parasol face

I was working on BH&H all weekend and made some really good progress, so as promised, here is a sneak peak of Part 20!


Tortola - British Virgin Islands, 1802

 Emma pushed through the front door of a rather nondescript looking building, hearing the jangle of a little brass bell announce her arrival as she crossed the threshold onto the wide plank floor. The man behind the counter looked up and she saw his eyes narrow in appraisal as he quickly looked her up and down. She had a lace shawl draped modestly over her shoulders and carried a small parasol to shade her face from the bright Caribbean sun, as every respectable European woman did. Her face was unpainted and she wore no jewellery, no pearl earbobs or abalone bracelets like the ones sold in the markets that dotted each good-sized island where the planters’ wives and the naval officers all came to shop for exotic tropical fruits and fresh palm oil and colourful woven textiles.

And slaves.

The man was rather stout, with a round, bearded face beneath a red knit cap. Tortola had a more temperate climate than some of the other islands claimed in the names of foreign kings, Spanish, French and Dutch alike were all spoken alongside English and the patios of the native inhabitants and the Africans who worked the fields and harvested the new crops of sugarcane and plantains. He puffed out his chest under the rough woolen jacket he wore and jerked his chin, “Can I help you, Mistress?”

 Evidently he’d decided that she might have legitimate business to discuss, even though a woman without an escort was somewhat of a curiosity among the warehouses and offices that lined the dusty road rising above the harbour.

“I’m here to see the captain. I was told he conducts business from noon to six every Tuesday and might be available?”

The wiry eyebrows rose and his lips thinned as he took another glance at her attire, noting the sober cut and colour of her dress.

“A fair warning, Mistress, if you’re here in an attempt to spread the Gospel to the cap’n alongside the godless heathens who sacrifice chickens to their idols and the dockside whores who only worship coin and don’t get on their knees to pray, he’s not going to be very receptive.”

Emma hid her smile, “No, I suppose not.”

Many pious men and women had crossed the ocean, founding missions and churches with trunks full of treatises and pamphlets and hymnals, seeking to convert and baptize along the new roads being carved from virgin ground and in the towns that sprung like mushrooms around each harbour as cargo and wealth was transported from island to island. They preached in the market square to sailors and stevedores, whoever was willing to stop and listen for a moment.

 But the one she had come to see was not likely to be among even the most unorthodox of congregations.

 “Mr. Smee, show her in and tell anyone else who inquires that I am indisposed for the rest of the afternoon.”

His voice called from behind a door that was standing slightly ajar and Emma watched, amused, as the man named Smee almost jumped into the air like he’d been jabbed with a hot poker. His face flushed the same colour red as his cap and he came around the scrubbed counter, gesturing madly for her to follow. Emma smoothed out a fold in her skirt and nodded to him, entering what was clearly the inner sanctum while he held the door open and being greeted for the first time by Captain Killian Jones.

The chevalier in Paris with his fine velvet coats and polished riding boots was gone, and in his place was a figure clad in oiled leather trousers that rippled and flexed over his thighs when he stood, a scarlet waistcoat worn over a high-collared shirt that was open at the throat and revealed a dusting of dark hair on his chest and the glint of a silver necklace. But the face was the same, and the demon smiled, hooking a thumb in his belt and rocking back on his heels.

“Well,” he said, in a lazy drawl that was far removed from courtly French and felt like the whisper of silk against her skin, “It seems the tides have turned in my favour.”

to be continued….

3

my Moomin dress arrived! oh gosh I love it so much!

from Frockasaurus on Etsy which is too perfect for words I mean good grief it’s a shop for dresses with a dinosaur in a tutu as the motif what are you even waiting for go check it

10

Impressionist painting characteristics include relatively small, thin, yet visible brush strokes, open composition, emphasis on accurate depiction of light in its changing qualities (often accentuating the effects of the passage of time), ordinary subject matter, inclusion of movement as a crucial element of human perception and experience, and unusual visual angles.

Claude Monet (14 November 1840 – 5 December 1926)Founder of French Impressionist painting, and the most consistent and prolific practitioner of the movement’s philosophy of expressing one’s perceptions before nature, especially as applied to plein-air landscape painting. The term “Impressionism” is derived from the title of his painting Impression, soleil levant  (Impression, Sunrise), which was exhibited in 1874 in the first of the independent exhibitions mounted by Monet and his associates as an alternative to the Salon de Paris.
In order of appearance:Impression, soleil levant, 1872.Le déjeuner sur l'herbe, 1865-66.Woman in a Garden, 1867.La Grenouillére, 1869.The Magpie, 1868-69.Le port de Trouville, 1870.Water Lillies and the Japanese Bridge, 1897-99.Water Lillies, 1906.Weeping Willow, 1916.Study of a Figure Outdoors: Woman with a Parasol, facing left, 1886.

mybrainproblems  asked:

Erejean "you fell asleep"

Title: Star Eyes

Contents: Modern AU, High school AU, Nerd!Eren

Summary: Inspired by the prompt “you fell asleep” a little drabble piece for these silly babbies <3


“Jean?”

Jean opened his eyes, blinking away sleep and squinting up at the unfamiliar canopy of cherry-blossom branches that stretched out above him. It took him a moment to realise the pattern was a part of the umbrella held over him and he turned to face the owner of the pretty object. He recognised Eren squatting beside him, a stack of books pressed against his chest as he peered down at Jean through his oversized thick glasses that seemed to perpetually be sliding down his nose.  

