#I’m actually really proud of this regardless I haven’t finished (“finished”) an art in AGES so this is a nice change | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lavieendonna · 5 years ago

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Brushwork || ArtMajor!Calum AU (Chapter 29)

Summary: An Art Major AU where Dallas - third year gawky art student at VCA - makes a deal with Calum - her cute new neighbour and project partner - and they spend the semester learning that the perfect masterpiece takes a whole lot of brushwork.

Date: 20 September 2019 Requested: no one cares Pairing: Calum + Dallas Words: 3.8K Warnings: none! Except that if you try to find my master lists, most of the links are all fucked up because I haven’t gotten around to changing my url links from lavieencalum to lavieendonna. soz. A/N: Christ on a cracker. It’s been.... literal months. But here is something to make up for it, although I know it won't. I already know that no-one reads this story any more so :) oh well. I just need to finish this for my own peace of mind. Anyway.

Big Love xo

Chapter 29: It Was A Wonder Why I Didn’t Just Hold A Press Conference, Answer Everyone’s Questions, Then Proceed to Blow My Brains Out in Front of Them All.

I’d not really taken notice of the time since I’d arrived at the cinemas earlier in the evening. Not that I was there to see a movie or anything, no I was still too broke for that. But the cinemas down the street from the student residence had a quaint little eatery upstairs near the theatres. It was kind of like being in a pub (without the middle-aged men telling me to get out if I wasn’t going to let them cop a feel in the bathroom) and almost a little hipster, even – especially considering the cocktails all had ridiculous names (I was yet to figure out what was inside an ‘Illegal Alien’) and it served predominantly vegan (albeit delicious) food.

The Hideout was quiet and warm, and much more welcoming than either Bitters or The House. When I’d been laying around the apartment aimlessly feeling sorry for myself, I knew I needed to get out of the house and into a new space and this place had popped into my head. Calum and Ashton had brought Polly and me here once months ago, and though we’d had a great time we’d never come back. I wasn’t really sure why, because it never really came up in conversation either. It was just the kind of place that simply existed, almost like the way the four of us used to just exist.

It was almost kind of exciting working in my sketchbook and drawing in a new environment. There was soft jazz floating through the room and the coffee was better than anything anywhere on campus had to offer. There was something about the ambience that was putting me in the mood to just draw my dumb little heart out, and I didn’t really stop until the chick behind the bar wandered over for the first time since she’d delivered my last coffee over an hour ago.

“I think the last one went cold.” She offered a quirk of her brow and motioned quickly with her chin to the mug that sat on the table across from me still more than half full. She slid the new beverage onto the table next to the abandoned one, and sat herself down in the seat across the booth.

“Thanks,” I pursed my lips sheepishly, feeling as I melted slightly into the cushions of the booth and my cheeks burned a soft pink. “Sorry, I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten the other one.”

The girl shrugged but offered small crooked twitch of her lips which I guessed was supposed to be a smile.

“Don’t be sorry.” She said simply, but almost kind of firmly. “You were in the zone, I could tell. Something on your mind?”

It sounded like the kind of line she should be asking me over at the bar while she wiped down the counter with a dirty dish rag after sliding me a beer that I would drink in a heartbeat then follow up with so many more this girl would have to haul me out to the curb by the waistband of my jeans. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen, but I couldn’t help but look at this girl and really feel like her job here at The Hideout was her calling. She really looked the part, her shaggy chestnut hair brushing her shoulders, the eyebrow piercing and the name badge that read ‘Rocky’ even though I was almost certain that wasn’t her real name. Her entire being just screamed ‘Mentoring Barkeeper’.

“I guess you could say that.” I said little vaguely, pulling the new coffee closing to me by the saucer and relishing in the taste. “Is it that obvious?”

Rocky made a face and I grimaced, knowing exactly what that meant.

“You’ve had the same crease in between your eyebrows since you walked in.” She said almost matter-of-factly, tapping the spot on her own forehead to make her point. I blinked and absent-mindedly reached for my brow.

“Really?” I practically squeaked.

“Don’t think too much about it.” She said with the hint of a wider smile twitching on her lips. “It makes it worse.”

“Oh, God.” I muttered other unintelligible things while Rocky chuckled lightly, though she looked thoroughly amused.

“What’s got you troubled?” Rocky asked again with a slightly tilted head. I sighed, pursing my lips. “Actually, let me guess.” Rocky’s face shifted, her mouth forming a small ‘O’ as her eyes narrowed on me and a glimmer of mischief flashed through dark irises terrifying me slightly. “This is about a boy.”

I blinked dumbly.

“How… How could you tell?” I asked, not even bothering to be ashamed and just genuinely impressed by Rocky’s observational skills. The girl offered me a slight, one-shouldered shrug and gave a smug smile.

“It’s a talent of mine.” She said matter-of-factly. “My theory is that I was clairvoyant in a past life.”

“You believe in reincarnation?” I couldn’t help but arch my brow incredulously. “And clairvoyance?”

“No.” Rocky deadpanned with a one-shouldered shrug. “But it hasn’t been overly busy in here lately so I have to amuse myself somehow.”

I laughed and Rocky grinned at me, mischief being replaced by a softer, more comforting expression before I sighed yet again – which made a lot of sense, considering my entire life up to this point was just one big sigh.

“I have no idea how to fix this.” I admitted glumly, and as I reflected on my own words I was beginning to realise that this was the first time I’d officially and whole-heartedly admitted that out loud. And it was to a complete stranger, no less!

“What happened?” Rocky asked. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

I had to stop myself from physically groaning at the inquiry. I was so over telling this story. Between my mother and my sister and Polly and now this girl – it was a wonder why I didn’t just hold a press conference when everything went down, answer everyone’s questions all at once then proceed to blow my brains out in front of them all.

I must have made a face that conveyed that entire thought pattern because Rocky’s hands went up, palms out as if in surrender.

“No, sorry. I get it.” She said softly. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean it’s not like you know me.”

“It’s not that,” I said immediately, even though that was (in part) a lie. “I’m just… this all started because I have a big mouth, that’s all.”

Rocky nodded slowly, but after a moment she leaned forward slightly and offered a calm, though slightly stoic, pursed-lipped half-smile.

“Look, I know we really don’t each other at all, and I gotta be honest, like, if the roles were reversed I probably would have told you to piss off by now.” I snorted and Rocky smiled too. “But you haven't done that, which means that whether or not you have a big mouth, you’re a good person. And you seem open to help, regardless of who it comes from.”

I had to sit and let Rocky’s words sink in for a moment while I took a long sip of my drink. Like she said, she was a total stranger, and yet she was under the impression that I, Dallas Noel James, was a good person. I couldn’t pinpoint why that meant so much to me, but it did.

“How do I show Calum that?” I found myself asking quietly. “How do I show him that… that I want his help? Like… specifically.”

Rocky seemed to stare at me for what seemed like longer than necessary, and for a moment I felt completely and utterly stupid for stooping so low as to ask someone I didn’t know for advice. I watched as a small frown formed between her shapely brows.

“His name is Calum?” She asked kind of dumbly.

“Uh… yes?”

Not for the first time since I’d arrived at The Hideout, Rocky narrowed her eyes at me, clearly deep in thought. “Huh.”

I blinked at her, kind of confused about how she managed to only take that away from my very genuine question.

“Why, uh… why do you ask?” I questioned when Rocky failed to elaborate on her ‘huh’. She tilted her head, right hand finding her chin while her eyes narrowed further.

“He wouldn’t happen to be, I don’t know… like six-foot-something? Dark hair, loads of tatts? The tall Māori kid, what’s-his-face… Hood!”

I couldn’t help the slightly creeped-out side-eye I gave Rocky as she described Calum to a T.

“Uh… yep. That’s… that’s him.” I said suspiciously. Rocky’s brow un-furrowed as realisation flooded her eyes and this kind of all-knowing smile finding plump lips.

“I should have known you were the girlfriend.” She said, almost proud that she’d put two and two together. “He was in here like a week ago telling me a very similar story.”

“Um…” I gulped, a shiver travelling up my spine though I wasn’t sure if it was because she knew who Calum was, because she’d now figured out who I was and what I’d done, or the fact that she’d just referred to me as ‘The Girlfriend’. “Did… Is that what he said I was? His… his girlfriend?”

Rocky gave a light-hearted chuckle and shrugged.

“More or less.” She said vaguely with a casual wave of her hand. “But that’s beside the point.”

“It is?” I squeaked out and Rocky nodded.

“It is.” She repeated. “The point here, Dallas,is that you two are both clearly meant for each other.”

“Uh… I mean… um.” I stammered for a minute, almost thinking that I’d misheard her. I understood every word of Rocky’s sentence separately, but it was like the order she chose to put them in was completely foreign to me. Not to mention, I hadn’t even told her my name yet which meant she’d definitely heard it from someone – that someone being Calum.

“Hang on, how do you know Calum again?” I asked, partly because I was stalling so I could come up with something to say in response to Rocky’s statement, and partly because I was still really confused about her role in this.

“Oh, Cal buys my patches on Etsy.” She said as if it was supposed to be obvious to me that she sold patches on Etsy. “His sister has a jacket for them and I’m pretty sure they’re mostly mine.”

The jacket I borrowed from Mali that I’d worn to the Showcase came to mind and suddenly everything made sense. Calum told me himself, Mali knew someone who made custom jackets and he knew someone who made patches – and as it turned out, Calum’s someone was Rocky.

“Oh. Right.” I found myself saying carefully, nodding slowly and taking another sip of my drink that was, much like the last one, ever-so-slowly getting colder and colder. “Right, yeah, that… that makes sense.”

“Are you alright?” Rocky asked with an arched brow. “You look kind of… green.”

“I’m…” I did what I could to laugh. “Yeah, that’s kind of normal for me these days.”

“Is it what I said?” She asked, softer now. “About you and Cal?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” I ensured her, shaking my head quickly. “I just…” I looked at Rocky, almost with a bit of hope. “Do you really think so? What you said about us?”

Rocky didn’t say anything, though she did give me that small crooked smile of hers again and nodded once.

It took a few moments, but slowly I let myself smile back a little.

Rocky’s eyes flickered down to the workbook I was slaving over, her smile disappearing as she gestured with her chin to the piece I’d been working on all afternoon.

“Whatcha working on anyway?” She asked, and although I felt good about our conversation about my predicament, I was glad for the change of pace.

“Oh, um.” I looked down at the sketch, the wings of the butterfly not quite finished yet. It was nice, I guessed, but there were eraser shavings all over the page still. “It’s just… I don’t really know, actually. It was supposed to be a design for a tattoo but it’s, uh. It’s not done yet.”

I leaned back away from the book so that Rocky could lean forward, and I watched as she reached forward and pulled the book closer to her. She gave a small chuckle, nodding with what looked like an impressed expression.

“The rubber shavings make it look like that half of it the butterfly is made of shattered glass.” She commented and I looked down at the page again, really trying to see what she could.

“Huh.” I almost mumbled out. “I guess it does.”

“This is wicked,” Rocky nodded at me approvingly as she flicked through the book’s pages slowly. “You are one amazing artist, you know that?”

“Ah,” I gave a humble shrug, a small pursed lip smile finding my lips. “I’m alright.”

“No, really.” She said seriously, pausing on a set of sketches and running her fingers delicately over the lines. I lifted my chin slightly and peered over the top of the sketchbook to see what had caught Rocky’s attention, my cheeks flushing pink when I realised that she’d found the very first drafts of the ballerinas we modelled the mural after. “These are… Jesus, girl, there are stunning.”

Rocky was practically speechless as she stared at the pages, turning each one so gently it was like she thought they might disintegrate at the touch. And I was speechless too; I almost couldn’t remember the last time I let somebody look at all of the work that was supposed to be only for me.

