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dduane · 2 months

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Middle Kingdoms "Tale of the Five" Mark V covers, minimalist (type 1) group, TDIF

This is the only one of these where I'm not going to put the work under a cut, because there are going to be twelve of them before I'm done, and I don't want to bore people with the roughs in progress.

So this was the sketch for this group's Door Into Fire cover the other day...

And here's a rough example of what I was seeing in my head.

Possibly a little on the nose, but (a) I had to start somewhere, and (b) it was 1 AM when I finished work on this one and I was beyond caring. :)

The "since we're talking about doors, let's lean into that" concept is one that's appeared in previous covers on this series—both mine and other people's—but none of mine have looked this polished, because I just wasn't as good at this stuff ten years ago as I am now, and I've now got far better tools.

...Though one hilarious exception to this situation has been applied to the lettering. The extremely nice Eye Candy plugin from Exposure Software once in its much earlier versions ran on both Corel Photo Paint (my preferred design software for pushing three decades now) and Adobe's various versions of Photoshop. But for whatever reason(s), that situation came to an end. Now, I have Eye Candy for Photoshop... but I really hate Photoshop, and avoid using it whenever possible.

So in order to add some pop to the Cinzel Decorative font on this page, I had to go elsewhere... which in my case means to the little Samsung notebook computer that lives (mostly snoozing) in the front window of the living room, and is still running Windows XP. (Because of this it's never allowed to go online any more, as it can't be made secure.) I refuse to get rid of it because we've traveled too far together, and I've written too many books on it, and I love it too much. But its other chief virtue is that it will still run Corel 11 (which my newer Windows machines refuse to do). And the install of Corel PP 11 in the Samsung will still happily run the old version of Eye Candy, which has all the familiar presets that I tinkered together over years of use. I really need to sit down, eventually, and figure out how to train the current version of Eye Candy to accept the presets from the older one.

But today is not that day. Today I just plugged in the .cpt Photo Paint file and edited it to add the golden-colored effect on those letters. That was all this rough needed for me to kick it to one side and get on with thinking about the next one.

Anyway, for those interested in materials: the hand and the doorway were created using Daz Studio. The blue fire is stock art. (I do have a very nice app called Flame Painter, from Escape Motions, but I'm not yet expert enough with it to use it much in cover work.) The basic (parent) font is Cinzel, as I mentioned: both Cinzel Bold and Cinzel Decorative Bold variants are used in this cover.

There are still a number of things that can use some tweaking in this one, but as I said, this is a rough. Over the next week or so I'll get around to the other two in this set, and get a better sense whether this whole idea is workable—as if the style doesn't work well across all three covers in the trilogy, it's useless.

And now I'm going to go make some oatcakes, as @petermorwood someone seems to have eaten all the ones I made last week. :)

(cc: @mutantenfisch: Links to the print copies at Amazon are over here, if you don't feel like waiting for the new covers...)

#Middle Kingdoms #Middle Kingdoms meta #The Door Into Fire #cover design #tag to make finding these easier:#MK Mk 5 covers

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wind-becomes-lightning · 2 years

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Good endings & new beginnings

I made the entire week. Happy happy! Anyway, I've been talking quite some with @kankuroplease about her Aori in my Ikigai Au as Irukas partner and because its been on my mind, i made this. whoop. Its also based losely on a sketch she made of iruka and Aori that I'm not sure I can share, but believe me its cute!

Umino Iruka x OC

Rated G

2640 words.

for @narutoocshipweek Day 7: Free day.

The life long friendship of Aori and Iruka ends in one night.

Iruka was slouching on the chair next to the dining table and watched Aori walk over to take herself a drink from his fridge. She knew where things in his apartment were exactly from the many times she had been over, and treated it like her own second home. He was feeling low lately and had been pretty much since his breakup a few months ago.