“What time is it?” Jean sat up and stretched with a yawn, feeling his joints pop and flex with the motion. Eren shuffled back on his heels and held back his umbrella to give the boy some room. They were on the edge of the deserted school oval and it was pretty late, judging by the low set of the sun in the sky. Jean recalled collapsing where he had after his Saturday soccer practise and promising himself a quick nap before heading home for lunch. Looks like his teammates had ditched him and he missed lunch. Fuckers hadn’t even tried to wake him up before leaving.

“Almost four.” Jean turned to Eren, who was now sitting in his haunches and awkwardly holding the handle of his umbrella between cheek and shoulder so he could push up his straying glasses with the free hand. He was in free dress, Jean noted. He’d never seen the boy in free dress before. Or he just hadn’t really noticed it on the free-dress days they had at school. Eren was wearing an oversized blue navy sweater and teal board-shorts; an objectively horrendous fashion combination that he somehow made look adorable instead. Jean turned his head up to squint up at the sky; it was still pretty hot. The sky was cloudless and the sun beat down relentlessly despite the time. Even Jean could feel his skin prickle telling of potential sunburn, especially after 2 hours of soccer practise. He turned to frown at Eren again.

“Are you cold? Is it going to rain or something?” Eren just looked puzzled by the question, his bemused eyes magnified comically through his lenses. “Why the hell are you wearing a jumper and have an umbrella?

Eren’s features softened in understanding and he began to rock back and forth on his heels idly. “My mum doesn’t want me to get sunburn so she makes me wear them.” Jean balked and then burst out laughing, throwing back his head.  When he faced Eren again, the boy was looking embarrassed and self-conscious. Jean almost felt bad, but that was just too fucking funny. He scrutinized the umbrella again and noticed now that it was those pretty decorated ones with more spokes than usual.

“Is that a fucking parasol, Jaeger? Are you using a parasol?” Eren frowned, glaring at Jean as he laughed through his bottle-lense glasses in a way that was more amusing than threatening.

“It’s called a wagasa, actually.” Jean snorted at his indignant expression. What a fucking nerd.

“Whatever, mama’s boy.”  

“I’m not the one whose mum drove all the way to school and walked into their class mid-lesson to give them their lunch that they’d forgotten that morning, Jean-boo.” Jean scowled now, his face burning for a whole other reason. That had been two years ago, what the fuck?

“It’s Jean-bo,” He corrected angrily, before realizing how pathetic that must have sounded. Eren’s smug look confirmed his suspicion and he pushed himself to his feet, feeling embarrassed.

“What are you even doing here today, it’s Saturday. Don’t tell me you come to school even on the weekends as well, you nerd.” Eren stood up also, re-adjusting the stack of books in his arms with a shrug.

“No, I have astronomy club on Saturday’s,” He answered. Jean wanted to make a barb about how geeky that was until he saw the happy expression Eren wore as he looked down at the books in his arms fondly, his green eyes lighting up with excitement. It was kind of cute.

Jean sniffed and turned away to fetch his sports bag, but as he straightened up, he felt a wave of dizziness and he staggered slightly, closing his eyes briefly before he gathered his bearings again. It was this goddamn heat and probably because he hadn’t drunk enough either. Fuck, he had to walk home too, he hoped he wouldn’t faint or something. That would be embarrassing.

Eren was watching him with concern when he turned back.

“You okay?” He asked, and he sounded genuinely worried. Jean had hoped Eren wouldn’t have noticed, but he realised that Eren wasn’t the type to make fun of something like that.

“Yeah, just the heat.” Jean tried to wave away his concern, but Eren was having none of it.

“It’s cause you were laying there so long and after all that running around too. Armin would probably have a better explanation, but you really should rest or at least stay out of the sun now, you’ve probably got sunburn too.”

Jean laughed wryly. “No can do, have to walk home today.” He’d be staying over his dads tonight, and his dad never picked him up from school rain, hail or snow. He slung his back over his shoulder and set off in the direction of the school gates.

“See ya Monday, Space-Boy.”

“Wait!” Jean paused as Eren quickly caught up to him, watching with amusement as the boy huffed with the exertion of running that short distance. Nerd.

“You live near Marco, right?” The boy panted. Jean nodded, confused. “I pass his place on my way home, if you want we can share my wagasa so you can stay out of the heat.” Jean eyed the boy with confusion, searching for a reason why until it struck him that Eren didn’t have an ulterior motive. The brunet was waiting for his answer, his bright green eyes wide and expectant with the shadows of the cherry-blossom branches from his parasol splayed across his face. Jean realized he’d been staring longer than was appropriate when Eren began to shuffle uneasily beneath his scrutiny.

“Um, sure.” Jean cleared his throat and tried again, his voice coming out stronger this time, thak God. “I’d like that.”

Eren’s face lit up like the sun and he moved around to Jean’s other side so that the hand holding the parasol was between them, slightly brushing against Jean’s arm. The light contact burned more than the sunburn Jean could feel stinging the back of his neck and cheeks.

“So…” Jean began awkwardly. “Tell me about astronomy club.”

Eren turned to face him, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Are you interested? Oh my God, you’d love it; it’s the best! We do all sorts of stuff, like once a week…” Jean watched him babble with zeal about his beloved club, practically vibrating with excitement. His arms being taken up by the books and parasol seemed to be a great burden on the boy, Jean could just tell that they’d be moving about making grand gestures if they’d been free.

Jean considered that perhaps Star-Eyes would have been a more fitting nickname that Space-Boy.