Afternoon darlings, I have prompt 51 out of 52 for you darlings, I know its very short, but work is getting rougher as the day goes on.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this.
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Warning - None
Thranduil x reader
Setting - AU
Prompt 51 - “SUNDAYS ARE FOR SLEEP!”
Word count 564
It had been a long day, meeting and after meeting, and unopened files pilling up on the desk, all Thranduil wanted to do was go home and get out of the suit had been wearing all day, and the pinchy shoes, picking up his briefcase he made his way to the stairs to avoid any and all awkward lift conversations and pushed the door open descending the stairs to the lower garage, digging for his car keys in his jacket pocket.
Hearing engines in the distant Thranduil knew his car would be the last in the lot, it took the lift 5 minutes to get there but 10 by descending the stairs, pushing the door open Thranduil looked around the lot and he saw just his car, walking slowly to it he lifted his keys and unlocked the car door with a push of a button, pulling the door open he slid himself into the car and placed the briefcase on the passenger seat, placing the keys into the ignition Thranduil started the car and headed home.
….
Humming to yourself, you walked around the kitchen pulling the cutlery from the draw and placing it on the table as you turned to pull the glasses down from the shelves and placed them on the table too, before returning to the oven and pulling out the cooked chicken, placing it on top of the oven you heard the door go and you softly smile as you turned and looked up the hallway seeing Thranduil hanging up his coat and placing his keys on the side table, before he headed down the hallway towards you with a soft smile on his face once your eyes connected.
Plating up that night's dinner you looked over at Thranduil sitting at the table reading the paper work in his hand, as you placed his plate in front of him “How was work?” You asked as turned and reached for the wine before filling up Thranduil’s glass.
“Annoying like normal, Pat makes the same jokes over and over, Bill runs late everyday and the meetings are getting longer and longer” Thranduil said as he picked up his glass and downed it one, placing it back on the table for you to refill it as you placed your own plate on the table.
….
A loud annoying beeping tone was rolling around Thranduil’s mind as the noise got louder and louder, opening his eyes saw your sleeping face, as he turned his head and saw it was the alarm clock beeping showing the time to be 4:45am, reaching out with his hand he silence the alarm and slowly lifted himself up into a sitting position yawning as he did so.
Picking up his phone Thranduil unlocked it and let out a small sign at seeing how many emails he had gotten throughout the night, letting his eyes roam over the screen he saw the day of the week and let out a huff as he opened one of the urgent emails, reading it he sent a reply back “SUNDAYS ARE FOR SLEEP!” before he locked his phone again and placed it down on the bedside table.
Laying himself back down he wrapped one of his arms around your waist and pulled you closer getting a contented hum from your sleeping body as he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 3 - Working Day
Days passed since I had met Stefano on my Wednesday shift; the weekend came and let me move through the motions of daily life. I never ended up looking up his name. While I was curious, I didn't need to go snooping around for information on a stranger.
I sat quietly in the gallery the following Monday, scrolling through my Facebook page, absentmindedly wondering about some more distant friends that I didn't interact with online. Everything, as far as I was aware, was going smoothly in my classes, and I didn't have anything too pressing for the next few weeks. Pet pictures and photos of family members went through my feed interspersed with articles about politics and science breakthroughs.
A new article posted a few hours ago came across my dash, linked to a statement from the Krimson City's police department about an urgent matter. The headline read "Mutilated Woman's Body Found Over the Weekend - Search for Identity Matches Missing Woman from Krimson City" and continued with an introduction to the article.
I clicked on the link and began to scroll through the story, reading about how the body was missing its arms and head, rendering it as barely more than a torso. A crime scene photo, blurred for those who didn't want to see it, showed her crumpled frame laying in a small pool of blood in an alleyway once the filter was removed. There was barely any blood left, showing that the majority of the wounds and bloodletting occurred elsewhere.
"Due to some defensive wounds, police are saying this person was alive while they were being dismembered. Identity of body suspected to be Genevieve Wavers, a young woman pursuing an acting and modeling career. She was last seen in a bar downtown before disappearing six days ago. The police chief will be making a statement today about the series of murders that have been occurring within our beloved town."
I frown slightly as I continue scrolling, discussing how the family of the woman is reacting to the news, how it hasn't been completely confirmed until the DNA testing comes back conclusive, and discussion of how similar murders have been ongoing within the city.
