to him before. You let your hand glide down to the bulge, stroking it gingerly through his pants, making him grip the wall. You slowly sunk to your knees, hard concrete bruising them. You unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock, it was half-hard and already glistening with precum, even before you actually touched him, how cute? you thought to yourself. You gave his tip a kitten lick as if testing the waters, making him groan heavily. He fisted a hand into your hair, making you bob further onto his erection. You gagged when the tip hit the back of your throat, your nose was pressed against his pubic bone, and you looked up to his un-masked face, making doe eyes up at the killer. He was trying to muffle his moans, biting his lip, breaking the chapped skin. It didn't take your administrations very long to make him spill down your throat, he pulled out of your throat and had you stick out your tongue to check if you had swallowed all of his cum.

"My good girl, aren't you?"

He rubbed your cheek affectionately when he saw you nod your head, too mesmerized to even make a coherent sentence. He uttered one sentence with made you lose all your control,

"I want to fuck you, here on that mattress, now."

Hearing the desperation roll off his tongue made you instantly wet, and without a thought, he yanked you upwards and tossed you onto the mattress. He straddled your hips and started to nip along your neck, leaving purple-ish lovebites in trail. You pulled softly onto the man's long hair, eliciting a borderline pornographic groan from him, I would have never taken him to be into hair pulling you snickered to yourself. He pulled away from you, to quickly unbutton his shirt, showing off his toned chest, before yanking your thin shirt off, leaving you only in a bra and panties. You undid your bra, discarding the dirty fabric wherever. He tore your panties off, in one clean motion, leaving you exposed to the chilling air of the room and to the stranger's eyes. He sat against the cold wall before, unbuckling his belt and tossing it aimlessly to the side, pulling his khakis down to his mid-thigh, before beckoning you to his lap. He stroked himself gingerly while watching you come closer to him, you straddled him this time before he positioned his cock to your entrance. You let out a gasp as he slowly thrust into you, he let you have a few seconds to adjust to his size before he started thrusting roughly into you. As the man kept thrusting up into you, you started to bounce on his cock, meeting his administrations every time. Resting both arms onto the man's shoulders, nails digging into his back, he took this as a chance to repay you for your earlier 'welcome', and he moved one of the hands resting on your hips, which were guiding you up and down his cock at his whim, to rub at your clit. This motion made you lurch forward, all the stimulation at once was too much for you, and you came to rest your forehead on his. It almost resembled a romantic gesture, how close the both of you were right now, body's entangled with one another, this mixture of pleasure was too much to bear and before you could stop it, you came, on his cock, hard. The feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock, sent him over the edge and with one final thrust, he spilled into you. The warmth made a shiver run down your spine, and as he pulled out of you, you could feel some of his cum start to spill down your thighs.

You looked around and it oddly felt "homey" here now, you thought to yourself. He softly guided you off his cock, pulled up his khakis and had you lay in between his legs, your back against his chest. You slowly drifted off to sleep, as the man, who now you no longer feared, slowly played with your hair.

#the black phone #the grabber #ethan hawke #the grabber x reader #i am down bad #im hard #please comment ur thoughts

[shroudkeeper]

The warmth of her breath brushed my lips; a quiet prayer escaped mine to greet it. I worried, as her fingertips touched the blindfold, that the world greeting me would be one plunged into darkness, but as long as she was here, I would accept the ill fate. I held my breath and thought of the many things I could say..

“—softly, with hands as gentle as rain.”

..the words parted from me as I exhaled and felt the fabric lift away, I saw light beyond my closed eyelid. My pulse sped and I blinked at the light of dawn that pierced through the canopies of her garden. Everything was a splash of watercolors spreading before my vision. Before me bloomed the fresh palette of an early spring morning, the golds of the rising sun, the hues of bellflowers, and the white of melting snow.

She languidly filled my vision, taking shape as my focus steadily returned. Her garden dissolved into an ethereal landscape, the dwelling of the Twelve, where only she existed among the flowers that were the color of her worried gaze. She trembled, and so did I, her beauty, even in her state of concern, left me speechless.

My silence stretched into long seconds as I traced over the delicate curvature of her parted lips, the lifted brows that knitted together, the gorgeous veil and beautiful flowers adorning her violet crown. Then her hands, small and shaking, cupped my face, searching for an answer. This entire time all I desired was to drown in the scent of flowers, to be enveloped in her embrace, to finally breathe the words of my love upon her lips.

“..There you are, my lady Takahashi, I did not mean to keep you waiting long,” Twelve, I expected a slap to sting my cheek for what I made her endure, for months without even a letter to offer her comfort or warmth during the season's change.

I couldn't help but smile when the corners of her lips twitched into one as well, broadening further as her eyes stared into mine. Her soft fingertips set me ablaze as they left a trail of heat against the cut of my jaw and chin; she radiated heat whilst leaning into me as the sun rose high above us, forming a halo around her golden, ornate accessories.

This was my heaven, here, in her private garden, sharing this moment not amongst the shadows, but under the light, no longer hiding under cover of the cool shadows.

The anxiety, which crippled my thoughts prior, evaporated around me, but I felt a pang of guilt as I watched her tears run rivulets across her ruddied cheeks.

Again, I made her cry.

..but this would be the last time, a promise I would make to her, and one I meant to keep.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshot #ff14 screenshot #ffxiv writing #hancock fitzgerald #kikyo takahashi #her dad is still there by the way but this is in his pov #where the world around them literally became an ethereal landscape #of just the two of them

[imaginatorcreates]

Commission for Toast aka @sketchy-tour!

Toast here asked me to make a tune for their Welcome Home OC, Dandy Leon, and the lovable Wally Darling. A sort of love song, if you will. Add on top of that an idea for a written scene between the two and you have this!

(Also I'm eating up your comments in Discord, please know that /pos)

This is my 29th creation. This is for Dandy Leon and Wally Darling. A song of spring, being in bloom, and many references to Dandy's Delights (for this is a tune with Dandy in it!). The goobers are waltzing in the garden and having fun little stumbles, but they're enjoying themselves because the world is in bloom.

Painted Flowers

25 March 2024 — 26 March 2024

Summary: Wally wants to paint someone to day. But who should he paint? Barnaby suggests to him, "Why not Dandy?"

Word Count: ~2.8k words

TW: None

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.

One day, Wally Darling woke up and decided that he was going to paint today.

If someone were to ask him why, like his best friend did when the large blue pooch stopped by the painter’s sentient house, he couldn’t explain it. “I just want to paint today, Barnaby,” Wally said in his signature monotonous voice. He pocketed some of his paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint in the pockets of his blue cardigan as he added, “I have a problem, though.”

“Eh? What’s botherin’ my lil’ apple today?” Barnaby B. Beagle asked as he leaned against Home’s outer walls. The dark blue ear closest to the front door perked up as he joked, “Ain’t it too early to feel gray? I thought that was Frank’s job!” The dog howled in laughter, then in mock pain as Home lightly smacked him with his door. “Alright, alright! I get it Home!”

Wally laughed a quiet little “Ha ha ha,” even though he didn’t quite get what was funny about the joke. The few times he had asked Barnaby to explain a joke to him, his best friend had groaned and placed a paw over his snout.

“A joke ain’t funny if I hafta explain it,” he had said, “but for you, lil’ buddy, fine. I will.” Barnaby had patted his shoulder to show that he meant no ill will with his tone, but that night and for the next few ones, Wally had tried and failed to squash the thought that he might’ve ruined his best friend’s jokes forever.

“Home, I get it. No makin’ fun of the sourpuss– Home!” Barnaby let out a few more laughs, then thumped at his chest twice as he cleared his throat. “Lil’ buddy, ya said ya had a problem?”

“Oh, yes. I have a problem.” Wally wordlessly gave Barnaby a blank canvas, then his folded wooden easel. The former was off white and lightly textured, while the latter was light brown with splatters of miscellaneous colors. The hinges were squeaky with use and no longer smelled of wood but instead, it smelled faintly of chemicals from the paints he used.

It was bad for him, according to Frank and Poppy, but he found it comforting. Could something that was bad also be comforting? He would have to ask someone about it.

But, that was for later. Another problem for later.