Aori was perceptive as ever, knowing Iruka’s many moods very well from a decade stretching friendship between them and so she had spontaneously decided to come over and cook him dinner. Katsura was out on a mission and needed no assistance and so she was essentially free. She had invited herself over and Iruka had known that fighting her on this would do him no good, so he just let her in and let her do her thing.

“Ruki, stop being gloomy”, she said and put her drink down on the table to sit right next to him. “You didn’t have to break up with her if that's so hard for you to take and Naru-chan is also back.”

He sighed. Right, it had been his choice to let Sora go, but it had been the right choice to make. After all Sora hadn’t loved him, never really, not in the way he wanted her to and so it was only right to cut her loose, especially since she would have been way too nice to cut herself loose. “You know I had to”, he said in reply and Aori shrugged her shoulders.

Seemingly assessing the situation she went right back into teasing mode. “Well, I guess she didn’t like your hideous haircut.” She swirled her finger around the top of her hand to mimic his ponytail. “Maybe you should have kept your hair more open.” Iruka only hissed in reply.

Aori wasn’t one to give up when the first try didn’t work so she poked a little more: “Maybe you just weren’t good enough of a kisser and that was the issue.”

Somehow this accusation riled him up, because his eyes shot up to look at her directly. “I’m excellent at it, thank you” he shot back and Aori shrugged: “I have a hard time imagining that.”

He sat forward in his chair and punched his fist to the table so hard that her drink almost fell from it: “I am a good kisser. Even your damned big mouth can’t take that away from me.” She laughed, “Oh yeah?”

The laugh quickly died in her throat as he jumped up and grabbed her by the sleeve. “Oh yeah”, Iruka said, anger and disappointment and frustration seeping out of him with every movement. He would never be able to make Aori stop teasing him endlessly for many things, but he was able to prove her wrong in this specific regard and he was going for it, before his brain could tell him how bad of an idea it was.

Iruka leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers so quickly that she yelped a little in surprise, crawling her fingers into his arm on her sleeve, but she did not push him away or draw back. Aori just sat there and let herself get kissed and he did kiss her, longer than one second or ten or twenty, longer than necessary. When he drew back he was so thoroughly out of breath as if they’d been making out for ten minutes, even though it was more like two.

The anger had vanished like a doused fire and he now stared the consequences of his actions right into the green eyes. Aori was red from cheeks to ears to neck. Her lips were slightly opened and parted as if she too could not believe what had just happened to her. Because for all her loud teasing and bossy attitude deep down she was a person that was easily embarrassed. Iruka had seen it when she was younger and was crushing on Might Gai. Aori stopped acting like a normal human being when she was around a person she had a crush on, when she was embarrassed. It was like her brain just shut off.

Iruka took a step back. “I- I’m sorry”, he said and now wished he could turn the time back to five minutes ago. Aori said nothing and just averted her eyes from him. “You - you riled me up and I- I was impulsive, I'm so sorry.” He didn’t know how to save the situation. It was already bad enough that he had effectively ruined their long friendship, a friendship that was important to him, but what was worse was that he had liked it. That he had not immediately drawn back because he had enjoyed it. That wasn’t good. That could lead to nothing good.

Aori put one pointer finger to her lips and breathed out in a way that it whistled a little. She was still red and seemingly contemplating something. “Well…”she said, every word out of her mouth was very slow and deliberate, “... I guess you are right, I can't argue that you are bad at it.”

“I- It does not matter, really…” he waved the answer away with his hand and tried to take another step away from her, but she was now the one who caught his hand before he could. She got up and stepped forward to him, so that she was standing right in front of him. For a moment he thought she was going to tease him, poke him, pull his cheek or ruffle his hair, any of that old friend stuff she normally did, but she just stood there looking up to him.

“Ruki”, she whispered and he hummed in reply, “Do you think I can do it again?”

“Eh, do what again?” Of course he had a certain idea what she meant but she couldn’t possibly mean what he thought she meant because that would mean….

