#Remind me to draw them when I m decent at art again

[awzominator]

I’m in an art slump so here’s Capritello in attempt to break it

[dysfunctionalcrab]

babysitter

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

pronouns: gender neutral

description: george is left to babysit your niece

warnings: mentions of a future family? just in case that makes you uncomfortable.

[y/n/n] - your nieces name

[y/s/n] - your siblings name (gender neutral too)

note: i’m not too sure about this imagine, please a like or reply if you actually enjoyed! - niss

you woke up to the sound of your alarm blasting your ear off, if you hadn’t turned it off right there you probably would have gone deaf.

george was sleeping like a baby beside you, you could hear his quiet snores. you were surprised he didn’t wake up to the sound of your ear-piercing alarm.

turning on your phone, you glanced at the time that read 12:30. you sighed in annoyance as you registered that you only had half an hour before you had to be on your way to university. so you got up and began your normal morning routine, brush your teeth, shower, have breakfast and finally get dressed. however, as you were packing your bag, almost ready to go, you received a notification from your [sibling]

[y/s/n]: we’re 5 minutes away!!!

[y/s/n]: thank you so much for agreeing to do this :)

fuck.

it completely slipped your mind. you had promised to take care of [y/n/n] for today, your 7 year old niece, while your [sibling] was at their job interview. regardless, you texted them a quick ‘no problem’ before rushing upstairs to wake up george.

he was still sleeping, but now he was completely hiding under the covers with one arm sticking out. you hated to interrupt his beauty sleep but this was more important. you began to shake him awake.

“babe,” you shook him

“wake up,”

“george,” you removed the covers off his face

“wake the fuck up!” you started poking his sides. usually, you would be a little less... harsh, but you were panicking.

finally the boy rose from his slumber, groaning and stretching all his limbs. he blinked a couple times before meeting your eyes

“good morning,” he said softly, as if he completely just disregarded your tone of desperation and worry.

you pulled him by his arm and he sat upright,

“you need to get up right now,” you told him

“what’s going on?” he questioned, clearly confused as you weren’t giving him any context

“you need to take care of [y/n/n] for today, i have classes today, and i need to leave in 5 minutes and [y/s/n] has a job interview and there’s nobody else to take care of her,” you rushed out all in once sentence.

“are you serious?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “you know how bad i am with kids, especially [y/n/n] , she hates me,”

that was partly true. unfortunately, your niece wasn’t exactly fond of george. ever since you even started dating,m, [y/n/n] acted cold towards your boyfriend, it only got worse when you moved in with him. she always refused to play a game if george was going to participate, or never accepted any high fives or hellos from him. you felt sympathy for george. this child despised him and now you were asking him to look after her.

“please, i’m begging you,” you looked at him with pleading eyes. his eyes softened up after recognising the urgency of the situation.

“fine,” he agreed. you sighed out of satisfaction that you didn’t have to stress out [y/s/n] over finding a new baby sitter.

“thank you so much,” you pressed a small kiss to his lips appreciatively.

right at that moment, you two heard the doorbell ring. you urged george to get ready as fast as he could while you went down stairs and greeted your [sibling] and your niece.

“auntie/uncle [y/n]!” [y/n/n] yelled as you opened the door, immediately rushing into your arms. she looked a lot taller than the last time you saw her

“how’s my favourite girl?” you picked her up and swung her, before placing a little kiss on her head

you gave your [sibling] a quick hug. they handed you a bag full of toys, teddies and colouring pens, along with a spare set of clothing just in case [y/n/n] got a little messy throughout the day. and some quick reminders about her favourite foods or how to get her stop crying. you’d looked after her before, so all of it was pretty familiar to you

“again, thank you so, so much, you have no idea how much you’re helping me.” they told you. your [sibling] gave [y/n/n] a kiss on the cheek and told her to be a ‘good and kind little girl’ before finally exiting the household.

george, at last, made his way down. wearing a decent pair of jeans and a hoodie, giving an awkward wave to [y/n/n]

you checked the time and knew you had to get going. you had to explain to her that uncle george was going to be the one looking after her today. and after one whole tantrum, you managed to convince her to be a good girl by promising to give her a big reward afterward.

finally, you kissed [y/n/n] and george a goodbye , then shut the front door behind you.

george and [y/n/n] stood opposite each other. there was an uncomfortable silence in the air. george felt so...he didn’t even know. what do you say to a child who hates you? [y/n/n] tightly clutched her bag of toys.