“I don’t know what to paint,” Wally said as he grabbed his palette, stepped outside, and closed the door. He craned his neck up, took a few steps away from his taller friend, then craned his neck a little less. “I don’t feel like painting red apples. But I like painting red apples. I don’t feel like painting you, but I like painting you too.” He fiddled with one of his paintbrushes, running the clean bristles over his fingers as he asked, “What should I do, Barnaby?”

“Well, gee Walls.” Barnaby furrowed his brow as he exhaled through his nose. “How’s about ya paint one of your neighbors?”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Wally paused stroking his fingertips with the paintbrush bristles, then resumed as another problem made itself apparent. “But who? Who should I paint today Barnaby?”

“Well, you can’t paint me! You said you didn’t wanna.”

“I still love you Barnaby.”

“Yeah, love ya too.” Barnaby started to thump his foot on the ground, quietly letting out a low growl as he thought. “Who have ya painted?”

“I’ve painted you, Barnaby. I’ve painted Julie, and I’ve painted Frank. I’ve painted Sally, and I’ve painted Poppy. I’ve painted Eddie, and I’ve painted Howdy.” Wally counted off each neighbor on each of his fingers, and he was left with one finger left standing. “I’ve tried to paint Home, but Home is very large and requires a lot of time. I will finish Home’s portrait soon.”

Home creaked an apology.

“It’s okay Home.”

“Huh. How about ya paint one of our other neighbors?” Barnaby asked. “How’s about that one with the sunflowers in their yard? Dandy?”

“Dandy?” Wally stopped brushing his fingertips as the name bounced around his head, trying to attach itself to a face. Sunflowers in their yard…green…brown hat…flowers. But not Julie’s type of flowers. Julie’s flowers were loud and vibrant, brave and running towards what she loved. Flowers attached to Dandy’s name were bright, yes, but they were gentle. They curled away from harsh words and they bloomed in the quiet moments.

The painter gasped. “Oh! Yes! I should paint Dandy!” Almost at once, the floodgates in his brain opened. Ideas flooded his mind, breaking through darkness with shades of green and yellow and red. He almost wished that he was as big as Barnaby so he could walk further with each step. His plans of painting couldn’t wait!

Barnaby let out a howl of laughter and gestured to the main road with a jerk of his head. “C’mon lil’ apple. Let go get your sunflower’s portrait painted.”

“My sunflower?” Wally asked as the pair started on the journey to the gardener’s house. “Barnaby, the sunflowers belong to Dandy. And I will be painting Dandy, not their sunflowers.”

The blue dog snickered. “Alright lil’ buddy.”

Wally didn’t understand that joke either.

The sun shone down on the pair of best friends as they approached the earthy-colored house. Even from a distance, the yellow flowers stood tall towards the sun, almost greeting them with how they were turned towards them. Some were lightly tied to wooden stakes, but they still looked healthy.

Standing next to the sunflowers was a puppet with green felt, short and fluffy brown hair, and squarish glasses on their face. The sleeves of their brown cardigan were partially rolled up as they inspected some of the leaves of the sunflowers, their face deep in concentration as their mouth moved slightly with words that were too quiet to hear.

“Heya Dandy!” Barnaby barked out as the distance between the puppets started to close.

Dandy jumped and looked up from their work. Their eyes widened and they scrambled to dust off their clothes, roll down their sleeves, and step out of the thick of their sunflowers. “Wally! Barnaby!” they called back. “What can I do for y’all?”

“Funny, they called your name first Walls,” Barnaby murmured.

“That was supposed to be funny?” Wally asked.

“Eh.” Barnaby shrugged and turned his attention back to Dandy. “Wally here wants to paint ya.”

Wally watched as Dandy’s gaze rapidly turned to him, hovered for a moment too long, then turned back to his best friend. “Me?” the gardener asked as they pointed to themself. Their gaze turned back to Wally as they repeated, “You want to paint me?”

“Yes,” Wally breathed. “I want to paint you, Dandy.”

“I — ” The gardener's hands started to wave dismissively as their eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t think I’m good enough to be painted! I’m a mess, and I have dirt on my hands. My hair is messy, and I have to send some flowers to Howdy’s — ”

With one swift motion, Barnaby unfolded Wally’s easel and placed it down nearby. He then patted Dandy’s head and chuckled at the yelp of surprise the gardener let out. “Re-lax Dandy. Walls here ain’t gonna eat cha alive!”

Wally’s fingers tightened around his cardigan for a brief moment. His eyes itched.

Not today. Not today.

Barnaby placed the blank canvas down on the empty easel and patted Wally on the shoulder before he bid the two shorter puppets farewell and walked away. “Peace out ‘n have fun! I’ll be at Howdy’s if ya need me!”

Wally waved goodbye to the blue dog, then turned his attention back to Dandy. “I will be painting you soon, neighbor.”

“Wally,” Dandy murmured. They kept looking at the ground, their voice even quieter than when Barnaby was there. Their brows were furrowed slightly and their mouth was pressed together in a thin line. “You don’t have to paint me. I think there are better neighbors to paint than lil’ ol’ me,” they chuckled. At the last half of their sentence, they sounded a bit like Eddie.

“I want to,” Wally countered. “I really do want to paint you.” He started to take out some of the acrylic tubes and laid them on the excess wood of the easel. He untwisted some of the caps to loosen them up, then carefully squeezed a bit of paint onto his palette one at a time. A bit of black and white in the corner for mixing, then green here and yellow there. Blue as well, and brown was very important.

“I woke up today and wanted to paint,” he confessed. “But I didn’t want to paint red apples or Barnaby, even though I love both red apples and Barnaby very much. Oh, thank you Dandy.”

The gardener blushed as they helped screw the caps of the paints back on. “I can getcha a cup of water for your paints. And a stool, if you want one.”

“A stool for the paint water would be nice, thank you.”

As Dandy hurriedly walked inside their house, Wally made it his mission to stare at the blank canvas with a paintbrush in one hand and his palette in the other. He had the subject, and he had the colors. He had the idea, no matter how faint it was. But now that he was here, with his subject nearby and with his colors laid out, the idea was rapidly vanishing.

His grip on the paintbrush tightened. The pose. How should Dandy pose? And any objects? Should they be holding anything in their hands? How much of Dandy should he paint?

He wanted to paint today, that he knew. But why was it so hard to paint?

“ —lly? Wally?”

The pompadoured puppet let in a sharp inhale of air and turned towards the voice.

Dandy gasped in return, backing away slightly. They bumped against the stool where an old cup filled with water sat, and they cried out to catch it as it wobbled precariously. “Golly! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Wally said. He found his voice again — again; he was losing it…what year was it? — and forced himself to take a slow, calm breath. “I still want to paint you, Dandy. But, I’m having trouble imagining how I want to paint you.”

“Paint me however you want Wally, and I’m sure it’ll look nice.” Dandy’s gaze alternated between him and the ground, and their felt still showed hints of a blush. Pinkish, maybe red.

Like apples.

Wally slowly raised his paintbrush and started to circle it in midair, pretending that the ends of the brush were covered in red paint. He brushed an imaginary stroke upwards to make a stem, then two smooth lines to make a leaf. He liked apples. Those were the first things he painted.

What did Dandy like?

“Oh!” he gasped. “Dandy, can I paint you with sunflowers?”

“Sunflowers?” Dandy repeated. “The tall ones or the ones I picked earlier for Howdy’s?”

Wally paused. He looked at the sunflowers that towered above their heads nearby. Instead of looking friendly, they now looked intimidating. “I want to paint you with the sunflowers closer to your face.”

“My face? Oh, you’re going to paint my face?” Dandy’s hands waved, though not as erratically as Julie. “Can’t I hide behind my sunflowers? I’m a mess like I said and the sunflowers are more beautiful than I am and — ”

“Dandy.”

Dandy stopped.

“I think my neighbors look beautiful on my canvas because I paint what I see.” Wally’s smile widened as he added, “And I think the painting I want to do with you and your sunflowers will be beautiful too.”

If Dandy’s face could turn into a pretty red apple, it would. The gardener sputtered something before they stumbled away and stumbled back with a large bouquet of sunflowers in their hands. Dozens of yellow petals shone outwards, almost giving Sally a challenger for the brightest one in the neighborhood. In their centers, hundreds of seeds created a dark contrast.

In the middle of it all, Dandy’s face was buried in it.

Wally didn’t mind so much. He needed to paint the sunflowers first.