Her hand found its way to his cheek and maybe she was after all thinking what he was thinking she was thinking, Iruka thought and felt like he was about to black out. “Sure,” he pressed out and still half believed that she was talking about something entirely different.

But then they kissed again, right there, standing flushed against each other. She kept the hand there on his cheek and he put his on her back. As if they had never done anything else they could follow each other through it, feel and taste the other with ease. Aori was sweet, half from the soda she must have had and half from her own scent and before his brain decided to completely give up control of his senses, Iruka at least could ask himself what this meant for either of them. Then his body switched to automatic.

Dinner slipped their minds completely as they spent the evening over and over kissing each other like they were some teenagers in love. Aori pulled the band in his hair out and stpped back to take in the way he looked with it down. He couldn’t take the stare, couldn’t take the admiration, so he pulled her back into him. Once they found the bedroom they stayed there just getting to know each other deeper than they even had before. They effectively buried their innocent childhood friendship and neither of them objected, even though they maybe should have.

The awkwardness came back in the morning when they both awoke next to each other. Iruka didn’t know what to say to Aori, who seemed thoroughly embarrassed and red faced. So they lay next to each other, one arm of his lazily placed under her head, and stared at the ceiling without talking. At least at first - then the stomach started grumbling.

“Do you want- “ he started, because what else could he do but invite her to stay for breakfast, but she cut him off with an embarrassed laugh: “Oh, funny, huh, that’s the second childhood best friend you’ve slept with… haha… soon you’ll have a bingo… haha.” Iruka furrowed a brow. She was back to teasing him apparently.

“Well,” she said, throwing her legs over the sides of the bed, “I have to go. I have- uh- training to do! So..! I guess I see you around, Ruki.” Aori put on her clothes quickly and he knew immediately she was lying about where she had to go. Not only because she didn’t have either of her weapons, but also because she put on her top the wrong way around and didn’t notice. She was just fleeing from the awkward situation and Iruka couldn't blame her.

Still, it hurt. It felt terrible actually. He’d had no luck dating at all in the past few years when one considered that Sora hadn’t loved him, all the dates after had ended in nothing but disappointment and now this! Maybe if his brain had functioned like a normal brain he could have stopped himself from ruining the strong bond they had still had yesterday, but as soon as he had carried Aori into this room from the kitchen, as soon as he had stepped over that threshold, he had effectively ruined that. Forever.

But Iruka had liked it all. By all accounts it should have been weird between them, it should have felt like kissing a sister or a close relative. That was not how it had been, however, at least not to him, which made the situation complicated. He wondered how she felt about it all and for a bit considered searching for her to talk it all out, but then he shied away and decided that he would just wait for her to come to him. If she didn’t ever come to him at all, well, that would just mean their friendship was over and they could never speak to each other again. Easy as that.

He spent the day in his apartment waiting for the door to ring, which was childish of course, but he couldn’t help it at all. In Iruka’s mind, it was easier for Aori to find him here if she wanted to come talk and he really hoped that she would. Saying that their friendship was effectively over was one thing, but actually realising what that meant was another. He didn't want to lose all of that. There was also this part of him that barely dared to believe that maybe something new had begun, even if something old had ended, but that was such a long shot, that he pushed it away as soon as it crossed his mind.

It was dark out already again when the door actually did ring. Iruka stood back at his kitchen counter and cut his fingers with his sharpest kitchen knife trying to cook dinner. No matter how many times he had done it, he seemed to still be clumsy when it came to cutting vegetables. His whole body tensed when he could hear the sound of the bell and like a machine he turned around and walked to the door, forgetting completely to put the knife down. He held it so hard that his knuckles turned white when he opened the door. He breathed in and out.

“Aori!” The sound escaped him more elated than he wanted to. Aori was in front of his door, now wearing her shirt the right way around. She was red in the face. “Ruki”, she replied and held her gaze somewhere at a point across his shoulder instead of his face.

