Artistic Freedom
Title: Artistic Freedom
Fandom/Verse:VRV
Characters/Pairings:Gabby, cameos from Bastian and Nick
Rating: PG-13 for implied nudity
Disclaimer: All characters are property of vylentcrymz and I
Note:Strangely no pairing, but you can pretty much interpret this in a lot of ways. Lord knows these three form a triangle in more ways than one. Oh and I'm sooo rusty with writing the Gabster, so this very well may be a big blob of crazy.
She knows it’s a bit of a contradiction. Gabby would be the first person to tell you that fashion is her life; that clothes are one of her few passions, and that first impressions are everything, but nothing quite beats that instant rush of relief as her blue silk robe falls around her newly polished toes, leaving her exposed for them to see.
She knows that they'll do their job well, so long as she does hers and as she climbs onto the mango colored counter letting her pale skin hit cold tile, she bites her lip, trying to sort out angles and lighting. Slowly she shifts, letting her chin rest on her arm, looking less and less like a porcelain doll and more and more like some fifties pin up, a bleached blonde Bettie Page if she smoked French cigarettes and was far too deep in credit card debt. She lets her whole body relax, and her mind wander. In moments like these her mind can go blank, and Gabrielle can just be.
She doesn’t have to get their attention by playing up that idiotic blonde stereotype, dress in bright attention grabbing colors or trim her skirts and jackets with an extra layer of antique black lace. This is her, body and soul, flaws and imperfections laid out for the world to see. She’s vaguely aware of their eyes as they travel along her body, the curves she either loves or curses depends on the day, the few scars she’s gotten from falls she’s taken from nights in too high heels or even from tiny pink tricycles.
As the timer goes off and she’s brought back into reality, she sits up, smiling as she brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
She hops down, shuffling behind the screen as quickly as she can, pulling her jeans and top back on before stepping into delicate white sandals and walking back out. Gabby finds herself smiling as Nick comes up to her, sheepishly showing off his work.
Years of living with an artist have given her a good eye, and part of her likes to think that fashion and art aren’t all that different. His lines and shading are perfect, and she can’t help but wonder if she really looks like the girl staring back at her through a thin layer of charcoal.
She can always tell which guys enjoyed watching her a little too much. They look right at her once she’s finished, staring right through her as if they can magically gain x-ray vision and see it all over again. The real ones, like Nick are almost ashamed of what they’ve done, capturing her on paper, saw things that she rarely showed anyone else.
Gabby would be lying if she said she didn’t want Nick to notice her, but she knows she doesn’t stand a chance. Suddenly, there’s a hand on her shoulder, and she turns around, her smile suddenly turning sheepish.
“Hey, there, Bastian!”
She’d also be lying if she said she didn’t love seeing that mortified look on her brother’s face every time he walked in late, only to have everyone talking about seeing his sister naked.
Fandom/Verse:VRV
Characters/Pairings:Gabby, cameos from Bastian and Nick
Rating: PG-13 for implied nudity
Disclaimer: All characters are property of vylentcrymz and I
Note:Strangely no pairing, but you can pretty much interpret this in a lot of ways. Lord knows these three form a triangle in more ways than one. Oh and I'm sooo rusty with writing the Gabster, so this very well may be a big blob of crazy.
She knows it’s a bit of a contradiction. Gabby would be the first person to tell you that fashion is her life; that clothes are one of her few passions, and that first impressions are everything, but nothing quite beats that instant rush of relief as her blue silk robe falls around her newly polished toes, leaving her exposed for them to see.
She knows that they'll do their job well, so long as she does hers and as she climbs onto the mango colored counter letting her pale skin hit cold tile, she bites her lip, trying to sort out angles and lighting. Slowly she shifts, letting her chin rest on her arm, looking less and less like a porcelain doll and more and more like some fifties pin up, a bleached blonde Bettie Page if she smoked French cigarettes and was far too deep in credit card debt. She lets her whole body relax, and her mind wander. In moments like these her mind can go blank, and Gabrielle can just be.
She doesn’t have to get their attention by playing up that idiotic blonde stereotype, dress in bright attention grabbing colors or trim her skirts and jackets with an extra layer of antique black lace. This is her, body and soul, flaws and imperfections laid out for the world to see. She’s vaguely aware of their eyes as they travel along her body, the curves she either loves or curses depends on the day, the few scars she’s gotten from falls she’s taken from nights in too high heels or even from tiny pink tricycles.
As the timer goes off and she’s brought back into reality, she sits up, smiling as she brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
She hops down, shuffling behind the screen as quickly as she can, pulling her jeans and top back on before stepping into delicate white sandals and walking back out. Gabby finds herself smiling as Nick comes up to her, sheepishly showing off his work.
Years of living with an artist have given her a good eye, and part of her likes to think that fashion and art aren’t all that different. His lines and shading are perfect, and she can’t help but wonder if she really looks like the girl staring back at her through a thin layer of charcoal.
She can always tell which guys enjoyed watching her a little too much. They look right at her once she’s finished, staring right through her as if they can magically gain x-ray vision and see it all over again. The real ones, like Nick are almost ashamed of what they’ve done, capturing her on paper, saw things that she rarely showed anyone else.
Gabby would be lying if she said she didn’t want Nick to notice her, but she knows she doesn’t stand a chance. Suddenly, there’s a hand on her shoulder, and she turns around, her smile suddenly turning sheepish.
“Hey, there, Bastian!”
She’d also be lying if she said she didn’t love seeing that mortified look on her brother’s face every time he walked in late, only to have everyone talking about seeing his sister naked.