So began the long and slow process of mixing colors to create the right shade, then applying them onto the canvas in gentle strokes. The petals were abstract shapes at first, radiating from a circle of darkness in the center. As Wally switched brushes and added details, the sunflowers gained personality. Individual petals started to differentiate, and someone could pluck out the seeds if they wished to.

He dipped the brush in the murky paint water and started on the puppet. He looked around the canvas and saw Dandy’s face still buried in the sunflowers.

That was no good.

He placed the paintbrush on the stool and slowly approached them. “Dandy. Could you lift your face up please? I need to paint it.”

Dandy hesitantly complied, but most of their face was still covered by yellow petals. “The sunflowers are more beautiful,” they faintly insisted. “They’re in bloom.”

“You are in bloom too,” Wally said. Despite his brush hand smelling slightly of paint, he reached out and cupped his hand against Dandy’s cheek. He gently lifted their warm face up and out of the sunflowers and said, “You are in bloom, Dandy. Like the sunflowers, and the apple blossoms.

“I woke up and wanted to paint today. I wanted to paint, and you are in bloom. Why should I not paint a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and the neighbor that grew them?”

A long, palpable pause stretched out between the two. Wally wondered if he made a mistake with this. He knew that Frank didn’t like to be touched very often, so what if Dandy was the same?

Then, Dandy slowly smiled. Their smile radiated through the sunflowers, and for a second, Wally thought that the gardener was the most pretty flower he’d seen.

His own smile widened and he withdrew his hand. “This…this is the most! I will paint this now!” He swiftly came back to his canvas and started mixing the right shade of green. The portrait slowly came together. First the general shape, then the details. The highlights came last. A few broad strokes for a blue sky, and…!

“Dandy, it’s done.” Wally placed each used paintbrush into the murky paint water, one by one as he waited for the subject of his painting to shuffle around the easel to look at his work.

On the canvas, were dozens of sunflowers arranged in a strong bouquet intermixed with delicate petals. The sunflowers themselves were made of strokes of yellow and circles of black, highlighted by elegant lines that made each detail pop. In the middle of it all, was a puppet whose smile was the centerpiece of the painting. Eyes slightly squinted shut from how wide they were smiling, a hint of red on their cheeks, and hands that held the entire bouquet together by their stems.

A gasp followed by a squeal of joy. Hand waving and heel bouncing briskly followed, alongside quiet bursts of “It’s so beautiful!” and “The detail on the sunflowers!”

Wally watched Dandy go through several levels of joy and awe, and the semi-permanent smile on his face softened. His partially-lidded eyes took in the small details: brown eyes that sparkled at the work of art on the canvas; the little yellow flower on their hat that never wilted; gentle flowers that reached towards the sun, fingers curling around the drops of light and holding it close.

Quiet.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I shouldn’t.” The light was escaping from their fingertips.

Did he do that?

“I insist. I would be honored if you took it.” Wally gingerly took the still-drying painting and held it out towards Dandy. “I want you to have it.”

Dandy’s mouth pressed into a thin line as they looked down at the ground for a moment, then thrust the sunflowers in front of them. “Take these. I’d feel bad if you didn't have something in return. I can always get more for Howdy, it’s not a big deal.”

The next minutes were spent juggling an exchange; between trying not to touch any paint on the canvas and not dropping any sunflowers on the ground, the two spent an excessive amount of time trying to give each other the items. In the end, Dandy was left holding their portrait and Wally had a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.

Dandy lightly bounced inside their house, and Wally was left outside with a sunny-smelling bundle of flowers counteracting against the chemical scent of his acrylics. He buried his face within the flowers and deeply inhaled. Between strong whiffs of paint, he breathed in drops of sunlight.

“The most,” he exhaled. “These are the most.”

For the next several days, anyone who peeked in the window of Home could catch a glimpse of a vase filled with cut sunflowers. They were perky and alive, and it certainly complimented a fresh red apple that always sat next to the vase for as long as the sunflowers lived.

#Ima Writes #Ima Creates #Ima Tunes #mutuals #writing #my writing #original writing #my music #my audio #music #audio #jummbox #commission #written commission #music commission #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #Ima's Commissions

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 9: The Portrait

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: T - feelings start to emerge Word count: 3.5k

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The day couldn’t pass fast enough for Benedict. He wanted to see Sophie again as soon as she had flitted away through the gardens. Whatever was happening between them was plaguing him with curiosity and anticipation. The day before, he had wanted her so badly his blood raced. Today, his tingling premonition had returned right before seeing her again. She was important, his body was telling him that. He supposed his mind knew it too. She certainly wasn’t like any other servant he had ever met. She was self-possessed, witty, and wasn’t afraid to challenge him when he was being cheeky. Her passing moments of reticence seemed to stem from a desire to enforce proper behavior, rather than a lack of confidence. She was intriguing and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He wandered through the gardens a while longer after she left, envisioning the portrait he would paint. At some point he bathed and ate but spent most of the day in the nursery selecting just the right canvas among his collection, laying out his paints, and imagining the small details of her face and how he would capture them. The arch of her brows, her deep green eyes, the curve of her cheek and jaw. 

Sophie must have spent the day hidden away downstairs or outside because he didn’t see her anywhere in the house. It was odd because he had grown so used to her visits several times a day in his room. Now that he was well, she was right that there wasn’t much of a place for her at Aubrey Hall. He selfishly hoped that she would not be able to find a new position easily. He needed her to say long enough to determine what his feelings for her were, and whether she felt anything toward him.

He had to discern why he had felt that life-altering awareness before seeing her. Painting her portrait was a way to spend time with her and see what it led to. He had asked her to join him after dinner because he hoped, wickedly, that it led to something. But if not, if she was not receptive to him, then at least he would be able to capture the likeness of this oddly wonderful woman who had so captivated him. He would give her the portrait, he hadn’t lied. But before handing it over, he fully intended to make a quick reproduction to keep for himself.

He ate his dinner in a haze, staring at the mantel clock in the dining room and willing it to spin faster. He tried to calm himself. This was just a portrait sitting and he would need his wits about him in order to paint anything worthwhile. When the blessed hour struck and he knew the servants would be moving from their meal to evening chores, he headed upstairs with a bottle of wine and a glass.

Sophie’s knees were shaking as she approached the nursery but her heart was drawing her inexorably forward. Benedict’s offer to paint her was generous and friendly, but the dynamic of their interactions was now wholly different. He wasn’t stuck in bed in need of her help, with her in control of their visits. Now they were on equal footing, choosing to spend time in one another’s company with no defined roles and she didn’t know what to expect.

The nursery door was open and she peered through to see Benedict with his back turned, mixing paints on a palette as he stood before a canvas. She remembered what a striking figure he had cut at the masquerade - tall and lean with dark tousled hair. He was handsome from every angle.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” she announced herself quietly.

Benedict spun around and greeted her with a wide smile.

“Ah, Sophie! Come in, come in.” He set the palette and brush aside and waved her in, leaving the door open behind them. 

Sophie looked about the room, seeing it for the first time. Like most of the home it was painted in blue and white with dark wooden furniture and gauzy curtains. Unlike other rooms, it had cheery murals painted onto the walls, vignettes of fairytales, and it was filled to the brim with every plaything that may amuse a child. Dolls and blocks were stashed in corners, marionettes hung from the edges of the wardrobe; there was a tiny table set with a miniature tea service and several rocking horses of various sizes. One wall of the room was entirely hidden behind a massive puppet theater, large enough for two children to climb inside and put on a show. There was also a cradle filled with stuffed bears and tucked near the fireplace.

Sophie smiled sheepishly, “Where should I…?”

“Oh, I think here will do nicely.” Touching her elbow lightly, he guided her to the cushioned window seat directly across from his easel. Sophie sat, feeling undeniably awkward but appreciative of the warmth from the fire nearby. She had put on the better of the two dresses she owned, a green frock that she had carried from Cavender House. She still felt quite plain, especially framed against the expensive delights of such a wealthy household.

Benedict looked down at her. He was dressed down to his waistcoat, a lovely pale blue decorated with bright flowers and twining vines. He wore no cravat and the top buttons of his ruffled shirt were undone. Sophie’s mind flashed to that morning when she had seen him gloriously unclothed and she averted her eyes, scolding herself until the image dissipated.