A serial murderer is an interesting idea to study in terms of true crime interests, but it doesn't actually feel fun when there's a real threat living in your city and walking around as though they are a real person.
I shut out of the tab on my phone. That's enough internet for right now, I don't need to become wildly paranoid. So far I think I'm safe from the supposed serial killer, or whoever is killing and dismembering young women in Krimson. Sure I'm a young woman too, but I doubt I'm the ideal victim for them.
I guess I wouldn't really know that, though.
A student walked into the gallery, meandering in slowly. I sat down my phone, sitting attentive to make sure they knew I was there to answer any questions they might have. The waved slightly at me, acknowledging me, then started to walk around the exhibit.
I turned to my sketchbook, staring at the sketch I had been working on before becoming frustrated and turning to my phone for entertainment. I frowned, then picked up my block eraser and began to erase the entire thing. I didn't like how it was turning out, and I knew I would never come back to it, so might as well get rid of it now before it becomes a mental burden to the book and an embarrassment to me.
The student walked towards the desk, causing me to look up at him. He was a student I was familiar with, as he had been in several of my art classes.
"Hey, it's nice to see you again!" He said with a smile, polite as he usually was.
I nodded towards him. "Always good to see you." I made a mental note that I didn't know or remember his name.
"Do you know what this piece is called?" he held up his phone, showing a photograph of a piece from the last gallery installment. "I meant to get it before it came down, but I wasn't able to remember it, and I've asked around my class that needs the paper, but no one knows what it's called."
Someone else walked in, but I didn't pay attention to them while I was preoccupied with the student in front of me. I knew a few teachers in the art department had set a short paper to talk free form about a piece of their selection. A few other students from other classes have come in with the same question, but I'm normally not helpful. Especially now since this installment has been up for nearly a month. I stared at the photo for a moment, recognizing the image but not remembering the name, then shrugged.
"Sorry, I didn't catch most of the names from the last rotation." I said, leaning back in my seat. "I would recommend talking to your teacher and asking if you could do a paper on one of the pieces from this one."
"Oh, alright..." His voice trailed off, turning his phone to himself to look at the photograph again and scratching his neck.
I smiled halfheartedly, turning my attention the other patron. The student was a woman with long brown hair lingering close to the desk I was sitting at, obviously waiting for my attention. The man I was talking to turned and began to wander around the room to look at the pieces again.
The girl walked to my desk. "Uhm, sorry, but do you have any of the last paintings from the last gallery?"
I shook my head. "Only one or two in the backroom since they were sold, but all the name plates are in a pile in a tray mixed with other rotations."
"Okay. . ." her voice hesitated, then she pulled out her phone from her bag and scrolled through it. "Do you know the name of this one?"
She held out her phone with a photograph from the last installment. It was a different piece from what the other student had asked me to remember, but I was still at a loss for the names. I kept my polite smile but sighed internally. Props to her for not eavesdropping on my last conversation. Working in the gallery is fun, but when someone puts off their paper until a month after their reference is pulled off the walls, I tend to feel like it's not worth it.
"Sorry, no." I said. "I don't know the name. If you need it for a paper, I'd recommend asking your teacher if you can change the subject of the paper."
She nods, then puts her phone away, frowning as though she was embarrassed. "Well, thank you anyway."
She walked out of the gallery, hung head a little. I could tell the poor girl was severely anxious. I slid my mouth to the side. I mentally apologized again, though knowing it wasn't my fault, I felt bad that so many people didn't realize that the gallery attendants weren't completely infallible. If I knew the names of each piece from the last artist, I would certainly help the people that came in and asked. However, for now each of the students were on their own until I can get photographic memory like the phones that didn't capture the names of the pieces the students are trying to reference.
I continue trying to work with a sketch on the now blank page laying open in my sketchbook. I play with the lines, trying to turn light scribbles into a full piece, starting over and trying to use the page as a character sheet or as a thumbnail experiment page for paintings. However, I don't seem to be able to make anything work, and I eventually give up on the now messy and greyed page. Perhaps today just isn't my day to continue my drawings.
I sigh and pick up my phone again. I open Facebook again, scrolling through my feed. I come across some more articles discussing the current climate of fear in Krimson, more talks about who might be the serial killer running amongst the citizens. Comments sections full of "Anyone could have done this, we aren't being told anything by the police" and "These officials don't know how to do their jobs, no wonder multiple serial killers have lived here in the past decade."
