It's Hard For Her To Say Just How Deeply That Sweet Confession Strikes Her; Sends Her Heart Fluttering,

It's hard for her to say just how deeply that sweet confession strikes her; sends her heart fluttering, lighteness in her chest that leaves her in airy, fond laughter. She squeezes his hand. Her smile grows more radiant under his gaze.

In his hold, her free hand comes up to his chest and she traces little hearts onto the fabric of his shirt as she listens and speaks.

"I still think I'm luckier," she whispers. It's sincere—for what a wonder it was that after years of chasing distant dreams, she somehow found herself in the arms of someone real?

His traveling touch sends a tingle down her spine and makes her bite her lip. She holds onto his shoulders and closes the gap between then even more, her eyes glancing down at his lips before meeting his gaze.

"Then, my sorrel... I think we can both give each other what we want." She leans in close and presses a tender kiss to his lips before pulling away just enough that her lips brush against his as she speaks.

"I missed you too."

Dressing Up {Closed with @dolasach}

(Continued)

"Working on a new project. I need to have some data in place to go off of." He explains as his hands fall slowly to her hips, not missing the opportunity to let them fall a little farther than needed, but he does indeed actually need her measurements, and notes the correct numeral and has to step away to write it down, and returns to her.

His hands slide across her upper back, there's strength there that he's glad for. Nimble fingers graze against her upper bicep on one arm while he takes note of its shape and takes that number too.

"You're strong, Miss." He lets his lips fall to her ear. "You're beautiful."

name moodboard: order for “vasiliki” | ♫ now playing: la musica by vinchenzo orru

Iris van Herpen: 'Capriole, Ensemble' (2011)

the kiss nearly distracts her from her question; the actual words he spoke break her out of her brief reverie.

no way.

her brows knit together in her deepening confusion, the question playing on her tongue answered before she could say it.

surely he was kidding?

"what? kill them?" she stares at him with wide eyes, unsure whether she heard him correctly or not.

she knows she did. and there was nothing in his eyes or expression that betrayed any possibility of this being a dark joke, or a mere fantasy.

“rafayel…”

completely in the dark about rafayel’s other motives, she continues, feeling somewhat panicked for her parents—it’s not as if rafayel’s all talk when it came to vengeance.

"i know you probably hate them now after hearing how i feel about them, mo ghra,” she says, reaching for his shoulders to squeeze them as if it would help wring those sinister thoughts out of his body.

“but as much as i want them out of the picture, i don't think murder is necessary. theyre just a couple of persistent assholes. once my birthday passes, they're back to being nothing to me. it happens every year."

❦ 𝐵𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑠ℎ

a closed starter | @vibinsane

the marker of yet another year of existence passing; dolasach's birthday draws near. it looms around the corner, the date a week from now.

she doesn't think it to be a celebration.

each day closer to the day brings forth old memories, unearths feelings buried beneath six feet of repeated retrospection. how annoying, she thinks, to be so bogged down by something so... asinine.

she quietly takes a deep breath and smooths out the crease between her brows.

relax.

this isn't the sort of headspace she should be in if she's going to be hanging around mo art studio. the last thing she wanted was for her boyfriend to catch her in her melancholy.

(even though by now, deep down, she knows he's noticed the shift in her demeanor for the last few days)

it's sunny today. the sun blesses them with its warmth and the clouds are gorgeous. the surrounding sea meets and parts with the shore of whitesand bay over and over, the resulting waves providing calming white noise that filled the silence.

it would've been nice if her mind mirrored the mood outside.

her eyes drift towards rafayel. his back is turned to her, something that can't be helped as he works on yet another painting too large to be mounted on an easel. it works to dolasach's favor; if he wants to look at her, he'll have to turn around.

she'll see it if he does.

and it'll give her the chance to put on a happier face.

she thinks it's a simple plan, but as she falls back into her thoughts while watching rafayel paint, her troubles make themselves known on her features.

Fiber art is physical magic

Tapping the pen did manage to get her full attention on him—not that she wasn’t already hanging on to every word he said in a bid to find any sort of hidden objective. She’d just been avoiding his gaze, not wanting anything in her expression to give too much away.