“If you could, turn your shoulders toward me,” he instructed. She shifted, trying to follow his direction, but clearly not well enough because he reached out to position her with the gentlest touch on her arms. 

“And face up and toward the canvas,” he said softly. Again, she tried to do as instructed, keeping her eyes downcast because she knew she would blush if she met his gaze. He brought two fingers under her chin, barely brushing her skin to turn her head precisely as he wanted it. 

“Perfect.” She could hear the smile in his voice, then he moved back behind the easel. 

Sophie fought to keep her breath steady and hold perfectly still. She wanted to shiver when he touched her so tenderly but she had to maintain her composure. He was doing her a favor, not trying to seduce her. She needed to keep her feelings in check and accept this for the gift that it was.

“It is good to see you up and about, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, trying to think of something other than his touch. “I am very glad you are well again.” She finally lifted her gaze.

“All thanks to you.” He cast her a crooked grin, eyes shining. Dabbing his brush onto the palette and straightening his posture he began to paint, his focus darting back and forth between Sophie and the canvas. “How was your search today for a new position?”

Sophie’s insides sank at the reminder of her limited remaining time at Aubrey Hall. “Mr. Dewitt helped me to find advertisements. There are a few positions available in Kent. I shall have to write to them and await replies.” She neglected to mention that she was not looking at housemaid positions in aristocratic homes, but rather general labor positions for washerwomen and scullery maids in the cities.

“That sounds promising,” Benedict replied, but his tone was clipped. “Of course, as promised, I will send along my letter of recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir,” she gave him a small smile which he returned. 

As he continued to paint, he paused and sipped from a glass of wine resting beside him. Sophie couldn’t help from raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he sputtered, putting the glass down. “I often enjoy a glass when I am painting. I’m being rude, I should have offered you some…”

“No, no!” Sophie chuckled. “It is alright, you do not need to offer me anything. I am just surprised at how…relaxed this all is. I thought sitting for a portrait was a very formal undertaking.”

“Well,” Benedict smirked, “Some might make it that way. But not me, and certainly not in my own home. This is a thank you, remember.” He leveled his eyes on her and she cast hers down in acknowledgement, not wanting to nod and lose her position.

Sitting as Benedict painted her was simultaneously thrilling and excruciating. She loved to see him working, to see how his brow furrowed in concentration and to feel his eyes moving over her face. He was passionate, motivated, vibrant. She had not seen the real Benedict Bridgerton in his home element until now. Before this he had been disheveled, confined to bed and usually half-conscious. She tried to soak up each moment, to remember every detail of his face, every tousle of his hair, every vein in his hands, to take with her when she left him for the final time. He was committing her image to canvas, but she was secretly committing his to memory in just the same way.

She needed to fill the silence between them. “This room is wonderful,” she smiled. A trite comment, but better than nothing. “Is this where you have always painted?”

“Oh,” he glanced around absentmindedly. “Yes, this is where I’ve kept everything. Hyacinth is grown so no one has been using the place for a few years. But,” he sighed, “I shall have to relocate imminently. My nephew has started walking so in truth, this all belongs to him now.”

“The Viscount’s son?”

“Yes,” Benedict nodded. “Edmund.”

“A strong name.”

“It was my father’s name.” A bittersweet smile flickered across his face. Sophie knew enough about the Bridgertons to know they had lost their father too young. Allusions had been made by Lady Whistledown and she had learned much about the ton by eavesdropping on the gossip of the Cowpers. She knew what it was to mourn a parent, though not to mourn one with whom she had had years of a pleasant relationship. Nonetheless, her heart went out to Benedict and his family.

“Well I am sure he will make as many happy memories here as you and your brothers and sisters did.” Benedict seemed to brighten at this. She continued, “You must be excited to see them soon, your family.”

“Yes,” Benedict grinned. “Pall mall bloodshed aside, I suppose I do love them.” 

He continued to work, outlining the profile of her face. He wasn’t sure if it was the wine or latent tiredness but he felt himself sinking into a deep, remarkable sense of familiarity with her image. It was as if his hand could move on its own, knowing precisely how to trace her cheek and highlight her eyes. As though he had painted her dozens of times before. He thought back to his feeling in the lake and his heart picked up speed. He stared at Sophie who was inspecting her hands in her lap. He needed to know more about her.  

“You didn’t answer my question before.” 

She looked up at him, seeming wary. 

“Do you have any family?”

Sophie wouldn’t tell him the whole truth but didn’t see any reason to lie. “I told you my mother passed.” Benedict nodded. “My father passed too, a long time ago, and I have no brothers or sisters. I am on my own.”

“I see,” Benedict frowned. Offering her his condolences felt condescending somehow. He suddenly felt exceptionally fortunate to have all the family that he did. But his heart broke for her. He couldn’t imagine a lonelier existence. Now more than ever, he didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to return to working aimlessly in house after house at the mercy of the owners, hoping they treated her with more kindness and dignity than the Cavenders, with nowhere to run to if they did not. At least at Aubrey Hall she was safe and respected. At least he could be there for her if no one else was.

An idea suddenly struck him. “You know, you do not have to move on right away.”

Sophie eyed him curiously. “Sir?”

“You could stay on at the house to help with the country visit. I’m sure we’re always in need of more hands.” He tried to sound casual when in reality he felt desperate. Rather than leave it as a proposal, he closed the matter with a declaration. “I will speak with the Viscountess.” 

Sophie felt her stomach flip. This was not the plan she had agreed to, not with Benedict and not with herself. She couldn’t stay in his house any longer and she truly couldn’t stay if the rest of his family and half of the ton would be mingling about as well. What if Araminta was in attendance and recognized her? What if the Bridgerton family wanted to keep her on in their employment? How long would this go on, being forced into the presence of the man she secretly loved and could never have? She had tortured herself long enough.

“Sir, no, I…”

“Benedict,” he cut her off, softly. “Call me by my name.” 

Sophie noticed he had stopped painting and was looking at her with that same intense, fathomless expression he had worn that morning. It made her tremble. It made her feel as if she could collapse into a pile of bones on the floor.

“Benedict,” she breathed shakily. Saying his name felt simultaneously like committing a sin and like the cool relief of removing a gag. “I must move on.” 

Her voice sounded lame to her own ears. She realized that she had no reasons to justify refusing him. Not when she couldn’t be honest. From his perspective it would make no sense for a woman in her position to decline more safety and more pay, especially when she had nowhere better to go. Her mind started to whir, scrambling to think up an argument but suddenly he was stepping toward her.

“Sophie,” His voice was gentle despite his burning eyes which were locked on hers. “The truth is, I don’t want you to leave.”

She blinked and shook her head. The air suddenly felt hot, very hot, and she had the bizarre sense that she no longer quite knew how to work her hands and feet. Her skin tingled, her heart raced. He couldn’t be saying this…

Benedict swallowed and continued to step closer until he was standing directly above her. “I have enjoyed your company. You have made me well again.” 

He meant it. She had not only helped him recover from his illness but she was igniting something within him, something he had not felt in years. Whatever it might be, it drew him toward her like a tow line.

Sophie continued to sit there, dumb and gaping as Benedict slowly lowered to sit beside her. The moonlight through the window cast half of his face in cool shadow, while the other was illuminated with the warm glow of the fire. His pale eyes continued to sear into hers. Sophie wondered if one of the logs had rolled out of the fireplace and was torching the room because she was suffocating with heat. The bloody man was just staring at her, not moving a muscle, not closing the final few inches between them. Just staring at her.

“Benedict?” she whispered, feeling as if a veil were falling from her feelings; as if she were speaking to him truthfully for the first time.

He raised a hand and floated a long finger across her eyebrow, to her temple, then down her cheek, before coming to hold her chin. “So beautiful,” he said softly, “like a storybook fairy. Sometimes I think you couldn’t possibly be real.”

A soft rush of air crossed Sophie’s lips as her breath quickened. He was going to kiss her.

He was going to kiss her. It would be the most wonderful and awful thing that could possibly happen.

But oh, how she wanted it. 

She knew she was going to regret this tomorrow. But she had spent the last two years remembering what it felt like to be in his arms, and she wasn’t sure she’d make it through the rest of her days without at least one more memory to keep her going. Something visceral to keep her comfort on lonely nights.

Benedict spoke as if reading her mind. “I think I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered.