“so, [y/n/n],” george cleared his throat, he bent down to her level. “i hear you like toy story?”

[y/n/n] pouted “i don’t like you” she said, and stomped away.

george sighed. this was going to be a long day.

and it was.

-

it started off with [y/n/n] innocently using her colouring pens and drawing random things, you know, as children do. but when she ran out of paper, she made her way to your office, where all your uni work was. she grabbed the closest piece of paper that was sitting on your desk, deciding it was going to be the next canvas for her art. this paper just happened to be a very important assignment.

when george caught her in the act, he had to physically tear her away from your office, in defiance of all her kicking and screaming.

-

then, when george accidently left the door to your shared bedroom open. [y/n/n] waddled in without him noticing, she started playing with all of his devices. his computer, his microphone, and somehow she got a hold of his headphones, and took out the battery. george didn’t realise until he noticed the cover missing. he tried to ask her nicely where she threw the battery. but she insisted that she wasn’t going to give it back unless he stopped being ‘mean’

-

when lunch time rolled around, george put a pizza in the oven, he remembered clearly that [y/n/n] loved pizza, specifically pepperoni. nothing could go wrong here.

but when he called her to the kitchen so she could receive her lunch. she just stared blankly at the pizza, and then at him. she crossed her arms

“[y/n] usually makes a smiley face with the pepperoni”

george just felt all his will to live just disappear

-

coloured pens and toys were spread out all across the living room floor, [y/n/n] was sitting in front of the tv, george put on one of her favourite shows which thankfully distracted her for a bit, allowing him to relax. he pulled out his phone and texted you

to [y/n] <3 : help me please

to [y/n] <3: i cant take this anymore, i’m literally dying rn

to [y/n] <3: come home quick

he exhaled heavily, throwing his phone to the side. he was so exhausted.

[y/n/n] was roleplaying with her toys, making them move around and doing squeaky little voices. george smiled at the innocence

“purple bear doesn’t play with us anymore. princess giraffe, mr. george took her away from us,” she spoke in a high pitched voice

george’s ears perked up. how funny that she had a teddy named ‘mr. george’. curiously, he watched the little girl.

“koala george, is a meanie, he stole purple bear and now they don’t want to hang out with us!”

it didn’t take a genius to find out what [y/n/n] was displaying through her role playing teddies.

that was why she didn’t like george. before they got together, [y/n] mentioned they almost spent every weekend with [y/n/n], playing with her and having fun with her.

she felt abandoned by [y/n] and felt as if george had taken them away from her .

george felt at fault as he noticed the girls eyes started to water.

“does purple bear love us any more?” she continued to play.

george decided it was enough and he switched off the television. he joined [y/n/n] on the floor and grabbed the teddy that was supposedly ‘koala george’

“[y/n/n]” he spoke softly. the little girl looked up at him expectantly. he held up the teddy.

“is this supposed to be me?” he questioned her.

“that’s a koala bear,” she answered

“no-, [y/n/n],” he said. he thought about how to ask her, and just chose it was best to be flat out with the child,”

“did i steal auntie/uncle [y/n] away from you?”

the question took her by surprise. she gazed at him with big wide eyes. she thought about her answer and grabbed the purple bear, which was supposed to be you.

“they don’t play with me as much anymore, they’re always with you, because of you, they don’t love me anymore,” she pulled a face, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t annoyed.

it was a genuinely sad face.

george was sure he physically felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. he never even comprehended the fact that a child could feel so rejected.

“listen... [y/n/n],” he said gently. he thought about his words. comforting someone wasn’t exactly his strongest point, particularly not a child who detested him “[y/n] will never stop loving you, okay? they love you very much, and i’m sorry you feel like i stole them ”

[y/n/n] continued to listen.

“but don’t forget that [y/n] has so much love to go around! look, they love you, and they love me, they love grandma and grandpa too! they will always love one another even if they can’t see each other often,”

[y/n/n] stayed silent. she fiddled with the purple teddy, folding its ears and patting its head. she loved that bear. it was actually gifted to her by you, when she was first born. she brought it to her chest and hugged it. george tried a different approach.