“They are, aren’t they?”

A new voice joined us in the booth, both Rocky and I looking up in a flash to see who it belonged to. Rocky beamed at the new addition, excitement glistening in her eyes as she greeted him and closed my sketchbook softly. I, on the other hand, did my best not to projectile vomit in my new friend’s face, and felt myself melt into the leather cushions in an attempt to become invisible.

“Ah, speak of the devil and the devil shall appear, am I right?” Rocky said cheekily. Calum laughed, though I could tell he was holding back on my account.

“Pretty sure you’ve been here all along, Rock.” He shot back and Rocky’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ as she feigned offense.

“I prefer the term diavola, actually.” She said very concisely, though her smile was wicked and playful.

“More like Satan’s Mistress.” Calum snickered, and even I couldn’t help the snort that forced its way through my throat. I immediately regretted the noise, too, because it meant I was no longer invisible – not that I ever was – and Calum’s attention turned to me.

“Hey, D.” He said carefully with the tiniest hint of a smile I’d ever seen him offer anyone. With a quick, terrified glance at Rocky (namely, my only support system at this exact point in time), I gulped like my life depended on it before pursing my lips together in a very similar, tiny, tiny smile.

“Cal, hey…” I said, although it was hoarse and half-choked because my throat had spontaneously gone dry. I cleared my throat, and while I was feeling almost confident for a split second and thought I might actually be able to get out the words I’d been dying to say, it all disappeared in an instant and I was overridden with fear once again. “I, um. I was just… leaving.”

“No, she wasn’t.” Rocky interjected loudly, making me jump a little and turning Calum’s initial disappointed expression into an incredulous arched brow. Rocky wasn’t bothered in the slightest, she just shuffled herself out of the booth and somewhat pushed Calum into her place. “I’m gonna go get you guys some milkshakes. Calum, usual?”

Calum gave a stiff nod and Rocky almost floated away, oblivious to the shitstorm McFlurry she’d just created and left behind, or – and this was more likely – she was aware and she didn’t give a shit at all.

There hung an awkward silence in the air that Rocky left behind, neither me or Calum knowing what to say. I did what I could to avoid eye contact, but eventually I let my gaze wander to his face and, lo and behold, he was already looking at me.

“It’s, uh. It’s Strawberry, right?” I spluttered out like an idiot and, as suspected, Calum’s brow lifted.

“What?” He asked with a slightly amused chuckle. I cleared my throat again because I could just feel the moisture leaving me from the inside out, but also because I needed a hot second just get a grip.

“The milkshake.” I said with a little more conviction. “You usually get strawberry.” I decided not to ask him this time and just point it out. And, apparently, it was the right move. Calum smiled gently and it took everything I had in me not to melt at how much I missed that.

“You remembered.” He said, impressed.

I shrugged, stealing a glance over to the counter across the way where Rocky was still eyeing us up as she made our drinks painfully slowly. I watched as she made a face before turning her back to us, giving Calum and I what little privacy she was willing to give us. My face flushed pink and for a moment it was almost like Polly was still here.

When I turned back to Calum he looked, not exactly troubled but like he was waiting for me to be the one to mention the elephant in the room. I gave a small sigh because even I knew that it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want it to be, but there was rarely a time in my life where I got what I wanted anyway so I bit the bullet and did what I could to gather some kind of sentence that resembled every last thought I’d had for the past few weeks.

“Listen, Calum,” I breathed out, and Calum perked up at the sound of his name like he’d missed the way I said it or something so equally as cliché that it belonged in a Nicholas Sparks novel. “I want… no, I need to apologise.”

“You were upset, Dallas,” Calum was already trying to defend me and I wish I surprised by that but I just wasn’t. “All of the things you said… I don’t blame you for that.”

“You should blame me for that.” I half-scoffed. “I said some shitty things to you, Cal. But that’s not what I’m apologising for.”

“It’s not?” He asked and I shook my head.

“No.” I confirmed. “No, I… I pushed you away. And not even just a little, like, I tried to throw you out of my life. And I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that.”

Calum’s smile that he gave was warm and understand and everything I didn’t deserve after what I’d put him through. And it made my bottom lip quiver, but I refused to sob. Because I was better than that.

“D, you don’t have to be sorry.” He said softly, his hands finding the surface of the table like he was thinking about reaching for me but wasn’t too sure if he should just yet. “I get it, it was a crazy time –”

“I do need to be sorry, Calum.” I interjected a little more aggressively than I had intended, but I think the desperation was clear in the way that my voice jumped an octave half way through the sentence. “I’ve spent the last three years stuck inside my own head and too debilitated by my own fear to see that when things went wrong in my life, it was my own fault. I convinced myself that I was no good at anything so it couldn’t possibly have been my fault that things blew up. You were right, Cal. I was full of shit. And you were only trying to help me through it but I… I pushed you away. And I’m… I’m so sorry for that.”

Usually this was the moment that Calum would get up and sit next to me, hold me close and tell me that it was going to be okay and that he was going to stick by me anyway. But he didn’t. He just looked at me a little sadly, patiently waiting for me to go one. Because he knew I wasn’t even close to done.

“You scare me.” I felt myself saying, and I didn’t even mean to but it tasted like the truth in my mouth. Calum’s eyes widened in confusion, though he didn’t look hurt.

“What?” He almost chuckled. “How? Why?”

I laughed now, though it was more of a reflex.

“Because!” I said dumbly. “You… you make me feel like there’s nothing wrong with me. Like I’m not a complete mess.”

“But you’re not,” He said, eyes narrowing at me slightly as if his statement was supposed to be obvious. “You’re, like, a regular mess. A standard, average mess for our age group in the twenty-first century.”

Brown eyes glistened through a cheeky grin and I laughed, though there were tears on my cheeks. That being said, I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t actually sure I could identify the emotion that I was feeling, all I knew was that there was something liberating about being able to talk to Calum again.

“It’s just that, for a while there…” I gave a small sigh, my gaze dropping. “Being a mess was all I knew how to be. And when you came along and made me feel normal… I didn’t know how to be that. How to be… what you wanted.”

When I looked up again, Calum was getting up and sliding himself into my side of the booth to sit next to me, one arm sneaking around my shoulders as he smiled gently.

“It’s okay, D.” He said softly. “You’re already everything I wanted, and you don’t need to try so hard to be perfect. Because you are so, so great.”

A smile slowly finding its way across my lips, warmth spreading through my chest so much it felt like I might burst. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach fluttering with excitement, Calum’s lips inching closer and closer to mine.

Somehow this moment in time was simultaneously fondly familiar yet excitingly new all at once. It was kind of like living in a dream, only one of those lucid ones where you’re fully aware of your surroundings and have the power to change it.

That’s what it felt like, having Calum’s lips press against mine again. It felt powerful.

“Aw, well would you look at that.” Rocky’s voice was followed by two relatively loud thuds on the table, scaring the living daylights out of me. “As my Nonna would say; l’amore vince sempre.”

The girl pushed two milkshakes towards us, one strawberry and one chocolate. My cheeks were still flushing a brilliant red as I melted into the seat yet again, Calum rolling his eyes but still chuckling as he reached for the drinks.

“Always one for subtlety, Rock.” He sighed before looking back at me with glimmering brown eyes.

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nezzfiction · 7 years ago

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ENMY Chapter 51 - The Grifter’s Semblance

Chapter Synopsis: To stop the rampaging Spring Maiden, it may not come down to a battle of wills--but the lies of a con-artist.

Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

The Grifter’s Semblance

I saw the path I had chosen.

The shadows I would need to survive.

And I knew blood would be the price.

“Your Semblance is rather fragile.”

Emerald remembered those words.

“It’s fine. Out of everyone I’ve met, you’re the only one who’s ever worked it out.”

“And I won’t be the last. More importantly, I’m not very fond of fragile.”

Emerald swallowed those words painfully.

In the dankness of a foreclosed apartment, Cinder paced in front of her. Eyes glancing about, inspecting where she temporarily lived. Gleaning clues into her personality.

“You use too much force when conjuring your illusions—much like the manner of your thieving,” Cinder voiced sternly. “The art of stealing is all about finesse, and the art of the con is about inspiring belief. Not in the forcing of it.”

“And what exactly do you know about stealing? Cause, really. You don’t strike me as the type.”

“I take what I want by any means necessary, and have explored the myriad of ways of doing so.”

“Doesn’t make you an expert.”

Cinder bent down, and playfully stroked Emerald’s chin.

“Doesn’t it?”

The girl with the dark-red dress and golden eyes sashayed away, and picked a book off the nightstand. It was one of the few things in the room that wasn’t in poor condition.

“You’re fond of books?”

“I hate them, actually. Big and bulky, they take a lot of space and make for a lot of deadweight. One of the worse things to steal.”

“And, yet?” Cinder waved the thing in her hand.

“…I like stories.”

“Do, tell.”

“There’s not much to it. Stories are easy to own. All you have to do is remember them. They weigh nothing, cost nothing. I only keep one book with me.”

“Then, you should understand. A good story doesn’t force a reader to enjoy its story, it entrances them.” Cinder scanned the title of the book. “Scheherazade’s Thousand and One Nights.”

“You know it?”

“The tale some say of the first grifter in existence,” Cinder recounted. “A poor girl, who wove story after story to pay for her meals. As she gained popularity, she earned an audience with her Kingdom’s king. They married, and she became queen the next day. Shortly after, the Kingdom went to war.

Their army was heavily outnumbered, and she was sent to speak with the opposing Kingdom. At their meeting, she spun tale after enticing tale, always leaving off the end—ensuring that her audience would eagerly wait to hear more. Each day, the decisive battle was delayed. Until finally, her Kingdom amassed an army strong enough to claim victory.”

“And she eventually abandons her position as queen, because she gets bored of it. Every story after that, she masquerades as another protagonist. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Hm. I was always more interested in the conquering of the Kingdoms than anything else. A feat accomplished with nothing more than a cunning wit and a silver tongue,” she mused.

“But she didn’t conquer it.”

“Didn’t she? Tell me what it means to decide the fate of Kingdoms, to hold its existence at a mere utter of your words?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Cinder showed a smug smile.

“That is what it means…” she grasped Emerald’s chin again, “…to rule.”

…

“Uh…” Emerald blushed.

“But that is for another time,” she let go. “Tell me, what was the first manifestation of your Semblance? When did it occur?”

“What? Why?”

“The instance and the circumstances surrounding it are important to understanding who you are. I want to know everything about my subordinates.”

“I… I don’t remember.”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not!”

“Tell me.” Cinder’s words fell hot in Emerald’s ears. “Reveal yourself to me who you are. So that I may know if you are worthy.”

…

“…Okay.”

* * * * *

A little girl abandoned by her parents slept under thin pieces of cardboard, in the shadow of a nameless alley.

She shivered, she starved, she wanted a way out.

There were others like her. All ages.

All pathetic.

They had no home. They only had this street to come back to.

On some days, they would leave to find money or food,

…And some days, one or two never returned.

The little girl heard what they whispered.

There were those who were arrested.

Those who died for one reason or another.

…

And those, who simply could not continue living.

“What meaning is there to a life like this?”

A question many of them asked. A question the little girl asked herself constantly.

So, why not end it all now? What meaning was there in prolonging this suffering?

…

These thoughts plagued her.

Every day she found it harder and harder to get up.

Harder and harder to steal.

Harder and harder to run.

It was agonizing.

And it meant nothing at the end of the day.

She was only living long enough to do it again tomorrow.

Deep down, she wanted it to end.

…

One day, she saw a man in a park. He was reading a book to the children around him. A story about a con artist, a grifter named, Scheherazade.

The girl stopped to listen about the woman who saved her own life by telling story after story. And by the end of it, she lived her own a thousand times over.