“You think?” 

“I think I have to kiss you,” he said with hooded eyes, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe his own words either. “It’s rather like breathing. I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

And then, before she even had a second to think, his lips were on hers, exquisitely gentle and achingly tender. His mouth moved slowly, caressing soft and sweet, inviting, not forceful. He touched her lips and she felt it in her toes. It was a singularly odd - and singularly wonderful - sensation. It was utterly breathtaking, but there was something more, something that made her dizzy and weak.

She was living in a literal dream come true. The man she had longed for, the man she had fantasized about loving nearly every day for two years, was actually here kissing her. She wasn’t imagining it and she hadn’t even asked for it. He had come to her and was giving her the single most exquisite moment of her life. 

“You’re crying,” Benedict pulled back, touching her cheek.

Sophie blinked, then wiped away the tears she hadn’t even known were falling.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, his eyes full of concern.

She shook her head. No, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to kiss her again, wanted his gentle caresses to give way to a more passionate embrace. She wanted him to kiss her all night because this time the clock wasn’t going to strike midnight, and she wouldn’t have to flee.

And she wanted him to know that she was the woman from the masquerade. And she desperately prayed that he would never recognize her. And she was just so bloody confused and…

And he kissed her.

Really kissed her, with fierce lips and probing tongue, and all the passion and desire a woman could ever want. He made her feel beautiful, precious, priceless. He treated her like a woman, not a servant, and until that very moment, she hadn’t realized just how much she missed being treated like a person. Gentry and aristocrats didn’t see their servants, they tried not to hear them, and they were spoken to with orders only.

But when Benedict kissed her, she felt real.

And when he kissed her, he did so with his entire body. His lips, which had begun the intimacy with such gentle reverence, were now fierce and demanding on hers. His hands, so large and strong they seemed to cover half her back, held her to him with a strength that left her breathless. And his body - dear god, it ought to be illegal the way it was pressed against hers, the heat of it seeping through her clothing, searing her very soul.

He made her shiver. He made her melt. He made her want to give herself to him.

“Sophie,” he murmured, his voice husky against her lips. “How I have been dreaming about you,” Then she felt him pressing her backwards, down onto the window seat.

A buried, desperate corner of her mind started to shriek with alarm. She had to stop. She had to stop this. Nothing but heartbreak and pain would come from it. She should have left so many times. She needed to leave now.

Her uncertainty surged up through the delicious haze of Benedict’s touch and she managed to rasp against his lips, “No.”

Benedict stopped instantly, breathing hard. 

Sophie brought a hand to his shoulder and pushed him upright. “No, Benedict, we can’t.” Each word felt like a stone in her mouth. She had to get away from him before she melted back into his arms. In a flurry she stood and moved to the door, smoothing her skirts with shaking hands.

Benedict gaped at her, brow creasing in confusion and worry. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “Sophie, I didn’t mean…” He looked down and seemed to compose himself, then his tone became measured again. “Please forgive me.”

Her heart broke seeing the desperation in his eyes. She wanted to fling herself back onto him, soothe his every care with her kisses and let him take her in any way that would bring him joy. Her body wanted to, her heart wanted to, but her mind was refusing to allow it. 

“No, no,” she shook her head. “There is nothing to forgive. You have done nothing wrong.” 

He continued to stare at her pitifully, searching for an explanation. 

“I simply cannot…” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. All of her fears and all of her secrets roared up within her and she turned to dash away, allowing the tears to fall as she ran back downstairs.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Four

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none

Ao3

Chapter Three | Chapter Five

this duo match is brought to you by @/turbulentscrawl who i totally did steal their duo lol

The first time you ever wrote with a quill, was when your mother gifted it to you for your birthday. She did not have much, money was scares, yet she always tried to give you what she could. She wanted you to live your dream, to write the greatest book ever seen in this century-- Or ever, as she would tell you. The quill in your hand is similar, though this one is bigger like a knife size and the feather is different, it reminds you of her… Of her dream to see her child make it to the top.

You recall struggling to write with it as you feared you might break the tip as you wrote. Every day practice by making your mother letters of encouragement with new words you learned from a book you read. The smile on her tired face would always be ingrained in your mind, she kept all those letters and you buried them with her upon her respect; forever held up by your words.

This quill is warm in your hands, the feather is soft obviously of high quality, and as you try to cipher this you hear the sweetest whispers of… Well, you cannot quite make out the words as suddenly a pickaxe jams itself into the cipher.

You run like a bat out of hell as Fool’s Gold rushes forward drawn in by the magnetism of his axe. When his broken hand tried to snatch you, you stabbed the quill (without thinking) into his broken palm. His hand fell apart as he recoiled in pain giving enough time to let Norton who was following his dark copy use the magnet to slam the doppelganger into a palette. 

The Nurse is kiting, the Novelist is on a cipher, the Enchantress is another cipher, the Gardener is breaking chairs, the Prospector is kiting (more like fighting), the Lawyer is helping the Enchantress, the Prisoner is chaired (on that chain timer), and you-- The Narrator-- are currently in the camera world ciphering.

The match is going great for the hunters as only one cipher was able to be worked on in the first ten minutes of the match! The combination of Fool’s Gold and the Photographer is one most hated next to Naiad and Geshia.

The circus music here is annoying. Moonlit Rivier Ciruis just reaffirms how clowns can be scary. The layout is wide enough for two hunters with some advantages such as places to hide for the survivors, Though you feel the survivors are more chaotic than the hunters, and the hunters love to tag team depending on who is annoying them. 

One.

The first drops of ink are the deepest, often leaving large dots on the line of the letter, it can convey the emotional state of the writer. 

Two.

Then each letter flows as the quill not once leaves the paper until the words stop.

The quill returns to the paper with a hand now confident with what it wants to convey, once more it writes and writes until the page is full of dark inked words and the writer leaves it to dry.

Three.

Your body slumps against the wall, the world is spinning, your vision is between the cipher and a pale face with black cracked skin and sharp blue eyes.

“That was mine!” The anger of Fool’s Gold is loud and clear as the Photographer steals Norton into his photo to be chaired. It is not unheard of to see the hunters argue over who chairs who during duo matches, from the stories you heard Night Watch makes it very clear not to steal his prey when he has put the work in to hunt them. Fool’s Gold could be careless depending on his mood but when it comes to his survivor counterpart, only he has ‘dibs’ on the prospector.

What is unheard of is for the hunters to get into a physical fight.

Hunter is nearby!

Norton has the unwanted front-row seat to see his counterpart swing at Photographer, who in kind parried the swing of the pickaxe but did not dodge the broken rock-formed hand that sucker-punched him. The fight escalated to the point that four out of the seven ciphers were completed, Norton and Luca were saved with now Luca working on the two of three ciphers.

The nurse pointed out as she patched up the prospector, “Should we be worried?”

“Hell no! They can fall off a bridge for all I care.” He does look confused as his counterpart has not spoken since the fight while the Photographer is cursing at the other hunter in French. Loudly. “You see that?” Were they both hiding in the tent on the other side of the circus, Norton points to the dark purple feathers falling out of nowhere above Fool’s Gold head.

Both looked at one another before sneaking out the second they heard the alarm of all ciphers being completed.

Someone find Hypnos!

The novelist stood above you seeing you lay against the wall with your eyes wide open, eyes glowing purple, and the quill cutting into your palm as you gripped it with a strong vice. He was the closest to you and lucky the exit is nearby. He kneels and turns over your palm, the quill pulsing as it takes your blood as ink, the feather sparks as if the feather is the night sky. He is careful as he gets you to loosen your hold on the quill, it falls to the ground and you are gasping and coughing back to to reality. 

“W-wha, Orpheus?” You clench your head as too many images flash into your mind before you can blink them away. “Agh, my head.” What in the hell happened?!

“Come on, we have to leave. The gate is open and the hunters are hungry for blood.”

He helps you up with strength you are surprised he has (given his build, or rather, how his suits shape him does not seem like one who could lift a stack of books), steadying you behind himself and the wall. You let go when your head is no longer spinning and the sound of a photo being taken makes you very aware you need to recover fast!

Racing to the exit, after you grabbed the quill, as you know better than to think this sort of complete victory will happen often.

The best deduction goes to you.