Iruka stepped to the side to let her walk in and she did, getting rid of her shoes in one swift motion. For a moment he was reminded how she had walked in the day before and decided to cook for him and how much more fun and easy going both of them had been. This now was hard work, the air heavy with anticipation.

“That’s a really cool knife you have there”, she laughed weakly, “Haha- you are so good with those vegetables, I think, haha.” He blinked in confusion. What the hell was she saying? Sure, it had been pretty awkward between them when she had left, but now she was being completely nonsensical. Was she that embarrassed to have slept with him? He sat next to her on the kitchen table just like they had sat on the night before.

“Th-hanks”, he said and realised he was still holding the knife. He put it down between them as if it was a weapon either of them could grab to end the misery of their existence. He was thinking of what to say, but Aori was once again faster than him. She cleared her throat and said: “Iruka, I - I wanted to talk to you about something.”

It took him out more than he would have suspected that she used his full name out of a sudden. There was a heat on his cheeks that he couldn’t quite explain. He stammered a “Okey” as a reply and felt a little like he was the biggest idiot in the entire village. What was even happening to both of them?

“Yesterday…” she started and he interrupted immediately: “Oh, we don’t- we don’t have to - to talk about that, we can just, you know, not- not talk about it.” Idiot, idiot, Iruka thought to himself. Of course they needed to talk about it. Aori furrowed her brow and shook her head: “No, no I want to say something, Iruka, ok?” His full name again. He bit his lip.

Aori let out a deep breath: “So… I’ve thought about yesterday and tonight - a lot, actually, like all day really- and uh - “ She stopped for a moment to apparently compose herself. “If-if you wanted, I mean if - if you were up to-to that I mean, if you have nothing else to do….”

“Spit it,“ Iruka could feel his stomach turn on him with each new word coming out of her mouth. He didn’t dare speculate what her point was, too strong was his fear of being disappointed.

“Right, uh- All I’m saying is if you would- would be up to do it again- , eh, if you wanted to do it again… I wouldn’t mind.”

He blinked in disbelief: “Joke? Are you.. Joking?” He felt like he needed her to confirm it again. All of this seemed so very unbelievable.

“No! No. I- I mean that, Ruki, I … truth to be told, liked it a lot.. W-with you, you know?” she mumbled and looked like she almost bit her tongue. Suddenly he understood her comment about the knife earlier. In all his confusion Iruka had totally forgotten that Aori stopped acting like a normal human being when she had a crush on someone. When.. she had a crush… on someone…. His brain felt like it was frying itself at the revelation.

“Right, ok, right, yeah, ok..” Iruka tried to piece it all together. Before he knew what he was doing he grabbed the knife on the table and cut the hairband in his hair off to let the hair fall down over his shoulders.

Aori let out a baffled: “What was that for?”

“I don’t know, I’m fired up, I can’t tell you what’s going on. I’m so-”

She once again cut him off by pulling him by his shirt to her and when they kissed he suddenly felt like a weight that he had carried all his life had been lifted from off his shoulders.

Something was ending, but something was also beginning. Eventually Aori drew back and pulled a little on his loose hair: “Seriously though, Ruki, how tacky was cutting your hair loose. Is that how you think you can get a girl?” He grinned. Maybe not all things were ending.

#fanfiction things #oc: aori #au: ikigai #i just think they are cute your honour #narutoocshipweek2022 #naruto oc ship week 2022

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stargazersroom · 2 years

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Art/animation ideas

Cards 1.1 Standart playing cards. Tango as Ace of Diamonds, False as Queen of Hearts, heads and body parts. Not sure about False, but Tango is definitely Ace of Diamonds. 1.2 Beef's card game. View on the playing field from above. On the one side Grian, Mumbo and Impulse are benched, while New Grian is active. Because of the last update, TNT is his effect card. On the other side Tango is an active card, with custom endermite effect card. Iskall and False are benched. Only problem is that I have no idea what to do with item cards.