I frown and try not to think about the current state of the city. Too many police went missing in one of the last incidents in Krimson, so I'm not surprised if they're understaffed or waiting for new personnel. When there aren't as many people to keep the criminals in check, it seems the criminals will run rampant like an invasive species.
Someone walked into the gallery, causing me to look up. It was my coworker, Angela, come to take my place since my shift was now over. I smiled at her and began to pick up my things. We began to make conversation and talked quietly as I stood to leave the gallery. We made jokes about shared experiences from working the gallery, discussing family life and bonding over mutual things.
Finally, I turned and began to leave for my class. I was sure I had wasted enough time chatting, but when I made connections with people I couldn't help investing whatever time was available to be with them. It was exhausting sometimes, but worth it when I can make a strong connection with someone.
Walking out the door from the gallery, I waved and said "see you" to Angela. I walked a few paces, then walked into something. I backed up, stumbling, trying to regain my balance.
I fell as I failed to regain my composure, stumbling backwards over my own feet. The concrete flooring was cold and unflinching, rather painful as my leg bent roughly underneath me. I heard someone's voice cry out with a loud slamming into the ground that wasn't me. It dawned on me that I had run into a person and knocked them over.
I looked over to the person saying "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
A man with a single eye obscured by his bangs lay in front of me on the floor, now sitting up and staring at me. It was Stefano, and I could see his portfolio from last time laying across the floor where he had dropped it. His face was twisted in rage, a taught frown on his face and visible eyebrow turned down, casting a dark shadow over his eye. Then his face softened, and he began to get up.
"Well, Miss Rose, I didn't expect to see you again today." He spoke through a tense voice, masking almost pure rage coming through as he spoke. He reached for his portfolio as he stood, then brushed his off, patting down some of the dirt his black suit picked up while on the floor. The top button was undone on his pristine shirt collar, the black coat protecting the pure white fabric from a smudge of dirt across his side.
I hurriedly got up, grabbing my book bag, forgetting that I was in a rush to get to my next class. "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't see you while I was walking."
"Nor did I see you." He said, no longer speaking with an enraged tone. "Though, I would recommend you watch where you are going next time. I doubt few would be as forgiving as me."
I blinked, taken aback from his comment.
His face shifted, then a smile spread across his lips. He lifted his portfolio, then gestured me to follow him. I walked with him as he sat down on a bench across the hall from where I had been standing.
"You are responsible for one of my newest creations, bella." he chuckled quietly as I sat down next to him. "After you had shown me those photos from Miss Sally Mann, I was struck with such inspiration that I had to create something new."
I didn't notice how low he was speaking at first. He opened his leather portfolio, the echo of the zipper bouncing through the hall.
"You developed a new photograph, or. . ."
"I created several, though I am only carrying the best with me in this."
He flipped gently through the transparent folders holding his pictures, as though checking to make sure none were damaged from falling. Once he got closer to the ending, he turned the portfolio to me and set it on my lap. Two pictures looked back at me, one of an eye buried under dozens of hands, staring out at the viewer. I stared at it for a moment, seeing the crispness of the shadows meeting and contrasting with the skin tones of the hands and what was visible of the face. The eye shone in terror it seemed, bloodshot, and almost begging to be saved from the inevitable fate of being touched.
A low rumble of laughter came from the man sitting next to me. "I admire your appreciation, but I was speaking about this one." His gloved hand guided me to the opposite page and tapped it slightly.
It was a woman with missing limbs and head dislocated from her body, face obscured by roses and tree leaves. She was wearing a red dress that turned into a river at her feet, simulating a river of blood flowing through a forest. Large trees overlapped and faded into the background, implying that the focus of the woman was that she was part of a waterfall, leaning back in a near bliss at bringing life to the land around her despite her obvious death.
I felt my heart pound, something about the way the girl stood reminded me of the police report and crime photo I had seen earlier. I blinked and shook my head.
"What are your thoughts?" Stefano shattered my train of thought, a smile crossing his face as I looked up at him. "You are the first. To see this newest work of mine."
I turned back to it, taking in the composition of this photograph, ignoring the gnawing thoughts in the back of my head. I stared, taking in the sharp contrast colors, scarlet dress and crimson flowing liquid clashing like a kiss with the warm brown of the trees and cool leaves. I realized there was a ripple of wind, pushing the dress and leaves in movement swaying to the left of the picture.