But looking him in the eye as he spoke turned out to be more reassuring for her than she expected. The sincerity in his words reflected in his eyes and it was hard to ignore.

She paused.

Then she thought about it.

So far since meeting him, Thomas has only ever been nice and helpful. As paranoid as she was that she was just buying into a businessman’s charisma… So far he seemed like a genuinely good guy.

And, well, Rafayel certainly seemed to think so, if he’s still keeping Thomas around as his manager. And that guy barely has any patience for anyone he catches even a whiff of insincerity from.

She sighed. The overthinking doesn’t ever end, but at least it’s heading towards not being so suspicious of Thomas now.

“I’m sorry for being so defensive.” She took another deep breath and let it go just as slowly. “I’m just… Really unsure of how to handle this. The last time I gave sharing my work a shot didn’t exactly go well.”

This should be fine. He seems like a trustworthy man.

(But he’s closer to Rafayel than he is with her, she reminded herself.)

“I… Don’t really post my work anywhere. It’s all private and only a handful of people know about any of it. But if you want to see a little of I’ve done, here—“

If he makes any more connections… Then maybe she’s really the idiot for trying her luck like this.

(Yet some part of it was still so enticing, being known like this—artist to artist, right? For once?)

After a few swipes and taps on her tablet, she offered it to him, watching his expression. Her digital sketchbook was open and contained pages and pages of concept sketches, color explorations, studies, and notes. None of it was too revealingly personal and there were no signs of any of the finished work that came out of this miscellany, but it was enough for her style and meticulousness to shine through, and it was clear she had a fascination with Lemuria and the sea. Some of the studies were even of Rafayel’s own work.

“I normally prefer mixed-media and fiber art for finished work, but a majority of what I make are sketches and paintings to save time and space.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she waited for his reaction. Why did this feel so… Embarrassing?

❦ a reintroduction to shape and color

closed starter | @thomasicism

—

Perhaps Dolasach should’ve known better when she agreed to be play bodyguard for a rather… eccentric personality.

She wasn’t a stranger to world-renowned artist Rafayel’s odd quirks, or to his occasional apathy towards coming off as unreasonable. Whispers of those facets of his personality made rounds among her circles in university and never failed to be mentioned in his interviews—artists are stereotyped as strange and anti-social for a reason. Even in her brief encounters with him prior to the arrangement, she could already tell that he wasn’t an exception to the trope.

So why then, she asked herself, did I agree to be his bodyguard?

The answer echoed in her mind in the form of a coral stone and a dark blue envelope. She sighed and kept walking along the city sidewalk, paying little mind to the passing cars or passersby.

Almost as if in mockery, today’s weather brought a slight drizzle, too. The soft pitter-patter of the rain making contact with Dolasach’s umbrella did little to soothe her mood.

Nearing her destination, Flux Arts, she pulled out her phone and reviewed her conversation with her employer from last night.

Noisy Oarfish: im still saddened by the fact that my own bodyguard cant identify my work at a glance. if word gets out and youre called “incompetent,” ill be devastated

Noisy Oarfish: you need to improve your artistic sensitivity

Noisy Oarfish: tell you what. ill leave those forgeries at flux with the original and you need to tell me which one is the real one

Noisy Oarfish: but not only do you have to pick the correct painting, i need you to analyze. no point in this if you just get it right by guessing or asking thomas

Noisy Oarfish: think you can get it done by friday?

Me: Fine.

Something about the whole situation sparked such a deep annoyance in Dolasach that had her determined to get the assignment done as soon as possible. Rereading the messages rekindled that flame, and she felt all the more eager to get started as soon as she entered Flux Arts.

Thomas better be here.

The sudden shift from noisy city sidewalk to quiet white cube gallery made her feel a little too aware of how upset she was. After taking a moment to try and collect herself, she approached the receptionist.

“Excuse me.” Her tone was calm and even. “Is Thomas around? I’m here to run an errand for Rafayel.”