The storyteller stopped reading.

The little girl wanted to know what happened next.

That night, she returned to the alley.

And in the cold, pouring rain, she drove away the dark whispering thoughts of suicide.

She did so, by creating the rest of the story on her own.

She imagined what happened next in the tale, and the next, and the next…

And the next after…

…

Her characters came to life before her eyes. She could see the scenery in vivid detail. Hear the words they spoke. Touch their skin.

Her imagination made real.

A faraway place with faraway names.

It made her heart ache for it.

And that kept her alive for the next day.

And the next.

And every one after.

…

It was the first time Emerald had ever used her Semblance.

And there would never be a day without it.

* * * * *

Victoria Stein found herself on the grounds of Haven Academy.

The sun hung high in the sky and she felt her hair brushed by a pleasant breeze.

Students on their way to class greeted her cheerfully. Some came to strike up casual conversation—anything to delay going to the next boring lecture. A few asked about the next school event or the upcoming Vytal Festival. Others, a humorous gripe about some thing or other. She realized it was in the smallest conversations and tribulations that one could find the humblest of peace in.

The Headmaster walked the halls, peeking into a few classrooms. The students were learning one subject after another. They scratched their heads and spun pens around their fingers. They dazed, and then immediately straightened upon making eye contact with her.

It made her laugh. It warmed her heart.

And then, she stopped in the doorway of a certain, special lecture hall. A small, unassuming man stood at its center. His stature was small, but he was in possession of a great mind, and an even greater heart.

The lecturer caught sight of her and fumbled his words. Victoria couldn’t help but chuckle, and blew her husband a kiss before leaving.

She met with some more students. They asked her for fighting tips, requested advice that would help sharpen their techniques. And as always, it ended with a challenge.

Which she always accepted with a vigor.

Victoria strode to the campus quad to the cheers of various students. Classes were finished, and while many went back to their dorms or to their respective clubs, most loved to watch the Headmaster defend her title as Queen of the Hill. A title she held undisputed for all her time.

In the courtyard, which had to be renovated constantly from all the damage, Victoria took her place at its center. A group of students moved on to the stage with poise.

She beckoned them forth with a challenging wave of her hand and a grin on her face. A mixture of seriousness and play.

They were slow and dreadfully clumsy, but Victoria could see their potential. She delighted in watching them take shape as the fight progressed—and in their coming years till their graduation.

When the students were soundly defeated, she accepted the next queue of challengers. The audience awed in her technique. Captured by their Headmaster’s level of skill and mastery. They watched, and they learned, which was ultimately what Victoria wanted.

Her next team of challengers was an odd one. She didn’t recognize them. A strange group of students she had never fought before.

A new team, perhaps?

I thought I remembered them all.

Regardless, she accepted their challenge.

They were better than she thought. She wondered if they were even students to begin with.

The fight went on for a long period of time. Her opponents had a certain spunk and a dangerous sort of ruthlessness to them. In the end—

Victoria met with her first defeat ever.

Unexpectedly to some, the Headmaster was all smiles. She was proud and happy that there was a future of Huntresses and Huntsmen in the making, who were so strong. Victoria couldn’t help but notice something odd with her body. Like it wasn’t moving the way it normally did, but she could hardly blame that.

Victory is victory.

And a loss was still a loss.

She shook hands with the mischievous-looking team and told them to expect a rematch tomorrow.

They only smiled, a touch sadly, before nodding to the promise.

Victoria returned to her office. A message from her brother said he wanted to meet after work for dinner. Elaborating that they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

Of course, we haven’t.

You’re busy trying to become the Head of House Argent, aren’t you?

I know that, little brother.

A knock came at her door, and she bade them in. A small woman, dressed in a lab coat, entered at her permission. Victoria recognized her instantly.

“Masa. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“This one—” she stopped herself. “I came to visit. It’s been a while since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”

“Really? Feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago I asked you to do a maintenance check.”

Masa’s eyes drifted downward.

“Ah… So, it’s only been that long,” the engineer broke into a wide grin. Small tears welled at the edges of her eyes. “I guess, I just missed you for some reason.”

“Maz?”

“I really missed you.”

“What’s wrong?”

Victoria got up from her desk with a start, and immediately caught Masa in a tight hug.

“I missed you so much, Victoria!”

“…I missed you too.”

“I thought I’d never see you again!!!”

“I know. I’m so sorry, old friend.”

While Masa sobbed openly in Victoria’s arms, her attention turned to the side.

There, a green-haired student stood. It felt like she had been standing there the whole time, but it was only now that the Headmaster acknowledged her existence.

“Was all this your doing?” she asked her.

“……I’m sorry.”

Victoria gently shook her head.

“Don’t be. You’ve given me a gracious gift.”

“…”

“I am ready.”

“…”

“It is alright.”

“…”

Emerald’s shoulders trembled. Her hand cupped her mouth to stifle her cries. As she faded from the office, she was outside in the real world again.

Emerald looked to Yang, who was still staring in shock at the Spring Maiden’s nearly-healed body.

“Yang?”

“What did you do, Em?”

“What do you see?”

“…It’s different now.”

Through Yang’s eyes, she could see familiar veins of yellow light shining through the blood-dyed red. Traces of a more calmer soul within the torrent of insanity. They could only be the true essences of Victoria’s life.

“It’s yours Yang.”

“Me? But you’re the one who needs the Spring Maiden’s powers.”

Emerald contemplated it again, but—as if to finalize her decision—she locked eyes straight with Yang.

“It’s always been you. You’re the only one. And I trust you to do right by us, when this is over.”

“Emerald…”

“…I’m sorry for making you do this. But you’re the only one who can.”

“She is correct, Ms. Yang,” Masa said, opening her eyes. “I also believe you are the best individual suited for this task.”

Yang knitted her brow and clenched her fist. Her Semblance locked onto the cracks of life in the Spring Maiden that were slowly, but surely dwindling. Any more hesitation, and the opportunity would be gone. There would likely be no second occurrence.

* * * * *

Yang opened her eyes to the vast sky and ocean extending before her. The familiar landscape of her soul never ceased to arouse a sense of awe. Its endless, serene blue always summoning a tranquility and a depth of consciousness to her mind.

There, standing upon the mirrored surface was a beautiful woman. She was tall with a long, slender neckline. She reminded Yang of a swan.

Her body was trained, and she seemed to carry herself with a sense of purpose. When the woman spoke, it was with a tone that was used to speaking straight and true. Authoritative, but also nurturing.

“You are a very compassionate young woman, Yang Xiao Long.”

“……I’m not.”

“Oh? Is this all for show, then?” she motioned to their surroundings.

“So, what? It’s empty.”

“Hm… You need better instruction,” Victoria commented, her educator’s side coming to life. “Who is your teacher?”

“I don’t have one.”

“A shame. I wish I had a student like you. You’ll make a very fine Huntress someday.”

“…”

“If you would humor an old Headmaster—look below.”

Yang tried to peer past the watery surface, into its darker depths.

Suddenly, she saw a glimmer of something.

“That’s—!”

“Everything you’ve accumulated in your life, lying at the bottom of the sea. From what I can tell, you are an individual of an extremely vast heart. One that accepts every drop of every experience, every emotion felt, every joyous—and most tragic moment.”

“…”

“With room to spare, I might add,” Victoria winked.

“…”

“And you accept those around you. For their strengths, for their flaws, and everything in between. Unfiltered. Unjudged. Tell me, Yang Xiao Long. What is that, if not compassion?”

“But I…”

“Yes?”

“I killed you…” Yang bit her lip until it bled. “I took your life!”

Victoria nodded with understanding, and stayed silent.

“I should have done something else! I should have found another way—Some way of turning you back!!!”

“It was impossible.”

“It’s not impossible! Maybe we can figure something out! Me, Masa, and Emerald can do it. If we were able to bring back your mind once, we can do it again!”

At that, Victoria shook her head.

The woman walked to Yang and embraced her.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I’m causing you,” she apologized.

“No!” Yang wept. “It should be me saying sorry! I failed! I didn’t choose the right thing!!”

Victoria caressed her head and cooed her trembling.

“Sometimes, there is no right or wrong, Yang Xiao Long,” she spoke with a loving tone.

“Only peace.”

When Victoria released Yang from her grasp, she held two baby creatures in her arms. The small dragon and bird chirped and growled with a fondness for the woman.

“You’ve done me a service, of which I am thankful for with all my heart.”

“You willingly burden yourself with the taking of my life.”

“A kind and compassionate soul.”

“Yang Xiao Long.”

“I deem you worthy.”

Victoria bent down and extended her arms. The two infant creatures basked in a powerful light, as they leapt into the waters below.

They immediately spawned to enormous size. Larger than they were previous to the Semblance Trial. Their behemoth bodies encompassed the whole sea, and they circled with Yang at their center. Even if they did not speak, the girl could tell from their intense gaze, they swore oaths to her.

“Thank you again…” Yang heard Victoria’s fading whisper.

“Good bye.”

…

When Yang opened her eyes, she saw everyone staring at her.

The body of what was once the Spring Maiden, disintegrated into the wind, like the corpses of Grimm often did.

A new, brighter power swelled in Yang’s center. Energy coursed through her fingertips, making every millimeter of her body electric. She inhaled and exhaled like she was breathing fire. All her senses heightened to frightening degree. Yang gained a new realm of awareness for the thing called Life.

And her great mane of hair blazed with a flame never seen before. Licks of fire flicked off, turning into feathers with its rise—translucent and full of life.

The sign of the new Spring Maiden.

#rwby #enmy #emerald sustrai #yang xiao long #neopolitan #mercury black

1 note · View note

artificialqueens · 7 years ago

Text

Brooklyn Nights 2/5 (Sashea) -Dandee

AN– Thank you so much for the notes and feedback (I’m sorry it takes me twelve years to write a chapter)! The first song that plays while Betty paints is Fantasy for the Violin by Joshua Bell, and the song Sasha paints to is 9 by Cashmere Cat. Just in case anyone cares. Shout out to my cranial bleeding twin, dare, for being the best beta in this plane of existence and the next (If you haven’t read her fic already you are SERIOUSLY missing out, and you should back click out of this dumpster and read it now). This fic will be five chapters long.

Sasha swirled her ice cubes slowly, studying the wood grain of the bar through the bottom of her glass. It had been another one of those days, another one of those god-awful meetings. It was hard to understand how she, the editor-in-chief of Velour Magazine, could still be completely run over and treated like she wasn’t even there. She wondered if it had anything to do with being a woman, or better yet, a woman married to the CEO.

She knew there was a general lack of respect for her, and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Most of them were polite and civil to her face, but Sasha could hear the snickering behind her back. She tried not to let it get to her– she was, after all, in the position that they all envied– but at times it was difficult to feel proud of her work. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of the position she’d actually earned and how much was given to her by Mister Velour. Of course, whenever she would mention these concerns, she’d receive nothing but a pat on the hand and a kiss on the cheek.

A deep laugh from the other end of the bar pulled Sasha from her thoughts. She smiled to herself and continued to swirl her ice cubes.

Would she ever grow tired of that laugh?

She’d been good, resisting the urge to stare like she used to. Instead, she’d developed the habit of staring into her glass, or at the television conveniently located behind the bar. Seeing people without ever really looking at them was a skill she’d developed at a young age. She’d already programmed the young woman’s figure into her mind, instinctively recognizing her silhouette from across the room. Sasha had listened to each and every word that fell from her pouty lips, had learned every rise and fall in the tone of her voice. She had watched this woman, even picked up her name– Shea– but she’d never spoken more than two words to her.

Which was absolutely fine. Sasha was married, to a man– a very powerful, successful man. And Shea was probably taken– not that it mattered. Sasha shook her head.