Mumbo art 2.1 Mumbo, chairs, box and empty spaces. There are many smaller art pieces that can be created to show his lonely first few weeks in the Infinity Room, and I've actually already made one! It sits in my drafts but I'm hesitant to show it, at least without explaning what's going on. I feel like I have the perfect title for it, but art itself is unreadable, unclear. 2.2 Enderman Mumbo. Self explanatory. Just model sheets + shitpost animation using Unleash The Magic where part of the readerbase progressively stresses Mumbo more with each ask and the final frame is just Enderman Mumbo. That's it.

"This is Home" Mumbo and Tango animation. Audio is half of the song This Is Home by Cavetown (starting from the line "Are you dead?" and until the end). I've just finished making a storyboard for it, but there is a catch - instead of drawings there are just words. A bunch of them. I only tried to save my ideas in case I'll stumble on this project later and want to remember what was so special about it or if someone else decides to help me with it.

False's walking cycle, but camera zooms on her face for a second or two and she just starts grinning like the villain.

Shitpost level sketches of False and Impulse singing Hermitgang in front of Tango.

Iskall animation. Song is People I Don't Like

Title said it all except for the "I'm bad at drawing, so those are ideas that someone else can run with and do themselves". Not that I won't try - probably I'll do some sketches, but most likely I'll either be very unsatisfied or embarrased with the result and won't show anything, or give up almost immediately because I can't capture hard perspective angles from my imagination on the paper. As of now, I'll try my best to rediscover how to draw (last time I drew anyting was a year ago and I wasn't good even then), then I'll work on False animation to establish style, and after that on "This is Home".

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

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The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Nine: Letters, Lovers and Loyalties

A/N: This is the ninth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2185

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Yet another letter dropped into the lap of Aria Dumbledore as she sat absentmindedly sketching. Dropping her quill back into the small pot of ink which balanced on the arm of her chair, a small sigh escaped her lips. She had been expecting another to arrive any day now.

Aria allowed herself a small glance in the direction of her desk where the ever growing pile of unopened letter sat gathering dust. Disregarding her drawing, Aria traveled to her desk, fingers fumbling with the edge of the envelope. Admittedly, Aria's mind had been focused on that small pile of letters the past few days, and consequently the man who sent them. She couldn't bring herself to reply to his constant inquiries, but she had considered there was no harm in opening a few of them. She longed to hear from him, though she had been in denial for so long now she wasn't sure what to expect from his most recent letters.

Waiting no longer she ripped the paper from its wax seal, her eyes quickly scanning every word on the page.

My dear Aria, Though I know you say you cannot reply to my letters, I write them all with the hope that you will find the time in your busy schedule to at least read them. As always things are quiet here without you. Too quiet. I miss your voice. I miss hearing you sing to yourself in the shower thinking no one can hear you, I miss hearing you hum as you wander aimlessly through the house, I miss watching you draw as I pose for you, but most importantly I miss holding you in my arms. I long for the end of the school year when we will be reunited and I will have nothing to miss except maybe writing these letters. I long for a response to my letters, my darling. I simply must know that you miss me as I miss you. In the mean time I will continue to write to you to keep myself distracted from everything terrible happening in the world, by simply thinking of you. All my love, S.

Aria couldn't help but feel a great pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach for ignoring the letters, but she couldn't bare the thought of reading them, while she was still coming to terms with how she felt when she decided to leave for Hogwarts. She knew immediately she would not be able to maintain a long distance relationship with him. Though he was the first man she had ever loved she had been too cowardly to confess her feelings for him in person, let alone on a piece of parchment. She knew she was a pathetic coward from the moment he told her he loved her and she could not find it in her to return the favour. Her cowardice was more than proven the day she left for Hogwarts. Aria had planned to break up with him, to avoid further heartbreak down the line. But she could not even find the courage to do that.