#orpheus x you #idv orpheus x you #orpheus x reader #nightmare x reader #idv nightmare #nightmare x you #identity v x you #identity v x reader #identity v #idv reader insert #idv orpheus #idv novelist #idv x reader #reader insert #idv

[gogandmagog]

Someone perfectly lovely, called Paul Hendricks, put together this thoughtful map of the Four Winds community. His website, where this map was obtained, is HERE. What follows below the cut are Paul’s own words, detailing how he went about putting this together this map, complete with thorough book citations and explanations of inconsistencies!

“This is the rough map I've put together, based in the clues mentioned below, which are taken from various of the Anne books. (See note on the format of the references.)

The map uses a 'browser-safe' palette, so you should see roughly the same colours that I do. The orange/brown lines are roads. The dark-green areas are woods. The light blue is, of course, the sea.

Reconstructing the setting for the four books based on Four Winds and Ingleside has proved much more difficult than for Avonlea. Beginning with the premise that Four Winds is about 60 miles from Avonlea (AHoD, ch 1, 10th page), I tried a layout based on the area around Sturgeon, Gaspereaux and Georgetown, in the south-east part of the Island. Eventually it proved impossible to put together a consistent map on this basis. What is more, I realised that there was no evidence in LMM's diaries that she had ever been to that part of the Island.

I then tried a construction based on the area around New London, as there were many similarities of detail, and the area was well known to LMM. This fits in reasonably well with the descriptions of Four Winds in AHoD. There are some difficulties and inconsistencies noted below, but alternatives (such as putting the House of Dreams and the Lighthouse on the East side of the bay) have turned out to be unworkable. I have also managed to reconstruct the area around Ingleside, on the assumption that it is in the position occupied by Clifton/New London. Given the basic framework of roads that results, the result is more convincing than I had hoped, and seems to fit in quite well with the text of AoI, RV and RoI.

House of Dreams 'looks to the sunset and has harbour before it'. Dining room looks out on the harbour (AHoD, ch 2, 4th page). Living room windows and front door look towards the lighthouse (AHoD, ch 2, 5th page). There is a brook going through the corner of the garden.

The entrance of the harbour is between a bar of sand dunes and a sandstone cliff. The fishing village is where the sand bar meets the harbour shore (AHoD, ch 5, 1st page).

It is dusk, but there is no mention of seeing the setting sun. This suggests that going from Glen St Mary towards the house they are facing north or east. This is consistent if Glen St Mary is south, and the house is on the west side of the harbour (AHoD, ch 5, 1st page).

There is a chapel on the far side of the bay. The lighthouse is to the north, as they approach the house from the Glen. The house is 2 miles from the Glen, and 1 mile from the lighthouse. Miss Cornelia's house is between the House of Dreams and the Glen (AHoD, ch 5, 2nd page).

Poplars line the lane from road to house; fir trees between house and sea (confirms that the sea is to the 'back' of the house (AHoD, ch 5, 4th page).

Leslie's house is further up the brook, 'among the willows' (AHoD, ch 6, 4th page). The lane of Leslie's house opens onto the 'upper road' (AHoD, ch 9, 2nd page). Miss Cornelia's house is half a mile from the house of dreams (AHoD, ch 6, 5th page).

'From the deceit of the McAllisters...' (AHoD, ch 6, 5th page) is a paraphrase of an actual saying referring to LMM's relations, the Simpsons, the McNeils and the Clarkes, see also page xv of introduction to volume one of selected journals. Confirms the view that the families referred to in the 'over-harbour' area are modelled on LMM's own family in Clifton, Cavendish, etc.

As Anne and Gilbert are walking towards the lighthouse, the house 'up the brook' is to their right (AHoD, ch 9, 2nd page). There is some difficulty in fitting this in with my map. We might perhaps conceive an arrangement where the house by the brook was to the right hand side of the road to the lighthouse, though the road would have to be not so close to the shore as the modern road.

The distinction (AHoD, ch 10, 1st page) between the 'harbour shore', the 'sand shore' and the 'rock shore' is consistent with New London Bay - corresponding respectively to the shore inside the bay, the shore on the north side of the bar, and the shore to the north of the lighthouse.

'North shore' presumably means 'North shore of PEI' (AHoD, ch 14, 1st page). It was this which first alerted me to the possible inconsistency with my original presumption about the location of Four Winds.

'North-western sky' (AHoD, ch 18, 1st page), implies that the lighthouse is north-west of the house of dreams.

The Fishing Cove (AHoD, ch 27, 1st page) must be on the shore by the sand bar (therefore the same place as the fishing village). Anne and Gilbert go there via the lighthouse because intending to row over to avoid the long drive round by road which would otherwise be necessary.”

— Paul Hendricks

#well done Paul #this is wildly helpful #and interesting #SO VERY interesting #four winds #harbour head #glen st mary #lucy maud montgomery #anne’s house of dreams #anne of ingleside #the blythes are quoted #rilla of ingleside

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

Things that I would sell my soul for and kill a man in an attic to see in a tpodg adaptation (and still probably won't ever see ;-;)

Henry played by an actress. Despite the lack of analysis of it, tpodg has some great openings for the nature of gender and gendered roles. If Henry is played by an actress, WITHOUT changing the gender of the character and simply presenting the actress as masculine I think there could be some very interesting analysis to be had especially because of the character’s weird relationship with women (see previously list about henry). Also it would be kinda neat imo!

An adaptation set in 1930s hollywood. Tbf this exists and it’s called real life. But there’s never not a good time to call out the scummy ways young, beautiful (and queer!) people are abused by the establishment.

An adaptation where instead of Henry being adapted to be some weird conservative mouthpiece he’s adapted to be as cynical as he is meant to be. People often forget that underneath the misogyny is some actually very interesting dialogue, such as a call for individualism, disbelief in the establishment/his own country. All I am saying is that if you get past the edgelord bs, you can actually see something that makes sense.

An adaptation set in 1960s England. Out of all the periods one could pick, the 60s feels like the most fitting for the novel’s original story. The 60s was when youth culture became the dominant culture of the Western World, it was a break from traditional norms that were literally inspired by Victorian sensibilities. It is the first time we start seeing traditional masculinity challenged through Mods and the Peacock Revolution. Also the fashion would be fun.

Basil not dying somehow. Idk how it would be done without ruining the climax, but I would love an adaptation that doesn’t kill Basil for once.

Basil being a cat owner. (PLEASE)

Hetty Merton’s part not being adapted into a redemption thing for Dorian.

Actually pretty sets that match the beauty of the written setting. Stop with the dark academia bullshit— this book does not have the vibe of a stuffy academic and dark dorm room (that’s Frankenstein, yall). Give me bright gardens of roses and sickly yellow laburnum. I want to be able to smell the lavenders because their purple hue is so abrasive to my eyes. Give me the color palette of Utopia (UK ver—the US ver is so bad ;-;), dammit!

If someone does a period adaptation of the 80s again, can Henry please be a modern rock star and Basil as his friend/designer/manager–idk. It would be very fun and give Henry an actual connection to something that got a moral panic. Also England’s rock and pop tended to be quite queer in this era—ie “relax” by frankie goes to hollywood.

Can someone smarter than me figure out how to create an adaptation where Basil lives please? Ty ily <3

#the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray #basil hallward #henry wotton #this blog is slowly becoming my 'opinions about tpodg blog' because i am slow as hell when i write. #sorry tlg readers I stg i am trying ;-; #but yeah enjoy this while I reacquaint myself with my own story ;-; #this is all my opinion

[ghouljams]

https://www.tumblr.com/ghouljams/737258478675116032/hey-ghoul-i-hope-your-doing-well-i-just-wanted

I’m not sure if you’ve done this already, if you have you can just ignore this one, but I’d be fascinated if you could tell us about the darlings homes

I haven't talked much about the darlings homes but I can! I've talked a lot about Witch's house but I can talk about the others. Let's go on a little home tour!

Love lives in a second or third floor apartment in an apartment building. It's a got a nice white door with a shiny gold number on it, and a little hallway outside the door. When you go in you walk straight into the living room, there's a little walkway between the back of the couch separating the TV area from the window that houses the plants. Walk a little further down the little makeshift hallway and into the kitchen. There's a little bar counter that faces the living room, a sort of L shape to the whole kitchen. The whole place is bohemian and warm, strewn with knickknacks and books. It's messy, but the way that living somewhere makes it messy. There's a basket of laundry in front of the couch waiting to be folded. Pink and yellow are the predominant colors in here, you'd think a man had never stepped foot in this flat but there's a pair of men's boots by the door. The aesthetic is very maximalist and colorful, I think the couch is pink. Ghost works some spatial magic on the place to add an extra bedroom and bathroom when they have the baby.