She was content with the look-don’t-touch concept, regardless of either of their situations. Sasha simply enjoyed staying at this hotel, coming to this little bar, and watching this particular bartender– there was no crime in that. If she was going to spend her money and tip someone, it might as well be someone she liked.

She could see Shea drifting down the bar, heading in her direction. Tracing her fingers lightly along the lip of her glass, Sasha calmly averted her eyes to the television in front of her. She kept her eyes glued to the screen as Shea stopped in front of her.

“You want another one?”

Sasha nodded silently, pretending to be very interested in ESPN.

Sasha watched Shea’s slender arms stretch for the top shelf, fumbling to reach the McAllan Eighteen in the far right corner. Shea’s ass was a work of art; the dip in her lower back that led to the curve of it was incredible, and it wiggled with every twist of her body, bounced every time she reached for the bottle. And her legs– those legs were no less than perfect, long and toned, smooth like butter. Sasha tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in thought– her inseam had to be at least thirty-six? Surely she’d modeled, at least for catalog. High waisted pants came to Sasha’s mind– a particular pair from the Marc Jacobs collection, with a black lace pattern and a high ankle that would accentuate the length of her. The problem was just getting Shea’s ass into them– though she was fit, an inseam of thirty-six usually wouldn’t accommodate a hip more than thirty-four.

Shea turned her head and caught Sasha’s eye.

Sasha turned her gaze back to her glass. She immediately chastised herself for not re-gluing her eyes to the television– now she looked officially guilty, with her head down like a child. Her cheeks flushed as she swirled her ice cubes nervously. She felt Shea stepping toward her and could see her fingers resting on the grate on the bar, a hand at either side of Sasha’s space. Her eyes slowly drifted upward to meet Shea’s gaze, and her dark eyes bored into Sasha’s. They stayed like that for a moment.

Shea leaned forward, a smirk gracing her lips.

“Does it have to be that bottle? Or can I go for the twelve year?”

Sasha was lost for words– Shea’s eyes cut right through her and left her feeling unsure of herself. So she just nodded.

Shea’s gaze lingered a bit before she turned back around, the arch in her back seemingly more defined this time. She whipped her hair around the other side of her shoulder when she grabbed the bottle of McAllan Twelve off of a considerably lower shelf. Cocking her hip to the side, her knee rested on the cabinet beneath as she examined the bottle. She was doing it on purpose now and Sasha couldn’t help herself– her eyes roamed over Shea’s figure, the curves in her hips and the thickness of her thighs mesmerizing. After a moment, Shea glanced over her shoulder at Sasha, who desperately tried to peel her eyes away again. Shea’s smirk grew into a full smile as she turned to place the bottle in front of her.

“You have good taste,” Shea said smugly, unscrewing the cap and setting it next to the bottle.

Sasha blinked and swallowed hard, feeling her body shift under Shea’s gaze. She smiled shyly and looked into her lap.

“It’s Sasha, right?”

Her head snapped up at her name. Shea chuckled and turned to look for a fresh glass.

“You come here a lot,” Shea said, and she ran her fingers along the glasses on the middle shelf. “Why?”

Sasha shrugged her shoulders and spoke before she could think. “I like this hotel.”

Shea glanced over her shoulder with a slightly widened eye, like she was surprised Sasha had actually answered. Hell, Sasha was surprised.

“There are plenty of hotels in Chicago,” Shea continued skeptically, and turned back to the shelf in search of a glass, running her fingers to a lower shelf. “What’s so special about this one?”

Sasha leaned forward in her seat, looking down the bar. The couple at the far end were finished with their drinks, looking like they were ready to leave soon. This definitely wasn’t the first time Sasha had closed down Shea’s bar, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last– but Shea normally never offered another drink this late. Sasha turned her attention back to her and almost fell out of her seat.

Shea, with legs straight and shoulder width apart, had gone to the bottom of the cabinet for a glass, her back completely flattened and her ass on full display, the very bottom of her cheeks peeking out of her black dress shorts.

“I…uh,” Sasha stammered, blinking rapidly and speaking again before she could collect her thoughts. “I guess you could say I’m a creature of habit.”

Shea pulled a glass out of the cabinet, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder and catching Sasha’s eye as she slowly came back up. She chuckled again and tossed a couple of ice cubes into the glass, then sauntered back toward Sasha with a little more swing in her hips.

“Now, why don’t I believe that?” Shea asked as she leaned on the bar.

Sasha gave a short laugh through her nose and folded her arms, meeting Shea’s flirty gaze with a smile she couldn’t help. “I mean, you should. I’m here every weekend.”

Shea gave a slow nod, taking the bottle of scotch and turning it upside down over the glass. “True.”

“And I always get the same thing,” Sasha said, eyeing Shea as she turned to place the bottle back on the shelf.

“You do,” Shea said with her back to Sasha. She stood in front of the shelf for a moment with her hands on her hips.

Sasha noticed how her shirt stretched across her back, how her muscles bulged through the dark fabric as she reached for another bottle. Shea leaned her knee against the shelf, the arch in her back even more defined, and Sasha didn’t try to hide her staring this time. Shea was clearly trying to start something, and Sasha couldn’t stop herself from indulging.

Because there was something about the way Shea was looking at her, the way that crooked smile of hers completely melted Sasha. Shea smiled at her and Sasha forgot who she was pretending to be. Shea smiled at her and she forgot all of her lines.

“And you’re always the last one here,” Shea said as she turned back to Sasha, a bottle of Disaronno in hand. The corners of her mouth turned upward as she unscrewed the cap, setting it on the grate. “Not that I mind.”

Sasha frowned slightly as she watched Shea defile her drink with a topper of the amaretto.

“But ‘creature of habit’? I don’t know if I believe that,” Shea said with a smirk and set the bottle down on the grate. “Something tells me,” she pushed the drink toward Sasha, “that you like to try new things.”

Fascinated by the darkening of Shea’s eyes, Sasha smiled and wordlessly took the drink, gazing at her over the glass as she took the first sip.

“Cheers,” Shea says, raising her glass to clink against Sasha’s.

It’s a swanky little lounge– the music is odd but enjoyable as it flows through the room at a tolerable volume, making it easy enough to have a conversation. It is, however, too crowded to snag a bar stool– so instead of sitting, the two women just post up in the corner of the room, with Shea leaning against the bar and gazing at Sasha with a relaxed smile.

“How’s work?” she asks.

Sasha pauses for a moment, pressing her lips together uncomfortably. She acknowledges the formality of it– when you haven’t seen someone in awhile, you ask about easy things, like work or the weather. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any easier to answer, so she simply nods with narrowed eyes and tilts her head.

Shea raises a brow as she pinches her straw. “Yeah?”

Damn Shea. She knows. She always knows.

“Yeah.” Sasha sips from her glass, the sweet amaretto tickling her lips. She can feel Shea’s interrogating stare and she continues to gaze at her ice cubes as she speaks. “I mean, you know– my employees still hate me. I can’t get a word in. Nothing’s changed there.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Shea’s expression soften in sympathy, and she reaches to tuck a loose curl behind Sasha’s ear. “Don’t pay them any mind.”

“I know,” Sasha nods, her eyes meeting Shea’s. “It’s just getting old.”

Shea gives a tight smile and Sasha glances back to her ice. She hates talking about work with Shea. Even if they try and tiptoe around bringing up Mister Velour, he’s always there, always hanging in the air.

“Ayo sis!”

Sasha glances up to see a younger woman running toward them, with lavender hair tousled in a finger-wave style. Her bright blue heels, which match her latex dress, click against the tile as she bounds toward Shea.

“Oh, yes bitch!” Shea erupts into laughter and pulls the girl into a tight hug.

“Bitch, what’s tea?” The girl jumps excitedly as she pulls away and clasps Shea’s hands in her own. “Where have you been? It’s been forever!”

“Girl, I know. I’ve just been workin-”

“Hol’ up!” The girl’s eyes widen when they fall to Sasha, and a smile spreads across her lips as she drops Shea’s hands. “Is this her?”

Sasha looks from Shea to the girl, feeling a bit awkward. Shea just smiles and nods. “Yeah, um, this is-”

“Oh my God! Hey!” The girl immediately pulls Sasha into an unwarranted hug. “It’s Sasha, right?”

Sasha looks over the girl’s shoulder to Shea, who shrugs. Sasha gives a small grin and tries to return the girl’s enthusiasm as best she can. “Yes! Yes, it’s Sasha-”

“Aja!” The girl exclaims as she pulls back, taking Sasha’s hand and shaking it fiercely. “Girl I’m so glad you came, I’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Oh, really? That’s so sweet-”

“Shea, you didn’t tell me she was a fuckin’ model.” Aja accuses suddenly, then raises one of Sasha’s arms in the air and steps back, giving her a once-over. “Come on mama, give us a little spin!”

Sasha chuckles shyly and shrugs her shoulders, holding on to Aja’s hand as she awkwardly twirls beneath it. The girl squeals and snaps her fingers as she watches her.

“Yes! I love your aesthetic, girl. The white button down with the pencil skirt, it’s sexy. Very ‘hot for teacher’.” Aja then loops her arm through Sasha’s, looking to Shea with a smirk. “You better watch it, sis, I might steal her from you.”

Sasha laughs when she catches Shea’s unamused expression, but she stays beside Aja, their arms linked, already feeling a little more comfortable around her.

Shea shakes her head. “Aja’s been lookin’ for a sugar mama for the last two years. Watch out.”

“You fuckin’ right I am!” Aja laughs, patting Sasha’s arm and letting it go. “Come on, we got some really good spots tonight, right in the front, and I don’t wanna lose ‘em. Y'all comin’ downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess we’d better,” Shea says, pulling her phone from her cleavage to check the time. She glances at Sasha and gives her a wink. “The show’s about to start.”

Sasha furrows her brow and looks between the two of them. “Show? What show?”

Shea bites her straw with an impish grin. “You’ll see.”

****

Walking into the lower level of the club is like walking into an entirely different building. The whole room is a dance floor- a giant dance floor, with a small bar in the very middle and a stage with a large white canvas set up over a tarp in the far corner. It’s harder to make conversation here– the bass pumps through the speakers and into Sasha’s chest, and she grips Shea’s arm just a little tighter than she normally would as they make their way down the stairs.

Specks of neon light dance across the darkened room and over the sea of arms below, and Sasha smiles awkwardly as she scoots past the necking couples and confused, drunk looking individuals that litter the stairs. Aja suddenly stops in front of them and waves to a pretty woman with long braids standing in front of the stage. Once the woman sees Aja and Shea, she jumps excitedly and waves back.

The woman lets out a scream of laughter when they make it to the front of the crowd, and she runs to Shea and hugs her.

“Shea! Oh my God!” the woman coos as she sways with Shea and rubs her back. “It’s been so long!”

“I know, I missed you,” Shea says with a laugh. She pulls back and beams at the woman, then looks to Sasha and motions toward her.

“Peppermint, this is Sasha.”

Sasha grins and leans in to shake the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hey girl! I’ve heard all about you,” Peppermint takes her hand and returns her smile warmly, then gives her a wink. “All good things, don’t worry.”

Shea rolls her eyes and snakes an arm around Sasha’s waist. “Pep’s one of my best friends, we go way back.”

Peppermint nods at Sasha, placing her hands on her hips and squinting in thought. “Yeah, it’s been what,” she glances to Shea, “ten years? Eleven?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Too long,” Shea laughs.

Sasha sips her drink and listens to the two of them catch up, and she can’t help but smile at the way Shea lights up around her friends. She also relishes in the affection Shea so absentmindedly demonstrates – Shea’s not usually one for PDA, but tonight she’s different. Tonight she’s running her hand along Sasha’s waist, she’s toying with the fabric of her shirt, she’s making small circles with her fingertips on her back. Sasha finds herself leaning into her touch and feeling very comfortable, more comfortable than she’s felt over the long weeks without her. She finds herself relaxing enough to even joke around with Aja, who seems eager to get to know her.