"It's. . ." my voice trailed off, not sure how to describe the strange feeling it was evoking in me. "Wonderful."
Silence ensued next to me. I saw his face change in my peripheral vision. I could have sworn his smile had fallen to a frown or a neutral expression. I didn't look at him, but kept staring to absorb each detail.
"It's a little busy with all the details in the bark," I traced the weathered trees with all the heavy lines pointing up and down in near parallel lines. "But the shading, and the lighting, and the contrast... It fits the image perfectly. The leaves by her face are so well contrasted to her dress, and her skin stands out perfectly with the trees."
"Perfectly. . ." he whispered.
I looked up at Stefano, seeing he was staring at me. His gaze was intense and almost distant. He wasn't lost in his thoughts, but his eyes were shifting around me as though seeing something. I turned around to see what he was looking at.
Instantly a hand grabbed my chin, pulling my face back around. Stefano's hand had pulled me back around to stare at him, grip firm and unrelenting. He had leaned forward to grab me, and his concentration was partially lost. Soon the intense gaze resumed and looked around my face and passed me. The cool leather shaping my chin didn't leave, holding me in place as he continued to gaze at me. A slight smirk appeared on his lips, causing me to notice, then turn my own gaze away in embarrassment. I could see his green eye widening, in mania or excitement I wasn't sure.
We sat there like that as people passed us, some I noticed were staring since we were both sitting like statues on the bench. I realized a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. Most people caused an uncomfortable feeling when they touched me, like cactus needles rubbing underneath my skin. However, this wasn't being triggered while Stefano held my head in place. I could smell his cologne again more faintly this time and the scent of a photography lab, causing a memory to surface from when I took a traditional photography class for my degree.
Finally he let go of me and I backed up. My back protested as I sat up, realizing he had been pulling me slowly towards him. It popped loudly as I sat straight, pulling away from his figure to grab my bag again.
"Excuse me for that, a new image came to my mind and I had to form it properly." He laughed it off slightly.
I looked down at my watch out of habit, then realized I was several minutes late to my first morning class. I grasped the portfolio, still laying in my lap, and handed it to Stefano who had begun to stand up.
"I'm so sorry, I need to leave. I'm late for my class, and I--"
A hand grabbed mine, pulling me up. The strength of the pull made me land awkwardly into the chest of the man who had grabbed me. I looked up into Stefano's eye, a neutral look on his face, but a strange glint in his eye. He frowned, and his eyes narrowed.
"Well, I too am late, bella Rosa," he said while frowning. "I was on my way to a meeting when you ran into me."
His tone implied he hadn't stopped me again and chose to show me his pictures a few minutes ago.
"But, I shall forgive you," he said quietly as he leaned down. "If only you live up to your charm from the first time we met."
He pressed his lips against my forehead, a hand pressing flat against the back of my head. They were warm and soft against my skin. My eyes fluttered closed, making my other senses more noticeable. I was aware of a warmth in my stomach, something odd and new, like a fire or a sick nauseous feeling spreading through me. I swallowed as a lump formed in my throat. His lips against my forehead were gentle, and they lingered probably a little longer than was socially acceptable. His fingertips twitched against my skull, then pulled away. His lips slid up my forehead as he pulled away, lifting his head. My eyes fluttered back open, still not sure this had really happened.
"Hopefully you are still my good luck charm, bella Rosa." Stefano chuckled, smile stretching to one side of his face. He backed away a little, tucking his portfolio under his left arm. "Perhaps we will meet again, and if we have enough time you may model for me to complete the new image flourishing in my mind."
He walked past me slowly, and I turned with him as he walked away. He turned back and glanced at me with a smile still on his face.
I stood, frozen, as I watched him walk away and disappear around the corner. It took me several moments to recollect myself. I came back to the present as I blinked several times. I ignored the odd ache and burn in my stomach, recollecting my thoughts. I shook my head as I made sure I had all my things and began walking to my class. I couldn't care about being late now, my thoughts more scrambling about a near stranger kissing me on the head.
I tried to push down the thoughts and emotions that continued to surface as I walked into my class. I ignored the people that turned and looked at me as I opened the door and made my way through the back of the room.
My mind wouldn't process whatever was the topic of class that day. I pulled out my sketchbook and eventually started drawing on a new page, just trying to push my mind away from the look in his eyes as he had stared at me.