Instead she was living in denial. In her mind they had broken up, and refused to face up to whatever she was truly feeling until it was absolutely necessary. Her plan had been to distract herself as much as possible, suppress her feelings and just forget about the situation completely. And to be totally honest her plan had been working for her, with the exception of a few off days such as today. However when it came time to wake up and face the music she had no idea what her plan would be then.

Leaving the letter open on her desk she took a stroll around the grounds of Hogwarts to clear her mind. The time to figure out all of her problems was not now. She was still a young, carefree woman and she didn't want the burden of guilt stopping her from living her life however she so wished.

Arias walk led her to the village of Hogsmeade, and after working up a light sweat, the young professor opted to pop into the Three Broomsticks to quench her thirst.

Unsurprisingly for a late Tuesday evening the place was barren. Besides for a drunken wizard practically falling off his bar stood, a crazy witch whispering to herself and two well dressed men, sitting out of place in a side booth, the place was completely deserted. Planning to only stay for a pumpkin juice Aria took a seat at the bar and begun chatting to the same barmaid who had served her and Severus all those weeks ago.

"Busy night?" Aria joked, rolling her eyes at the drunk to her right.

The woman laughed in return, handing over a glass of pumpkin juice. "This is pretty much the standard, at this time." She shrugged, polishing off a perfectly clean glass, to keep herself busy. "That one over there doesn't even order anything, but its not worth the hassle kicking her out." She gestured to the old hag in the corner, her perfectly polished nails glistening in the dim bar light.

"I wish I could say I felt sorry for you, but a break away from the chaos that is Hogwarts is a slight relief." Aria sighed. She was still not used to being around so many people all the time having spent the past few years alone, besides her mother, she often needed time alone to breathe.

"Oh, then you must be new. I've had my fair share of lonely professors spend an evening behind my bar, and I usually remember who's spilled their whole life story to me. Though you do look familiar, what do you teach?" She finished up with her glasses, leaning her elbows on the bar to get a closer look at the younger woman, her breasts practically falling out her blouse.

"I'm just an apprentice for now. I'm the new Potions Mistress." Aria smiled, taking a small sip of her drink.

"Oh yes, now I remember. You came here with that Severus. He's not unfamiliar with our whiskey selection, if you know what I mean." Both women rolled their eyes in unison. "He doesn't seem to talk much though, I can't say I know anything about him. I must admit I was surprised to see him with a gorgeous young witch like yourself."

"You weren't the only one." Aria scoffed, finishing off her pumpkin juice.

"Well it makes a little bit more sense now." She laughed, a set of pristine pearly teeth emerging from her red glossy lips.

It seemed Aria was not the only one who had been admiring the woman's beauty, and almost right on cue the drunk decided to look a little bit more lively, demanding another pint. Reluctantly the barmaid obliged, shooting Aria an apologetic look.

Aria couldn't help but notice the gruff looking man practically throw himself over the bar in order to get a good gawk at the barmaids behind. The slightly older woman seemed unfazed by the mans actions, in-fact Aria wasn't entirely unsure she wasn't enjoying the attention. Choosing not to interrupt as neither party seemed to object to the altercation, Aria kept her mouth shut.

That was until the man's attention turned to her. The barmaid disappeared from view, presumably to refill the barrel the drunk had practically drowned himself in. "Haven't seen you around here before." He started harmlessly, though Aria did not miss the way his eyes seemed to scan the whole of her body.

"Just moved into Hogwarts, haven't seen much of Hogsmeade." Aria admitted, but made the conscious decision to turn away from him, hoping not to engage in any further conversation.

"You a friend of Ros'" He asked, intrigued, while downing a good half of his pint.

"Not really, no." Aria shrugged. "I didn't even know her name until just now."

"Rosalind Rookwood." He edged his seat closer to Arias. "Fantastic barmaid, though I wouldn't say it was her best profession." He winked.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Aria turned her nose up at the man, just praying he would leave her alone.