“Shea said you’re into art,” Aja says, her eyes drifting to meet Peppermint’s.

Sasha nods eagerly. “Yeah, I am. I paint in my free time.”

“Oh nice!” Peppermint says, giving Aja a wink. “So you’re excited about the show, then?”

“Actually,” Sasha chuckles and looks to Shea with a raised brow, “I didn’t know there was one.”

“Oh.” Peppermint suppresses a smile and shifts her gaze to Shea, who makes a face. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sasha narrows her eyes as she looks between the three of them.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aja exclaims with a wave of her hands. “It’s just– it’s just an art show, and it’s really good. You’re gonna love it.”

“Yeah! It’s gonna be awesome,” Peppermint adds hurriedly, nodding her head. “Betty’s shows are legendary.”

Still not entirely convinced, Sasha looks to Shea, who just shrugs her shoulders innocently and bats her lashes. Sasha can feel her own smile forming as she looks into Shea’s mischievous eyes.

“Hey ladies.”

Sasha turns to see another woman approaching them, with shorter braids and a longer face. She suddenly feels Shea’s body tense, her grip tightening around Sasha’s waist. The other girls react similarly– Peppermint’s smile falls from her face, and she shifts her weight back and forth anxiously, while Aja seems to puff up a bit, poking her chest out and lifting her chin with an obvious frown. Sasha looks between the four of them, blinking uncertainly at the awkward silence that’s arisen.

“Hey- hey Nina,” Peppermint says slowly, glancing to the other girls briefly before continuing. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.” Nina shrugs, a sour expression on her face. “A little of this, a little of that.” Her stony gaze drifts to Aja, and she folds her arms and cocks her hip. “Hey Aja.”

Aja places a hand on her hip and flips her hair, returning Nina’s gaze without a smile. “Hey.”

“Mm.” Nina smirks, and her eyes flicker to Shea. “Miss Shea Coulee, I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Well I am,” Shea replies, curt.

Sasha glances to Shea, surprised by her unfriendly demeanor, but Shea just stares back at Nina with eyes like ice.

“Where you been hidin’ at, sister?” Nina then asks, giving her a once over with a raised brow. “Haven’t seen you in awhile, you too good for Brooklyn now? Or you just too broke to make it out here– I hear times are hard in Chicago.”

Shea laughs hollowly, and she smiles. “Oh no, honey, I’m doing just fine. I’ve been working. At, you know, a job?”

A grin spreads across Nina’s face as she nods. She laughs a bit, then stops as her eyes fall on Sasha, and she tilts her head as she studies her.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Shea says nothing but continues to glare at Nina, and Sasha watches as Pep and Aja exchange a look. Pep takes a step forward. “Umm, Nina, this is Sasha.”

“Sasha?” The woman’s smile grows wider, and she holds out a hand. “I’m Nina.”

Sasha glances to Shea. When no immediate reaction comes, she takes Nina’s hand with a gracious smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you the new girlfriend?”

Sasha blinks for a moment and slowly retracts her hand. She can hear Shea’s deep intake of breath.

“Alright.” Shea shakes her head and steps toward Nina. “That’s enough-”

“No no–,” Nina stammers, then chuckles as she folds her arms again. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to put a face to a name. You’re–” Nina squints and points a finger at Sasha. “You’re the one that’s married, right?”

Sasha doesn’t have time to react, because Shea does it for her.

In a matter of seconds, Shea’s made it to Nina and has her by the shirt, against the wall, hissing into her scrunched up face while Nina squirms and sputters obscenities. Aja’s next to lightning in the way she jams herself between the two of them and tries to push them apart, and Pep instinctively grabs Sasha’s arm and holds her in place.

“-outta my business you fuckin’ psycho ass bitch–”

“-get the fuck off me’–”

“-ay! Ay, break it up! Stop–”

A few people start to notice and circle around them, and it gets loud, everyone starts jeering for a fight.

“-if you can’t handle it like it is–”

“-oh I’ll handle it Nina, and I oughtta whoop yo mothafuckin’ ass–”

“-let go of me, bitch–”

“-ay! Ayy! Shea, stop!”

Aja’s been thrown to the side twice by Shea, and Pep eventually lets go of Sasha to grab Shea by the back of her leotard, locking her arms behind her.

Shea struggles against her roughly and Pep looks quickly to Sasha, who, not knowing what else to do, sets her drink on the stage and moves in front of Shea, placing a hand on either of her shoulders. Aja seizes the moment and pushes Nina out of the circle, and Sasha can hear her profanities until they hit the exit. A long, disappointed “awww” emits from the newly gathered crowd, and they slowly dissipate.

“And that’s why no one fucks with you!” Shea shouts after Nina, and Sasha stays in front of her.

“Shea– Shea!” Sasha gasps and pushes against her.

“Let me go–”

”Shea.”

Sasha grabs her face with both hands and looks at her directly. Shea quiets for a moment, her eyes still wide. Sasha gently brushes her fingertips against her cheeks and speaks to her softly. “Hey. It’s over.”

Shea blinks back at her.

After a moment Sasha presses her forehead against Shea’s, and she watches the younger woman close her eyes. Shea gives a sigh and stands still, breathing deeply, seeming to collect herself. She eventually gives a loose shake of her shoulders.

“Thanks, Pep, I’m good.”

Peppermint lets go of her arms, and Sasha pulls back, letting her arms fall to her sides. Shea sighs and shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “Man, I hate that bitch.”

“Damn, Shea, you gotta chill,” Pep says with a huff of a breath. “I’m not trying to get kicked out before the show starts.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shea says, eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m good now.”

“You’re shaking,” Sasha says quietly, laying a hand over Shea’s arm.

“It’s fine– I’m fine.”

At the harshness in Shea’s tone Sasha retracts her arm and casts her gaze downward. She notices Shea’s hand clenching in and out of a fist.

Whoever that girl was– Nina– Sasha could slap her for ruining what was beginning to feel like a perfect night. She sighs as she takes her drink from the stage and hands it to Shea.

Her heart sinks when Shea finally looks at her.

God, she hates that look.

It’s that look she gets sometimes when Sasha’s phone rings and she rejects it. That look when Sasha starts to pack her suitcase in the morning. That same look that she sees from the back of the taxi, when Shea’s standing on the sidewalk, watching Sasha go, all the way until her cab turns the corner.

Shea takes the drink and sips it, nodding some silent form of thanks. Sasha shifts her gaze back to the floor, a wave of guilt washing over her.

That’s when the lights go out– completely out, and the crowd roars.

Sasha’s hands immediately seek out something to hold onto, and she stumbles a bit until she feels Shea’s hand on her hip, pulling her closer. Sasha latches to her and her eyes widen in the dark, trying to make out the figures around her.

“I got you,” she hears Shea holler over the screaming crowd, her hand firm on Sasha’s waist.

Sasha clings to her side as a dim purple light fades onto the stage. The crowd grows even louder when fog billows in from the wings and the canvas on stage is illuminated.

Sasha spots Aja cheering and pushing herself back through the crowd.

“Did I miss anything?” she calls to Shea, an excited smile planted on her face.

Shea shakes her head. “No, it’s just starting.”

The audience goes crazy when the woman Sasha assumes is Betty steps onto the stage.

This woman is unlike anything Sasha’s ever seen before. Betty comes out in a biohazard suit, white and zipped up to her neck, sans the helmet, carrying two small buckets of paint in each hand. Not that there was any way a helmet could fit over the horse-like mane Betty sports, vibrantly pink with dark purple tips, sprouting from the top of her head and falling all the way down her back like a spiky neon mohawk.

Her makeup is just as colorful, if not borderline extraterrestrial, and she flashes the audience a bright smile as she takes center stage, holding the buckets high above her. The crowd goes wild with cheers. Aja, beside Sasha, jumps and snaps her fingers in the air, yelling along with them.

Betty’s smile disappears and her arms drop immediately as the music begins.

She walks to the canvas and kneels in front of it while a slow, melancholy clarinet begins to flow through the speakers and fill the room. The crowd hushes as Betty sets down the buckets and picks up a brush, holding it against her forehead dramatically, her back to the audience, and she sits in tableau for a moment.

A violin begins to play and Betty rises up, floating around the stage in ballerina fashion.

She turns back to the canvas and dips the brush in blue, flinging it across the canvas in short diagonal lines. The somber music continues and Betty picks up another brush, dipping it in yellow and bringing it against the opposite corner of the canvas in a circular motion. She grabs a different brush with red, and another with neon green, and she moves the both of them along the painting, and eventually she grabs all of them and splatters the paint, dipping them in the buckets and roughly flinging the brushes as the music begins to swell.

After a moment the music calms, and Betty drifts across the stage again, pulling another round of applause from the crowd, and she jumps into a pirouette center-stage. Sasha watches as she spins madly, and midway through her pirouette she pulls two different cans of spray paint from the pockets of her jumpsuit. She sprays them into the air above her as the music intensifies, then stops abruptly and runs to the canvas as the violin picks back up.

She sprays with abandon, her arms flying manically above her, bright pink and orange scattering across the canvas, metallic gloss sweeping over the shining bursts of color.

The violin hits the last bit, the wild and beautifully wretched finale. Betty paints with the roughness of the music, the sadness of it, slewing her last touches across the canvas, and Sasha’s mouth is agape at how marvelous it’s turned out, how this piece of art was born in only a matter of minutes. Betty strokes a bright blue against the canvas one last time, then throws the brush and grabs the entire thing, turning it upside down to reveal a vibrantly colored silhouette of a cello.

The music takes its final bar and Betty stands next to the canvas, her chest rising and falling heavily, and with the final chop of the violin, she holds her arms out and throws her head back.

The crowd erupts into applause.

Sasha lets go of Shea’s arm to clap with them, and she smiles at Aja, who jumps with excitement and beams back at her.

“That was fucking awesome, right?” Aja yells, nudging Sasha’s arm with her elbow.

Sasha nods, pressing her palms together and gazing back up at the painting in admiration. “So amazing!”

Betty bows a few times, uttering silent words of thanks to the audience. She clicks on her headset and holds her hands in the air.

“Brooklyn, how the fuck you feelin’ tonight?”

Applause and cheers boom through the crowd.

A smile spreads across Betty’s face as she nods. “This is Red Door, bitches. I’m Betty, and I’m gonna be taking you all on a trip tonight.”

Betty pulls another can from her jumpsuit and sprays above her head dramatically, eliciting more applause and shouting from the audience. She laughs and throws the can into the crowd.

“Are you bitches ready to play with me?”

Aja snaps her fingers above her head and hollers. Sasha grins, and she gives in and joins her, clapping eagerly. When she turns her attention back to the stage, however, she finds Betty looking down at her.

“I need one person–” Betty says, her eyes locked with Sasha’s, and the crowd goes crazy again. Betty gives her a wink before turning away and waving a hand across the audience, looking out and narrowing her eyes. People in the front row jump up and down with their hands in the air, screaming to be picked. She twiddles her fingers as she comes back down the stage, and a smile creeps onto her face as her gaze falls back to Sasha. She stops, standing with a hand on her hip and points directly to her.

“You.”

Sasha’s eyes bulge, and she whips her head around, looking behind her frantically for the person she desperately hoped Betty was pointing to.

Aja grabs her shoulder and jumps up and down. “That’s you, bitch!”

Sasha turns to Shea and finds her with a hand over her mouth, hiding a guilty smile.

“Did you–” Sasha pokes her in the side. At Shea’s laugh, Sasha presses her fingertips to her cheeks and shakes her head rapidly. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Betty’s voice booms over the microphone. “You. Blondie. I’m talkin’ to you.”