Liebling lives in flat near the shop, walking distance. A nice brick building that she has the first floor of. She makes good money owning a shop and spends it on a comfortable house. It's a nice oak door, with a brass knocker on the front. There's a tiny entryway, where her shoes and mail pile up. Off the entry all is the archway into the kitchen, it's galley style with a pass-through looking into the living room. There's a large couch, a TV, a overstuffed bookshelf, it's comfortable and earthy. There's plants in every corner and every window, browns and greens. There's a big basket in one corner full of woven blankets, and there are pillows strewn about. The whole place feels very soft and lived in, but also dark and almost cave-like with all the curtains drawn. The overhead light is never turned on, only the lamps strewn about in various handy spots. There's a garden out back and a door leading out to it from the bedroom. The bedroom itself is earthy and warm, no wonder König feels so at home here, all the soft blankets and darkness... it's just like his cave.

Crybaby lives in a similar flat to Liebling. Its an old building near the university, not quite the heart if the city but there are days when it feels like it. You walk into the living room, the kitchen is off to the side. There's a hallway leading back to where you assume the bedroom is. The TV sits in the middle of the room, there's a couch pushed against the back wall. It's messy, sparsely decorated and unkempt. Threat's suitcase is open and strewn about, there are dishes in the sink, the pantry is disorganized. You find a little workshop across from the bathroom that's also a mess. Materials strewn about and pouring from the shelves on the walls, tools left out, projects half finished on the table, magnifiers and lights all over the place. There's no real style to the furniture of the place, the workshop is the most lived in part of the flat, it feels like a holdover. An apartment that only exists to provide a shelter while it's occupant works.

Threat's ownership of the living room slowly turns it into their space. Posters start creeping onto the walls, the couch replaced with a day bed, the empty space by the door filled with a clothing rack and a mess of laundry. The threadbare rug is replaced so the old wood floors aren't as cold, blacks and reds are their main palette. Their influence doesn't extend up the hall, but it certainly makes the front of the apartment feel more lived in. Ignore the cobwebs in the corners of the room.

Angel has a house, it's a little thing near Witch's house in the less densely packed part of the city. Very open and airy, modern with big windows and lots of light. Gives the impression of being a white couch sort of mom, but the whole place is strewn with colorful toys. There's crayon drawings taped on every wall and all over the fridge, sippy cups sit in the dish rack, colorful plates and board books on the counter. The aesthetic is white minimalist with a rainbow explosion of child-like joy. There's puffy plastic kiddo furniture next to the nice adult stuff, somehow it all works to feel like a comfortable family home. You sit on a toy when you try to sit on the couch and you both have a good laugh about it. No sad beige moms here.

Sunny feels like another apartment dweller. Maybe closer to the heart of the city. Somewhere up high that gets a lot of light. Their decor is very 70s revival, a lot of oranges and bubbly patterns. Very neat. Everything has a place and they're good at keeping things tidy. Colorful glasses and appliances in the kitchen. Lots of "happy things" to keep the place feeling light when they have a bad day. Probably has a cat slinking around somewhere, a big stupid orange baby that compliments the furniture.

Witch's house has been talked about but I'll give the highlights. Tudor cottage sandwiched like a little haven in between city buildings, like it just popped up out of the ground, or like the city grew around it. Wood beams cross her ceiling, scattered persian rugs and antique furniture. Well loved and warm. There's a sitting area right when you open the door, and a big fireplace with a cauldron nestled in the corner of it. The kitchen is overflowing with cabinets of things, dried plants hang from the ceiling, and sunlight filters through the back window no matter the time of day or the season. There's a narrow staircase by the door that leads up to a little attic room. Under the stairs there's a tiny hall that has a bedroom on one side and a bathroom on the other. If you look closely there are runes in the nails that hold down the wood floorboards.

#ghoul speaks #oc talk #1fae1 #there are the darlings homes #done and dusted

[sorenphelps]

Marauders x interior designs, reference boards and a long post below with explanations on the style selection and living conditions! (1.6K words)

Sirius

Interior design style: Industrial

Style rationale: cool, dark tones with a stylish mixture of rough materials: bricks, concrete, metals, and a great view. The ambiguity of the manmade hardware meeting all the natural light from the large windows; the grand spaces suitable of hosting a lot of people paired with an arrogant, unwelcoming (scary even) atmosphere. Overall powerful masculine energy with edgy, rebellious vibes. Effortlessly stylish, oozes confidence, creative and commands authority. Not everyone’s cup of tea, only a few can see the appeal and the endless possibilities of this multipurpose factory building, which is capable of way more than originally intended for.

Residence characteristics: Penthouse, 4 bedrooms, 4 other purpose rooms, 2.5 bathrooms, rooftop terrace. Renovated/repurposed old factory building in the city, with a pub/night club downstairs, and the middle part of the building leased as office area. Sirius is the only one who actually lives in the building, which he also owns. (Meaning no neighbours!) The building has a cargo lift, which Sirius uses to park his motorbike on the rooftop garage area. A separated part of the rooftop area is used by the pub/nightclub as a warehouse/storage, the other open-air part of it is used solely by Sirius, that he can access directly from his apartment too.

Remus

Interior design style: Eclectic (unintentional)

Style rationale: cramped with books and various interesting artifacts, second-hand mismatched furniture, light academia aesthetic, overall nerdy hipster energy. Warm earth tones, once vibrant but now faded colour palette. Budget and function over style attitude. Cozy and welcoming vibes (people pleaser much?). Plant enthusiasm.

Residence characteristics: tiny 1 bedroom apartment, 1 bathroom, small French balcony (used as a herb garden). Remus is on a very tight budget, when he managed to buy the flat, he only had a mattress, two makeshift bookshelves and a table with two chairs the previous tenant had left there. He saved up for years to get a nice and fully functioning modern kitchen, but other than that, the apartment is furnished with antiques he inherited from or was gifted by old relatives. He has way too many books, and he treasures everything he gets as a gift from others, however useless the item is. He is a moderately successful plant dad, because his neighbour's cat somehow always manages to destroy his little balcony garden. All but one of his neighbours are elderly citizens, who all find Remus a very polite and kind man – completely unaware that he is the one who loudly plays the guitar/cello and not the only other younger person in the building. Remus feels no obligation to dispel their misconceptions.

James

Interior design style: Eclectic (intentional)

Style rationale: Big personality, vibrant, bold colours. Proudly presents their identity and personal accomplishments. Extroverted, creative, chaotic, but fun energy. Warm and welcoming atmosphere with rustic wood elements paired with the collection of random objects. Overall very lively and artsy vibe. Can easily labelled as too much and pompous. It takes some time to see through the flashiness to discover the deep devotion to honoring (ethnic) heritage, familial ties and loved ones behind all the showcased extravaganzas.

Residence characteristics: Large family house in the suburbs, 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, 4 other purpose rooms, terrace, pool, 1 barn, 1 garage, 2 acres of land. James has never really moved out from Potter Manor, as he went to boarding school and inherited the property from his parents a little after graduation. He deeply loves his home and respects his heritage and memories a lot, but he is too much of a character to resist tailoring parts of the house and the interior to his taste. He has a collection of unconventional things (street signs, vinyls, tire rims, Liverpool sports memorabilia, cold war era propaganda posters, maps, festival tickets, foreign label beer cans, etc.), proudly presented alongside his sports trophies, medals, and musical awards. He thrives for the company of others, therefore the house could easily serve as an entertainment centre: he has the biggest of TVs, all gaming consoles, the widest variety of board games, a pool & foosball table, a pool in the garden alongside professional grill and cocktail bar equipment. He also has a fully functioning, soundproofed professional level studio in his basement with a lot of musical instruments and sound engineering & recording equipment. He has a treehouse and an old VW minivan repurposed as a summer guestroom in the garden. Sirius has his own dedicated bedroom, which is left untouched (just as the room of James’ parents).