“listen, how about- this weekend, we can all go to the park together, and have a picnic. you, me, [y/n], and your parents too,”

she continued to just stay silent. george didn’t know what to expect, she was unpredictable, was she going to throw another hissy fit? or start to cry? he wasn’t sure

“can we also get ice cream?” she asked

george smiled and felt himself relax. thank god. “all the ice cream you want,” he told her

[y/n/n] stood up and giggled. like her whole entire mood did a whole fucking 180. “okay! let’s go play dress up now!”

———

7:45 pm. you finally arrived home. you were tired out of your mind. [y/s/n]’s interview was delayed by two hours and was currently half way back home, meaning you had enough time to spend with [y/n/n]

you unlocked the door, expecting to see a giant tsunami of toys and colouring pencils and pens, but what you saw was the most heart warming thing ever.

george was sleeping on the couch, his head resting on the armrest. he had a couple pink bows in his hair, his lips were painted a hot pink, he was wearing a couple sparky bracelets and a purple floral necklace.

in his lap, [y/n/n] rested her head, she was wearing a fairy costume with matching pink bows and sparkly bracelets.

you quickly snapped a photo of this wholesome moment. because, who wouldn’t? you spent a few minutes just watching the two sleep, they were probably just as tired as you.

moments like these made you really appreciate the people you had in your life. the people you love so dearly much.

you didn’t want to disrupt the ambience but you felt it was better for your [sibling] to collect your niece when she wasn’t covered in glitter and an overload of pink accessories.

you quietly woke george up,

“baby, wake up.” you shook him awake, gently. in a very different way than you did this morning. he opened his eyes. and immediately smiled upon seeing your face. you ran your thumb across his cheek

“it looks like you two had a lot of fun,” you teased.

he quietly chuckled. “she’s okay,” he told you. looking down at the little girl sleeping in his lap.

you slowly and carefully picked her up, removing any accessories you thought may seem uncomfortable to sleep in. she was a heavy sleeper.

you carried her upstairs, tucking her into you and george’s bed and placing a kiss upon her forehead. you turned back to george and rushed in for a bear hug

“thank you so much for doing that,” you said. “i love you so much, i know it probably wasn’t easy, she can be quite the handful,”

george chuckled. “handful is an understatement,”

“you’d better be willing to dress up like that with our own kids one day.” you stated, hugging him tighter.

his face broke out into a small smile, having thought of an image of you two playing with you future kids. he kissed top of your head and then your nose

“maybe one day”

———

masterlist

[janetkwallace]

Top 6 Favorite FF9 Fanart I Made

You know what? I never did a Top X stuff before. So, today, here's a list of my personally favorite artworks, and the reasons I like them. Not that I enjoy all my stuff with all my heart, they all have a special place in my heart♥

Alright, let's begin.

Number 6: Darkness Has Reached Its End

Beautiful. The negative space in this one reminds me of those Baroque paintings with their light/darkness contrast. There's something mysterious in Freya's looks while the red armor takes over her whole body, like the scales of a dragon. It does look like an oil painting, but keep in mind that it was drew and painted on bond sheet paper and digitized on a printer. Just so you know anyone can be an artist.

Number 5: 'Let Fear Propel You Forward'

Sir Fratley is my favorite Final Fantasy IX character. Yeah, he does not have much of a character, but I do like him, mainly due what he could have been. I mean, dude who wants to save the world on its own, loses all his memories, decent design... Heck, somehow Freya fell in love with him, and if she saw something in that guy, maybe we too can try. But let's talk about the art. I used a John Romita Jr. as a reference for this one. That's a striking pose for sure. I think it was a Spider-man pose. Anyway, what do I enjoy the most about this one, not just being Fratley, is the style, with all those lines that resemble a living being ready for action. Oh, and 20 years have passed and we still don't know a damn thing about Sir Fratley, it's hard to be a fan of a character that has none.

Number 4: Rainbow Knight II

I almost teared my bond sheet apart while drawing this one. It was a tough process to make all these colors appear, and I didn't expected the final result to be that gorgeous looking. Like, I painted it one, two, three, four times and then I watered it and took away all the painted and painted it again... With all the effort it took, this is one of my favorites for sure. I think those lines are supposed to be rain, but moving on...