“Get up there, girl!” Pep giggles, patting Sasha on the shoulder.

Sasha looks back up to Betty, the shouting of the crowd around her almost deafening. The woman crooks her finger and smiles down at Sasha.

“Come on, don’t be shy. I won’t bite.”

A few people in the crowd wolf-whistle.

Sasha breathes deeply, her cheeks hot.

“You don’t have to,” Shea says to her with a reassuring smile, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Sasha glares at Shea from under her lashes. Of course she does; she’d look like a frigid bitch if she didn’t. She purses her lips and pulls away from Shea.

The crowd grows impossibly louder when Sasha hoists herself onto the stage. Betty comes over immediately to help her to her feet, and Sasha smoothes the front of her skirt nervously as she stands.

“Oh, nanny nine-one-one,” Betty drawls, taking a step back to give her a once-over.

Sasha looks into the crowd– it’s hard to see any faces, with the spotlight shining brightly into her eyes. She can only really make out a few people in the very front, Shea thankfully being one of them. Though Sasha might be a little annoyed, it’s still comforting to see her in the crowd, smiling up at her.

Betty throws an arm around Sasha. “Now, what’s your name?”

Sasha swallows the lump in her throat and manages to speak.

“Sasha.”

“Sasha? Okay, and where are you from?”

“I live in Manhattan.”

“Manhattan?” Betty repeats with a raised brow. A few lone hollers come from random parts of the crowd, and Betty nods her head and blinks slowly. “Of course you do.”

Sasha can feel her cheeks turning even pinker. Why, why didn’t she change this fucking outfit before she left?

Betty continues with a smirk. “Have you ever been here before?”

Sasha shakes her head, and a few more sporadic cheers echo through the room.

“First time! Awesome.” Betty flashes her a smile as she reaches in her pocket for a paintbrush. She shoves it into Sasha’s hand and pats her shoulder. “Well, Sasha, are you ready to have some fun?”

The audience starts shouting again, and Sasha can see Aja’s tiny frame jumping up and down. She nods. Then Betty clicks her headset off and the lights dim.

“Okay, so Shea said you paint?” Betty says in a much more natural tone. Sasha nods and rolls up her sleeves.

“So all we’re doing is speedpainting, okay?” Betty continues, and they make their way toward the canvas. “I’m basically gonna give you the reigns. You just need to start doing something, and I’ll come behind you, and I’ll add to it.”

“Okay,” Sasha says with a nervous smile. “Okay– thanks.”

“Yeah no problem,” Betty says quickly, picking up a paint brush and wiping it on the tarp beneath them. “It’s just a big free-for-all, but we gotta make it sexy. Shouldn’t be too hard,” she adds with a wink, and brings the paintbrush to her forehead again dramatically, freezing in a pose.

Sasha follows her lead and strikes a modelesque, broken-doll pose, with a hand on her hip while the other hangs in front of her, holding the paintbrush. She bends a knee inward and cocks a hip, and she can hear the crowd getting rowdier as the music starts.

As soon as Betty moves, Sasha bends to dip her brush in red. She flings it over the top part of the canvas in circular globs, and she notices Betty working the bottom of the canvas, swiping it with long, neon green stripes. Perfect.

The music is strange, but it does something to Sasha. It goes from a very simple beat to an erratic combination of noises with a baseline behind it. She watches as Betty steps away for a moment to dance, but Sasha keeps quick with her hands, taking the gobs of red paint and making them more shapely, more floral.

The bass rattles through the speakers and Sasha can’t help the swing of her shoulders. She grabs a brush with yellow and begins to highlight the red globs, accentuating them from the inside out in a quick, clockwise motion, turning them into roses. Betty comes beside her and shadows under them with a dark blue, and Sasha holds the brush in her mouth, taking a couple of pins out of her bun and shaking her blonde curls loose. A few catcalls come from the audience.

Make it sexy. Right.

Sasha smiles seductively over her shoulder, paintbrush still bit between her teeth, and the crowd cheers again.

The music goes softer again, and Sasha paints beneath Betty, taking the yellow and highlighting the green stripes, giving them texture and making them look like stems with leaves. Betty glances to Sasha, reaching into her pocket and pulling out another can of spray paint. She tosses it to Sasha with a wink.

Sasha sprays the silver just along the tips of the leaves.

Betty pulls a small pair of paint goggles from her suit, holding them out to Sasha with a wicked grin.

“You ready to get crazy?”

Sasha finds herself smiling back at the woman, and nods uncertainly with a shrug of her shoulders, taking the goggles from her.

Without warning, Betty grabs a couple of brushes, dunking them in the blue and green and flings them across the canvas, splattering long strips all over the bottom half of the painting, hitting the walls, hitting the curtain, hitting Sasha, hitting herself. Sasha scrambles to get the goggles over her eyes, her white shirt now ruined with tiny strips of bright paint.

The crowd gets louder and the beat drops again. The music pounds in Sasha’s ears as she looks at the painting, then back to the audience. She can see Shea and her smile.

Maybe that’s what makes her do it. Maybe.

Sasha doesn’t even realize what’s she’s done until the red paint’s sliding down the canvas and onto the floor, and Betty’s face is agape as she turns to face her.

Sasha’s jaw goes slack as she glances down to the empty red bucket she holds in her hands.

Betty holds her hands over her head, yelling into the air with a giant smile, and the crowd roars with her.

“Yes, bitch! Yes!”

Sasha chuckles breathlessly and she faces the audience again, and they’re jumping, reaching for her and screaming.

“That’s fucking sickening!” Betty hollers, and she takes Sasha’s arm. “Let me paint you!”

“What?” Sasha asks, her eyes still roaming across the wild audience.

“Let me paint you,” Betty repeats, taking the bucket from her hands.

“Alright, okay,” Sasha nods in agreement, smiling like a fool, high from the adrenaline flowing through her veins.

Funny, how things get lost in translation. Especially when you’re both speaking English.

Sasha thought Betty would paint her– not paint her.

But there Sasha finds herself, standing center stage, with a bright, fat red stripe painted across her torso. The crowd hushes, and she gasps at the feeling of cold paint seeping through her shirt and touching her skin. She holds her hands out in front of her and looks to Betty, who stares back, unmoving, as if she’s afraid she’s gone too far.

Sasha’s eyes fall back to Shea, who only gazes up at her with wide eyes.

Sasha realizes that this is the pivotal point in the scene. That if this were a movie, this would be the part where it freeze-frames.

Make it sexy.

The audience erupts into madness when Sasha rips her shirt apart, the buttons popping off and dropping to the floor. She tears the shirt off and looks to Betty with a smirk, tossing it to the side. Betty smiles and grabs a different brush, this time with blue, and she paints across Sasha’s breasts, over her lacy bra and bared cleavage.

Sasha’s eyes rarely leave Shea’s as Betty paints all over her body. Aja and Peppermint are wild, jumping and hollering, snapping and clapping and pointing, but not Shea– Shea’s quiet. She stands still, sipping the drink that Sasha had given her, and she watches. She watches Betty pour fresh green paint down Sasha’s front. She watches Betty rip Sasha’s black pencil skirt, going from the bottom all the way up her thigh. She watches Betty bend Sasha over, placing two bright blue handprints on the mounds of her ass.

It’s erotic, and Sasha lets her head fall forward as the paint touches her skin, drips down her thighs, rolls between her breasts. Her breaths grow shallow as she watches Shea watching them, watching Betty touch her, rubbing her hands up and down her body.

The music slows down, and Betty grabs Sasha’s sticky hand. She walks them back to the painting, and Sasha looks at it for a moment– it’s beautiful. It’s everything she felt, a marvelous representation of everything she guessed they both felt– beautiful roses, mauled by a massive explosion of red paint, born of strict impulsion. She meets Betty’s gaze and smiles at her, and Betty nods to her.

Betty brings their fists into the air as the music stops, and the crowd screams their approval.

Betty beams at Sasha. She holds her arms open and gives her a tight hug, the imprint of Sasha’s paint-covered body staining her suit. She laughs when she pulls back and looks down at herself, shaking her head as she clicks her headset on.

“Let’s give it up for Sasha!” she hollers into the mic, and the crowd’s cheers grow louder.

Sasha turns to look at the audience.

It’s an indescribable feeling– the sound of applause, the waves of people smiling up at Sasha, faces of pure admiration and acceptance. The faces of those who appreciate art. Her chest rises and falls heavily and she waves, and she presses her sticky palms together under her chin, mouthing thank-yous.

Pep and Aja are up in arms, hooting and hollering with bright laughter, and Shea’s clapping with them– not quite as outrageously, but she smiles at Sasha, gazing at her with a look that Sasha can’t quite place.

“We’ve got a great show for you tonight,” Betty says with a chuckle, throwing her arm around Sasha’s waist. “We’re gonna get this shit cleaned off. Stick around.”

She clicks her headset off and guides Sasha off the stage.

*****

“Thanks.”

Sasha takes the white robe that Betty offers her, slipping her arms through.

“No problem,” Betty says. She turns to rummage through her bag for a moment, offering Sasha a small towel and a bottle of soap. “That Gojo works wonders,” Betty says with a grin. “Takes the paint right off. Just get a little lather and you’re good.”

Sasha nods gratefully and places the items by the sink. She looks in the mirror to take her goggles off and chuckles– she’s a mess, covered head to toe in a multitude of colors. She shakes her head and removes her goggles.

Her eyes wander in the mirror as Betty unzips her white suit, revealing a corseted number that sat right under her breasts– or where they should have been. Instead, Betty has prominent pectorals only covered with pasties, and Sasha furrows her brow as she watches Betty’s muscular thighs flex as she steps out of the suit. Betty catches her confused expression in the mirror and smirks.

“Am I that good?”

Sasha peels her eyes away and diverts her attention to the sink in front of her, turning on the hot water. She stammers as she runs the towel under the faucet.

“What? I don’t– I don’t know–”

“You act like you’ve never seen a queen before.”

Sasha glances back to meet her gaze, and she blinks rapidly. “I have. I just– I didn’t know–”

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Betty chuckles, taking a towel and dabbing at her neck. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Unclockable.”

Sasha laughs through her nose, smiling apologetically.

“You’re a natural, you know,” Betty says plainly, scrubbing at a mark on her cheek. “Out there. You did good.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sasha chuckles as she lathers her face.

“No, you are.” Betty stops for a moment and turns to Sasha, a hand on her hip. “Do you model?”

Sasha shakes her head. “No, not me. But I’m an editor for a magazine, so I’m around them all day.”

“You should try it,” Betty says. “You have a great look.”

Sasha suppresses a smile and swallows. “Thank you,” she says quietly. She wipes the last paint marks from the corners of her nose, and watches Betty through the mirror as she saunters toward her, holding out a stick of eyeliner. Sasha sighs in relief.

“You’re a saint.”

Betty snickers as she hands it to her. She picks up a contour stick from the counter and pulls off the cap. “I’ve been called worse.”

The two of them stand in front of the mirror in silence as they re-apply. Sasha feels more comfortable than she would have thought, standing next to a man dressed like a woman. Betty seems nice– she seems like a regular person, despite her extraterrestrial makeup and her affinity for women’s clothing. It’s interesting, how different things are here than they are in Sasha’s world.

“So why roses?”

Sasha pulls the eyeliner away and looks at Betty. “Roses?”

“Yeah.” Betty continues to dab the purple contour at her cheekbone. “Why’d you start with roses?”

“Oh. I don’t– I don’t know,” Sasha says with a shrug of her shoulders. “I, umm, I got really carried away out there. I don’t know why I even picked up that bucket, I’m sorry if I kind of ruined it–”

“No!” Betty furrows her brow and shakes her head, turning to look at Sasha. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t ruin anything– it was raw, it was perfect.”