Lily

Interior design style: Boho Chic

Style rationale: Girly, playful, kind. Plants, plants, plants everywhere, embracing the closeness to nature, fun textures, floral patterns, personally significant items. Non-conformist, free-spirited energy. Quirky, yet tasteful décor with an overall earth toned and pastel colour palette. Pretty and functional furniture, lot of pillows and soft blankets. Sweet and floral scents, calm, cultured and cozy vibes.

Residence characteristics: studio apartment in the city, 1.5 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, balcony. Lily’s flat is located in a fast-paced, busy and a little unpleasant part of the city, but it is near her workplace and has easy access to several public transport options. Her balcony is facing the inner yard of the building, which she managed to bloom up with conscious effort for years against all odds and resistance of obnoxious landlords. She is friendly towards all of her neighbours - even that weird loner guy in that dark basement apartment, who somehow always have the perfect anti-bug compounds at hand and seems to be very fond of Lily only. She has shared the flat with her sister until Petunia moved in with her fiancé, Vernon. Her bedroom was transformed into a study room. Lily has a soft spot for vintage furniture and interiors, but in certain areas she values function over style. She keeps her apartment tidy and organized. She is the most successful plant mom, who dreams about having her own garden.

Peter

Interior design style: Contemporary

Style rationale: Beige and gray color palette, designed to be average enough to appeal to the widest possible range of people. The go-to style of every home stager or AirBnB property owner. Clean, basic, convenient, a little boring even. Interior design lacks personality, the selection of the decor elements is usually driven by fitting the general aesthetic and looking luxurious and not by personal preference. Bland and plain vibes. Looks functional and comfortable and can easily hide structural or other problems with the apartment with clever selection and placement of often built-in furniture that the new owner won’t notice the issues until it’s too late.

Residence characteristics: newly built apartment, 1 bedroom with large walk-in wardrobe, 1 bathroom, dedicated underground parking space. Peter made a great deal with his apartment: he could buy the flat at the best and most early bird discount price after he was informed about the planned real estate construction project by overhearing a conversation regarding the status of obtaining the necessary building permits. He paid in advance the full amount determined in the planning phase of the project, and by the time the construction was finished, the apartment has tripled in value due to inflation rates skyrocketing. He moved into the turnkey property and hasn’t changed a thing ever since. The only pop of colour and testament of his real personality is his walk-in wardrobe and collection of quirky ties.

Snape

Interior design style: (Dark) Minimalist, partly gothic

Style rationale: dark, organized, focused. Basic shapes and textures, simple materials, little to no decoration to ensure lack of stimulation and distractions. Less is more attitude. Can be frustrating to others, but held in high regards by likeminded people. Monochrome, desaturated, mostly black colour palette. Unpleasant, unsettling, overwhelming, bleak, well-structured and functional.  Unparalleled practicality. A vibrant colour or boho item would look very out of place, and would eventually lose its brightness and liveliness because the minimalist environment will slowly oppress it with its own defining features. Unwelcoming, not interested in others (and a little depressing) vibe.

Residence characteristics: small 1 bedroom basement apartment, 1 bathroom, exclusive access to cellar area of the building. Snape is overly organized, values function over design. He finds the brutal simplicity of his interior soothing and calming, and prefers practicality over flashiness. He is comfortable in his gloomy flat, which is tailored to his needs only. No guests are expected ever. He utilizes the full cellar area of the building for his own purposes, (probably) rent free. No one knows exactly what he does there, but as he has a repelling enough aura around him, they rather don't bother him. He hates all his neighbours with burning passion, except that nice redhaired girl adamantly trying to make a pretty indoor garden in the building's yard. The only actual colour and decoration in his apartment is a peace lily in a bright green pot, that was gifted to him by Lily. He secretly likes the magnitude of gothic buildings and started to admire their aesthetic value as he spends a large amount of time in a gothic environment (dark academia vibes!) for his day job.

Regulus

Interior design style: Art Deco

Style rationale: expensive, luxurious, fancy. A more modern and trendier take on the traditional, 18th- and 19th-century European interior design style of Grimmauld Place.

Residence characteristics: large apartment in The City, 2 bedrooms, 4 other purpose rooms, 3 bathrooms, balcony. Regulus got the flat as a graduation present from his parents, neither the location or the interior design was his choice, but was happy to move there (the assumptions regarding his style preferences were spot on). However, he spends more time at his family home than his own, as he likes the company of their family's butler, Kreatcher too much.

Some links: more thoughts about Sirius and Remus' interior preference; lineart and coloured art of Sirius in his flat.

Bonus: basic floorplan of Sirius' flat I made in Paint. It's probably not scaled right, and I'm not sure if it's plausible in an architectural point of view, but I imagine it to be something like this:

If any of you is an actual architect or is more skilled in 3D rendition, I'd be forever grateful if you could pick up my design!😘

#sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #severus snape #regulus black #marauders #reference boards #headcanons #lau doesn't write because of reasons #rockstar au #modern au

[escapismsworld]

Your favorite Impressionist painter?

Hi thank you for asking! It may sound a bit cliché but for me it's Claude Monet. His paintings are of the most beautiful pastel hues and his use of blues (my favourite colour) and after I've read the below article it just made me love him more.

Why did Claude Monet love the colour blue so much? Well, it all began with four friends and a mistake...

The year is 1862, and four young painters at the French Academy of Fine Arts called Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Alfred Sisley, and Frédéric Bazille, realised they had something in common. Academic painting all took place in a studio, much like this:

The four of them found it old-fashioned, unrealistic, and uninspiring. The Academic style seemed artificial (carefully orchestrated lighting) and contrived (it imitated the Renaissance). And the themes - of Biblical and Classical history or mythology - didn't interest them.

So they starting painting outdoors ("en plein air" in French) and, led by the older artist Edouard Manet, embraced a wholly different form of realism. Outside the studio, lighting and human figures were *different*. In Manet's Balcony we can detect the start of this shift:

Soon enough Paul Cezanne and Camille Pissarro joined them, and a movement was born. They didn't paint reality as a camera might capture it, but as the eye perceives it from one moment to the next with all its movement, changing light, sudden glimpses, fog, and blur:

And they started to realise just how important colour was. Even in Monet's early works, like La Grenouillére (1869), we can see this in action. Up close there is no "form" as there was in Academic painting, but from a distance those splashes of colour unite to create reality:

And then, as Renoir said, “one morning, one of us ran out of black, and it was the birth of Impressionism.” This was the big leap: from the black shadows of Academicism to the blue shadows of Impressionism. Their paintings suddenly had an extraordinary brightness and vividity. After all, no shadow is truly black; it comprises a mixture of tones and colours.

And blue is the ultimate shade of the outdoors, being the colour of the sky and from there permeating everything else with its tones, even snow.

But Monet would take this further than anybody else, not only casting his work through a subtle lens of natural blue brightness, but diving headlong into the world of shifting colours and into the fundamental "blueness" of the outdoors. Like the London fog, say:

Or the Venetian Grand Canal, the river Seine, the cathedral of Rouen, or the poplars of Normandy. Another technique the Impressionists adopted was the use of brighter canvasses. Normally they were dark grey, but by the end Monet and co were using white canvasses.

When we think of a painter, one of the first images that comes to mind is a scruffy looking figure sitting outdoors with an easel, palette, and bundle of brushes. And it was Monet, more than any of his contemporaries, who fully immerged himself in *the* colour of Impressionism, the colour of the outdoors: blue.

But, by his late career, we find the Monet so well-known, so well-loved. Blueness has descended, filtered through snow and sunlight and haze, and the world has splintered into brush-strokes of colour. Impressionism had, perhaps, found its highest form.

He travelled to London and Venice, taking that style with him, and painted those cities in ways that, far from what a photograph would capture, seem to contain something truer about them, about how they *feel* to see, the impression they leave...

And, of course, in his beloved garden, where Monet bequeathed an artistic gift to the world with his two hundred and fifty paintings of water-lilies.

And here is Claude Monet himself, one of the most enduringly popular painters of our time, photographed with the bridge and pond made famous by his work, and, as he surely so loved, en plein air...

#dark academia #light academia #academia aesthetic #classical #academia #escapism #classic literature #books #books and libraries #architecture #art #painting #thanks for the ask! #ask me anything #royal core #cottage core #aesthetics #impressionism #claude monet #1800s #19th century

[grimsimblr]

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