"Well, you know, bein' a barmaids fine an all, but it doesn't always pay the bills. Miss Rookwood's got her fair share of stories to tell, and not all of them her own." He laughed, the potent stench of his alcoholic breath suffocating Aria as he leaned in closer, wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders. "If it turns out teaching isn't for you, just know you'll have a loyal customer in me." He hiccuped, his free arm, reaching down to stroke the woman's exposed thigh.

Instinctively Aria gripped onto his wrist, forcing it off of her. "What the hell do you think you are doing!?" Aria exclaimed, pushing the man away from her. "Don't you dare lay your hands on me again."

The drunk showed no sign of guilt or remorse, he simply chuckled to himself, revealing a shocking lack of teeth. Disgusted, Aria made to move but found herself cornered against the bar.

Fortunately the altercation had caused enough disruption to alert the two men having a casual evening drink. Instantly one rushed over to her aid, stupefying the old man. The second man followed suit and made it his business to remove the frozen figure from the bar.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"I'm fine, thank you for stepping in." Aria smiled, brushing herself down, as though she was riding herself from the drunks disgusting touch.

The man returned a boyish grin, his eyes bright blue and full of kindness. Aria had never seen anyone like him. His presence was almost cartoon like, with positivity radiating from him. Aria couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh, her smile growing just by looking at him. His energy was contagious.

"Is... is there anything I can do to thank you?" She tried your shake herself back to reality though remained entranced by him.

"Nothing at all. I'm just glad I was here to help." He extended a hand, almost nervously, introducing himself. "Alexander Turner, pleasure to meet you."

"You too." Aria blushed, unable to break eye contact with the man, and was now incredibly aware of how dumbfounded she must look. "I'm Aria" She stuttered, the sound of his friend retuning sending her back to reality. "I apologise for staring, but I just can't seem to take my eyes off you, you have an enchanting aura about you. I'm sorry if I may seem a little strange."

"There's no need to apologise, I get it all the time." He laughed, though not arrogantly, it was sweet and innocent. "My mother's a Veela." He added, almost embarrassedly, upon noticing the slightly look of confusion appearing on Arias face.

The couple shared an awkward smile, both at a loss for words.

Alexander's friend passed by the pair silently, slapping him encouragingly on the shoulder before disappearing behind the bar, Rosalind following closely behind.

Aria noted the difference in both attitude and appearance in the two men, finally able to distinguish between the two. The friend was tall and broad shouldered, his hair messy though not long. He gave off a sort of American football, "bro", fratbroy vibe. In other words kind of arrogant and full of himself. Clearly he saw himself as the one in control. Alexander on the other hand was more slim, but not skinny. Tall but not lanky. Innocent but not naive. His clothes appeared similar to his friends but presented more neatly and well put together. She assumed he felt sorry for his friend, knowing his Veela parentage would gain him lots of female attention, and in return Alexander simply allowed himself to get pushed around to boost his friends ego.

With a roll of his eyes Alexander practically confirmed her theory and Aria couldn't stop herself from laughing once more.

Knowing that while Rosalind and 'Braydon'; as he turned out to be, would not be returning any time soon, Aria and Alexander chose to occupy one of the booths and get to know a little bit about each other, where Alex truly confirmed all of Aria's suspicions.

Upon Braydon's return, he flashed his rather large biceps, kissing each one in turn as he flexed them, before letting out a hearty growl, presumably this was a display of male dominance among his kind. His kind being; douchebags.

With another roll of her eyes Aria bid farewell to the men, thanking Alexander once more for his heroic rescue.

"How about a date?" Alex called nervously as Aria had just about reached the door.

"I'm sorry?" She replies, caught off guard.

"A date, here, with me. What do you say?" Aria shook her head unable to look away from that damn charming smile of his.

"I'll agree to a few drinks." She clarified. "Just send me an owl, you know where I'll be." And with that she disappeared once more down the path to Hogwarts, the grey sky above all the while threatening to rain down on her.

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

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Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow. She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #fanfiction #request #i really like this

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