Betty seems to search her eyes for a moment. Sasha glances back to the sink, and she smiles shyly as she re-wets her towel.

“There’s a reason why we paint the things we do,” Betty eventually says, turning her attention back to the mirror. “There always is– sometimes we don’t even know it.”

Sasha nods as she wipes the cloth along her painted arms.

“Like me– I paint a lot of cellos. Because for a while, that’s all I painted. I went through this phase, for almost a year, actually, every painting I started, no matter what colors I used or how fast or slow I went, it always ended up being a fucking cello. I couldn’t figure it out.”

Sasha laughs and meets her gaze through the mirror. Betty grins and continues.

“But one day, I’m selling my shit on the street, just a fence full of fuckin’ cello paintings, and this crazy motherfucker walks up. I’m talkin’ crazy, wouldn’t shut up, psycho-babblin’ kind of guy, and he’s just gushing about my paintings, says he wants to buy them all. Of course he couldn’t, he didn’t have any fuckin’ money, but he did have a cute ass. So what did I do? I gave him one. Just— ‘here, take it.’ And now–”

Betty puts the cap back on the contour stick and sets it down.

“Now, that guy’s my husband.”

Sasha smiles as she rings the cloth out over the sink. “That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah.” Betty shrugs and shakes her head, seemingly unable to hide the grin that spreads across her lips. “Turns out he plays the cello, turns out he plays every instrument on the fuckin’ planet.”

Sasha laughs as she runs the cloth down her ankles.

“But I’m telling you, there’s always a reason,” Betty says. She rests a hand gently on Sasha’s shoulder, and the blonde looks up to meet her gaze. Betty nods as if she’s answering a question Sasha hasn’t asked. Then she adds, “And there’s always a way.”

Sasha blinks slowly as she stares back at her.

“There you are!”

Sasha’s heart immediately flutters at the sound of Shea’s voice. She whirls around to see her standing in the doorway, a bright smile on her face.

“Hey!” Sasha says, wiping her hands on the towel and tossing it to the side.

Shea saunters toward her with open arms. “There’s a person under all that paint.”

Sasha lets out a breath of a laugh, circling her arms around Shea’s waist. Shea smoothes Sasha’s hair back and looks at her.

“You were amazing.”

Sasha smirks and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you set me up like that.”

“In my defense,” Shea raises an eyebrow and holds up a finger, “it was Aja’s idea.”

“Oh sure, blame Aja,” Betty says.

“You bitch,” Shea chuckles and strolls toward Betty, giving her a light hug and an air kiss on each side of her face.

“Your girl’s got some talent,” Betty says as she pulls back. “She knows how to work a crowd.”

Sasha can feel her cheeks flushing when Shea looks back at her and nods.

“Yeah, she does.”

After a moment, Betty coughs lightly, making her way to the door. She grabs a bright pink poncho off of the coat rack with a knowing smile.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back out there,” Betty says, giving a short nod to Shea, then letting her gaze drift to Sasha. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Sasha.”

Sasha smiles at Betty, lacing her fingers in front of her. “It was nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” Betty quips with a wink, and she hangs on the door for a moment. “Don’t be a stranger.”

After she’s gone, Sasha turns to Shea with an incredulous gaze.

“That was–” Sasha runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head, “That was incredible, I can’t even– I feel like I’m on fire right now.”

“You were somethin’ else,” Shea says quietly as she steps toward Sasha. “I was shocked.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sasha’s chest rises and falls heavily and her eyes dart back and forth across Shea’s face as she processes everything. “I just– I don’t know what happened. The music, and the lights, and the paint–” she chuckles breathlessly, and her eyes finally meet Shea’s as she steps closer to her. “I just went crazy, I just felt so-”

She’s cut short by Shea’s lips crashing against hers, and none of it matters anymore.

Sasha lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and she wraps her arms around Shea’s shoulders. Shea claims her mouth hungrily, and Sasha shivers at the moan that spills from Shea’s lips into her own. And then she’s hoisted up, Shea’s hands firm on her ass, and her legs instinctively wrap around Shea’s waist as they move to the counter.

Sasha groans as her back slams against the mirror. Her fingers tangle in Shea’s hair and she’s missed this– God she’s missed this. She’s missed her smell, her touch, her voice, her laugh, and she wants Shea closer. She drags her nails down Shea’s sides and Shea gasps as she pulls back, her dark eyes heavy with lust.

“God,” Sasha breathes, searching Shea’s face, running a thumb just under the corner of her eye.

Shea shakes her head and takes Sasha’s face in her hands.

“You’re mine.”

And she reclaims Sasha’s mouth, and Sasha’s lost– drowning in another world, another life she could somewhere lead. No one has ever made her feel like this– no one else would ever, or could ever make her feel like this. Shea breaks away to kiss the corner of Sasha’s mouth, then her jaw, eventually leading a trail of hot kisses to Sasha’s ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shea whispers.

Sasha sighs at the feeling of Shea’s hot breath on her skin.

“What about the rest of the show?” she asks, short-winded.

Shea pulls back and looks at Sasha, a crooked smile forming on her lips.

“Fuck the rest of the show.”

#dandee #brooklyn nights #sashea #shea coulee #aja #peppermint #nina bo'nina brown #acid betty #rpdr fanfiction #submission #lesbian au

69 notes · View notes

vagarius · 8 years ago

Note

For the fanfiction questions thing: 1, 3, 8, 10, 16, 18, 22, 27, 31, 36, 40, 44, 46, 48, 50 and 51~

!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!!!!???!!!!!!!!!

okay now the actual words:

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in?

[also answered here]

Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus. It still sneaks up and slaps me in the face sometimes. Though I hated the ending of the last book but let’s not go there

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

I mean??? I love the Boueibu fandom, because I feel like I know everyone (even if I don’t know everyone) and it’s nice seeing other people’s fandom things and being like ah, yes, you’re the one who - . And then people recognize you’re own fandom things and you’re just like????? But the fandom also isn’t is-anyone-even-home small *cough* starmyu *cough*.

So yeah I really like the Boueibu fandom kudos to you.

(Also a shout out to the Haikyuu!! fandom for their love of rarepairs. Or maybe that’s just me and who I happen to follow, lol.)

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

What even is… my latest fandom??? The latest fandom I’m actually active in is Boueibu. I actually started watching Boueibu right after watching Hamatora because it was around the time everyone was comparing Kinshirou and Art, so that was like, half of what was making up the Hamatora tag. Then I watched the PV and went hiroshi kamiya and whoa look at that I’m on episode five already where did the time go? (Not even because I’m particularly fond of Hiroshi Kamiya (though I am), but because I’m always oddly proud of myself when I recognize voice actors? Idk why.) I got really into the actual fandom after reading some Enkin fics and also falling in love with the Student Council. The first fic I wrote for the fandom was actually for an exchange.

My latest fandom in general is Mystic Messenger. I’d been seeing stuff pop up for it for a while and then it showed up in my recommended apps on Google Play and I just?? What the hell, why not. Let’s do this. And here I am (though I’ve only finished Yoosung’s route so far ;;;; )

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

Yes, very much yes. I’ve read fic for so many fandoms but have only gotten around to writing for 4 of them (5 if you include PJO but I haven’t written for it since I’ve been on AO3). The ones I can think of now are Daiya No A, Joker Game, All for the Game (book series), Kuroko no Basuke, Prince of Stride, Ao no Exorcist, Oofuri, Tsuritama…

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike?

From Haikyuu, I’m not the biggest fan of KuroKen and Kenhina (is Kenhina popular? I don’t even know at this point). And… Asanoya, I guess? It’s not that I necessarily dislike these three as much as I’m just meh about them.

There aren’t any ships that I’ve come across that I actually dislike from Boueibu, and the ones I’m meh about aren’t really popular anyway? So.

And Rintori from Free!. Idk why it just never clicked with me??

18. What ship have you written the most about?

Tsukkikage (hq!!), apparently, though I mostly write about platonic relationships, it seems like.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

[also answered here]

If I posted it, I don’t regret writing it. I might not necessarily like some of my old writing, but I don’t regret it. However, there are some things I’ve written down or typed out and immediately deleted because hell no this will not see the light of day not on my watch why did I even think to put those words together what was I -

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

[also answered here]

Coming up with titles. I love writing cute little (or heartbreaking) summaries, but titles? No thanks. It’s like I’m pulling words out of a jar, except the jar is locked, poisonous, and on fire. (Though I usually end up liking my titles, anyway.)

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

[also answered here]

Literally anytime?? Someone comments?? I get really jittery and excited because wow someone wanted to say something about what I wrote??

While the last ask has my favorite comment, I’m going to compile some of the nicest things people have said about my writing just because it makes me happy and I can:

“goddd your writing is so beautiful i’m so jealous” - nardaviel

“and your writing is amazing, it does a beautiful job of evoking the quiet that theyre both having to deal with. i think the present tense is part of the effect because it makes it seem less like a recounting of events (which by necessity is an act of communication, and this whole thing is about an inability to communicate) and more like we’re experiencing these things alongside atsushi. but i think there’s more going on than just the choice of tense.. maybe part of it has something to do with all the parentheticals at the ends of scenes…? they seem like quiet little asides, thoughts that don’t make it out into the main narrative the same way thoughts aren’t making it out of atsushi’s head 3 tbh i don’t really know, i’m just thinking aloud because i’m trying to learn from your talent a;ljsd” - @nardaviel

“Your style is so pretty as always, I loved the descriptions and how you portrayed the characters’ thoughts and perceptions of the world around.” - you, actually

“I know that I’m gonna read this many times over in the future…. I need a moment.” - Rudxinna

“Kudos to you for keeping everyone so nicely in character, for fleshing them out so well as they age, and for showing just enough of each scene.” - chromyrose

“I loved this. I cried and laughed while reading it.” - Pechat

“You really have a gift for zeroing on these quiet significant moments.” - odoridango

“How is everything you write so amazing and perfect??” - odoridango [Honestly everything odoridango has ever commented makes my heart soar]

[I am currently basking in happiness. Thank you for giving me the excuse.]

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

[also answered here]

Slice of Life, assuming that counts. I love the atmosphere.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

everything Plot, in general. Trying to connect everything into a coherent storyline. I find it easy with vignettes when you can get away with connecting them with subtleties or repeating lines, but having one event leading into the next without awkward breaks is a struggle. (Which is probably why I mostly stick with oneshots.) I also struggle with writing the beginning. I usually start in the middle of the fic, which will sometimes end up being the beginning anyway, orz.

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention?

[also answered here]

Just. All the platonic ships. All of them. I love platonic ships so much???? Give me all the friendship I will take it gladly.

From Boueibu, the third year OT4, as well as Kinatsuen and AkoIoRyuu (though I don’t actually ship the latter that much.) I feel like people really like them but there still isn’t that much content for them? though the only romantic ship i’ve really written is enatsu so i shouldn’t be talking

For Haikyuu!!, I’m especially fond of TsukkiKage and KuroKage, so. Also Yachi ships. They are adorable.

For Free!, I still miss reiharu, orz. I should write more for them. Other people should write more for them. More reiharu for the soul. Also Gou/Haru friendship??? It just occurred to me now but more Gou/Haru friendship would be amazing.

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

Hmmmm, I’d probably recommend an endless start of april, which is a KuniKage fic from hq summer hols. I really like the atmosphere, and how I formatted the fic. I also managed to stuff karasuno first year friendship in there. But mostly, I had a lot of fun writing it, and I think it shows. I’m overall really proud of it. (I’m also still really fond of fairy lights, lol).

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not?

I try my best to leave reviews, especially when the fic made me really happy and/or really emotional. A comment can make my day, so I try to leave as many as possible. (Though I am guilty of not following through on this). I try my best to be detailed, but most of the time they end up just being really incoherent, orz.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

I think it started when I stumbled across a Lazel (PJO/HoO) fic over google search?? Then I read all the obligatory high school and harry potter AUs for PJO and then the tear jerkers and I was totally hooked?? And of course the first thing I wrote was for a rarepair, lol. After that I really wanted more platonic Jasico content, as well as a Nico-centric AU, so they were some of the first things I wrote about.

When I started really really wanting to write fanfiction, though, was after reading the fic Catch a Falling Star (free fandom come cry with me). It kinda became my fic writer’s dream to write a long one-shot like that (still kind of is, and is probably why I fell in love with long one-shots in the first place), and the imaginary friends concept has always stuck with me. That fic inspired me a lot, along with a few others. I’m still stumbling across fics where I go I want to write something like that, but that was definitely the start of it.

And here I am now, lol.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

[also answered here]

For the other “also answered” ones, I wrote something new(ish, in some cases), but I’m gonna copy paste this one bc I’m not sure what else I want to gush about:

I hate fanfiction’s reputation????? A lot???? Like I’ve seen/read my fair share of horrible fanfiction (have more than likely written some) and, yeah, some of it’s just pointless fluff or smut or the like but???? There’s also some really really really meaningful stuff out there??? And even those that don’t have some life-changing meaning mean a lot regardless - there are fanfics that have lifted my spirits and honest to goodness probably saved me, ones that have made me laugh so ridiculously hard I’ve woken someone up and ones that have made me cry at 3 AM wondering how something this beautiful graced my eyes??? Like???? It might not interest you but give it a chance, or at least keep any trash to yourself (unless it’s like, legitimate trash, but. That’s a very fine line you’re walking. A very fine line.)

And because I don’t want to end on a hateful note:

I love the little communities fanfiction builds???? Especially in smaller fandoms, or in rarepair fandoms (for lack of a better word). I love talking to other writers when I can and seeing how proud they are and getting little comments and I just?? Fanfiction communities are actually great.

And once more for good measure: !?!?!??!?!?!?!?!!!!???!!!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!

Fanfiction Questions

#mystofthestars #answered #i looked this isnt actually the tag i use #bc i didnt use one #ernb its me

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lindyhunt · 7 years ago

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Gillian Jacobs Talks Life After Mickey Dobbs, #MeToo, and More

After a three-season run playing the well-intentioned but self-destructive Mickey Dobbs on Netflix’s Love, Gillian Jacobs is free—to travel, explore new projects, take some chances. Problem is, that kind of terrifies her. (But she’s working on it.) We caught up with Jacobs on her 24-hour visit to Toronto, where the Diet Coke ambassador is celebrating the launch of their four new flavours with an event at the sold-out ‘Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors’ exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. In a cheery ’60s-style striped mini dress, Jacobs is effervescent, talking frequently in exclamation points (you’ll see) about her passion for highlighting the achievements of women in science and the arts, saying goodbye to Mickey, and what the #MeToo movement has meant for her.

Welcome to Toronto! Have you been here before? I was a real Canadian theatre nerd as a child. I used to go to the George Bernard Shaw Festival at Niagara-on-the-Lake every year for five years when I was a kid and I remember going to Stratford and coming to Toronto as well. It’s a beautiful city.

It sure is. Lets talk a bit about your Diet Coke campaign, and a line you say in the new commercial: “Just do you, whatever that is.” What are some of the things that exemplify you doing you, and being you at your purest? Well, probably going to the Shaw Festival five years in a row as a high school student, when noone else in my world was interested in Shaw plays! (laughs) But I loved it, it made me happy. I would see three Shaw plays a day and that was my idea of fun. So I guess it’s things like that—I loved Shakespeare as a kid and I like history and going to art museums. My idea of fun is going to two museums in two days so I guess just doing the things that make you happy regardless of whether or not they’re popular. That’s my version of it.

The tag line for the campaign is ‘Life is short, drink Diet Coke.’ What are some of the things that you’d love to try or chances you’d like to take considering life is short? I need to work on this! I’m a very cautious person. I don’t really go on trips, I don’t travel except for work. My goal for myself is to try and do more things, and not just keep putting them off and waiting and deferring. I would like to go on a trip that isn’t work-related. That’s my goal for 2018.

If you had to finish that sentence in a different way, how would you do it? Life is short, fill in the blank. Life is short… and that’s what gives it meaning? I don’t know. (laughs) I was thinking of things that are finite, and that’s what makes them special, right? I just did a play for the first time in ten years and as the run ended, people were getting so sad and I was getting so sad too but then I was like, the fact that this is a short run makes it all the more special.

And your show Love as well. You knew it would be a finite series right from the beginning. Yes! I know! I’m dealing with a lot of finite things in my life right now! I’m getting better with things ending. Because my first show, Community, went for six years and every year when I thought it was over I’d be hysterically crying and so upset and now I think I’ve gotten better about understanding that things end and that’s okay and it creates the opportunity for something new and something different.

So how does it feel to say goodbye to Mickey? It feels weird! I’ve been in New York these last couple of months so I haven’t been able to see Paul, who played Gus, or Claudia [who played her roommate Bertie] or anybody from the show, so I’ve also felt so separate from everybody. I don’t know that it’s really going to hit me until I get back to LA, that it’s actually over. The nice thing is that it seems like people are really enjoying this season, people have come up to me and said very nice things, so that makes me feel proud. I feel like we made a show that really resonated with people. But yeah, it’s weird! Like, around this time I would be going back to shoot Love again, so I think it’ll all hit me in a couple of weeks when it’s like, ‘it’s really over.’ But it was such a great part, I was lucky to be able to play it for three years.

Bye, bye @loveonnetflix

A post shared by Gillian Jacobs (@gillianjacobs) on Mar 10, 2018 at 5:46am PST

In what ways do you feel like you’re similar to or different from Mickey? Well in a lot of the surface ways I’m very different from Mickey. I’m much more like Gus on the surface—I like to follow rules, I like authority figures to like me, I’m not really rash. I could be more impulsive. But I wish I was more like Mickey in some ways because she takes more chances than I do. She’s more vulnerable with people than I am and because she puts it all out there, that sort of inspires other people around her to really connect to her. I’ve seen what that character means to people and how deeply they feel connected to her and that’s because she’s vulnerable. I could probably be a bit more like Mickey.

Another thing people love about her is her style. Any similarities there? That’s one area where I can say yes! Two things in specific: one, the overalls that she wears are my overalls. I wore them today! They’re my favourite airport wear. And now Chris Pine wore them! Chris Pine’s ripping off Mickey. (laughs) They’re great in the airport. He’s a smart man. And in the first season, or maybe she wore it later, she wore a little camo jacket with short sleeves. That was based on an article of clothing of mine that was a children’s jacket that I got at a thrift store. So they remade that. But Mickey’s also a lot cooler than me in her clothing. We had these really long fittings with Jennifer Eve, who designed all the costumes for the show, and I would just watch her put things together in ways that I never would. So that was really inspiring to me.

Saying goodbye to Mickey Dobbs this week. @loveonnetflix

A post shared by Gillian Jacobs (@gillianjacobs) on Mar 7, 2018 at 7:08am PST

Maybe we could talk a bit about your non-acting work. You directed a short documentary a few years ago, and more recently, interviewed pioneers in different STEM fields for stories. How did you get involved with those projects? I sort of got assigned a passion for women in STEM. I was asked to make this doc about Grace Hopper, who’s a computer scientist. I knew nothing about her, I knew nothing about computing, nothing about STEM. But the thing that really got me excited was when I noticed that she wasn’t the only woman in that field, there was a whole group of women who were working in computing during World War II and then also in the ’50s. I wanted to try and celebrate other women who were closer to her age so I met this woman Jean Sammet whom I’d read about and I got the opportunity to interview her for Glamour. She passed away shortly after the interview came out but it was really important to me to try and celebrate her while she was still alive. That was really gratifying. And because of that I’ve gotten other opportunities—I got to interview Peggy Whitson, who’s an astronaut with NASA. I just get excited about celebrating women in STEM, both historical women and women that are still alive today, even though I know nothing about what they do and when they talk about it in any detail, it’s totally over my head. But it’s really exciting because you see the impact that it has on young people—I sound like my grandparents—but I do think that when you’re able to celebrate these stories and bring them to light, then people realize it’s a possible career for so many different types of people, not just the stereotype that people have about who does STEM.

And when you say you got assigned that first doc, how did that come about? I had met this man named Dan Silver who worked at ESPN because two of my cast mates on Community had directed 30 For 30 shorts but they were both about sports. And so I was like well can I direct one, if they got to and they’ve never directed anything before? And I think Dan quickly realized I didn’t know anything about sports because my ideas were really weird and he very kindly said no. But I think he appreciated my interest and so then a couple of months later when ESPN acquired Fivethirtyeight.com I got a call very much out of the blue asking if I’d want to make a documentary about Grace Hopper, and it all kind of went from there.

But it’s not just women in STEM you’re trying to highlight, because on your Instagram you’re also doing #femalefilmmakerfridays which is great because all the young women and girls following your account will see these incredible examples of strong women in the film industry. Yes! My other passion is women of early Hollywood. There were actually a fair number of women working as writers, directors, producers in the silent film era of Hollywood and into the early studio era that people don’t really know about or talk about. I put Dorothy Arzner on my Instagram, who still holds the record for most studio films directed by a woman and she stopped directing in the ’40s! She taught Francis Ford Coppola, they just named a building at Paramount after her… I really want to celebrate these women because now, as we’re trying to actively increase the number of women behind the camera, I think it’s important to know that there were women doing these jobs in the very earliest days of Hollywood.

Dorothy Arzner still holds the record for most studio films directed by a woman. She is credited with inventing the boom mic, was the first woman to direct a sound picture and is an important part of LGBTQIA+ film history. Dorothy’s credits include “The Wild Party” starring Clara Bow and “Christopher Strong” starring Katharine Hepburn. Just yesterday, Paramount dedicated a building on the studio lot to her. #femalefilmmakerfriday Go to https://wfpp.cdrs.columbia.edu/pioneer/ccp-dorothy-arzner/ to read more about this film pioneer.

A post shared by Gillian Jacobs (@gillianjacobs) on Mar 2, 2018 at 6:21am PST

What’s incredible about that is that it highlights not just these trailblazing women but also how far we still have to go if they’re still the ones who hold the records for all of these things. I know! That’s really sad! She stopped directing movies decades ago. I think it’s important to celebrate the women who came before us, who kind of paved the path, and yes you’re right, there are sadly too many parallels between their era and ours.

Last question. I actually wanted to bring up this piece you wrote for Lenny Letter back in 2016 and I’m just going to read out a little bit from that. “When I bottle my feelings up inside, they grow louder in the echo chamber of my mind, but when I force myself to say, ‘I’m afraid,’ they dissipate as others say, ‘Me too.’” Those two words are resonating around the world right now, and we’re seeing that there’s so much power and comfort in shared experiences. Could you talk a bit about your thoughts on the movement? Oh wow. I’d never even thought about that. I hadn’t read that essay in so long. As I was saying to you earlier about trying to be more vulnerable like Mickey, I felt like I’d developed some defense mechanisms over the years of not talking about painful experiences, not talking about the difficult things, and just feeling like I had to shoulder this burden alone. And I think what’s so incredible about the #MeToo movement and Time’s Up is that it shows that there is power in sharing these things even if it’s really scary to talk about publicly and you’re unsure about how it’s going to be received. I’ve drawn such inspiration from these women and I know they’ve made such a powerful impact, so many women in so many different fields so yes, I have to push myself to get past my natural inclination which is to be kind of reserved and I’m a little shy and kind of a loner so I have to push past that because I’ve seen what an incredible impact these women have had, and it’s an inspiration to me to continue to try to share and connect.

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