Number 3: Hrist Chardonnay

Ah yes... My OC would soon make up in this list at one point. I love my OC's design, brown curly hair and purple coat (in contrast to Freya's white hair and red coat), and I had a hard time finding out the one drawing of Hrist I enjoyed doing the most. I found this one in which she's standing near a waterfall (or a canyon, I don't know), holding a javelin and looking forward with an eye covered by the hair. The colors really do add dimension and a kind of fantasy, maybe that's not the world but it feels fantastic somehow. And I love my OC with all my heart too, I just created her to be a mean brat but later I found myself liking Hrist a lot.

Number 2: The Last Cherry Blossom

I drew this one for a friend called JotaTe, who wrote a fic called The Last Cherry Blossom. I liked that fic and decided to do fanart of it, and this one... I looked at it and I was like 'damn, did I really drew this one!?' Besides how much black ink I have wasted, I am very fond of this one. Freya looks like a wilted flower, almost unrecognizable, gazing over her rainy homeland, Burmecia, as if she's flying away or coming back to it, most of it was made randomly so I have no idea what's going on, only that I liked a fic so much that I thought about drawing tons of artwork for it, and this is one of them.

Number One: Out Of The Blue Comes Green

That's it, folks. My favorite drawing ever conceived. The amount of details, details and even more details poured in this one... It took me two days until I could finish this one. Look at that mean spear Freya's holding at hand! Honestly, when I was finished with the linework, I thought the coloring would ruin this one, but I went for it, and decided to color this stunning piece. The background was meant to be solid blue, but I ran out of blue and decided to color it with hydropens of all kinds of blue. One thing I love about this one is the butterfly ribbon, which remained a staple in my later works.

And that's all about my rant! See you later, and happy 2023!

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety-Three: Painting ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Every time he goes to that little cafe, Sasuke can’t help but look around for the mysterious painter.

Well...she’s not quite so mysterious now. After all, he knows her name, and had gotten to talk to her a bit when he and Itachi stumbled across her at the art show. It was nice to finally see what she’d been so fervently scribbling when they both were in the cafe at the same time. Even if it was also rather embarrassing to see himself as a subject of a painting...and even worse, Itachi actually bought it.

Upon his return home, he even texted Sasuke a picture of it hanging on his wall. To which Sasuke replied with several threats insisting he take it down before someone sees it.

...he hasn’t gotten a reply.

And of course, Itachi had ever so subtly gotten the younger pair to exchange numbers. But Sasuke hasn’t texted Hinata yet. Mostly because...he has no idea what he’d say. It’s not like they’re friends or anything. She’s a street artist who painted him once. They only talked for a few minutes at the art show she was in. What’s he supposed to offer to her based on so little?

She hasn’t texted him yet, either. Maybe she really didn’t want his number...after all, she’d clearly been caught off guard at being found by her unknowing subject. Add in Itachi’s insistence on buying it, and...maybe she was offended, or mad...but felt like she couldn’t say no.

...he hopes she wasn’t angry. Maybe just...surprised. Apparently Itachi had given her more than she asked for, after all…

...maybe she’s embarrassed.

But, whatever she is, Sasuke has no idea. All he knows is that their conversation under contacts is still empty, and neither of them seems to have any idea (or want) to break the silence.

All this he contemplates as he spaces out in line, waiting to get his favorite cup of black coffee. For once, he didn’t bring his laptop - no work to bring with him to work on and procrastinate by browsing online.

...maybe he’d been secretly hoping to run into her. Not that he has any idea what he’d say if he did. Theirs has just been such a funny little story, he was a little sad when it supposedly ended. Maybe she’s done coming to the cafe, moving on to a new venue and new subjects.

...why does that make him feel bummed out?

Getting his order, he retreats to his typical corner, sipping his coffee and staring boredly out the window. Well...she’s not here. Maybe he’ll go run some errands, or even see if Naruto’s up to anything. He’s not had a decent dose of socializing in a while, and his introversion needs a break every so often so he doesn’t forget what it is to be human.

Browsing social media idly on his phone, he glances up every time the bell over the door tolls. But each look sees him disappointed as it isn’t her. After half an hour of nothing, he sighs and gives up, pocketing his mobile and deciding to just...go for a walk.

Nothing better to do.

It’s still early Fall, the breeze a bit chilly but easily quelled with a heavy sweatshirt. This part of town has a decent amount of trees scattered around, blowing leaves of every warm shade across the sidewalks. Though more of a Summer guy himself, Sasuke can still appreciate the atmosphere of the season.

...maybe that’s what’s keeping Hinata out of the cafe. Surely all the colors and whatnot are giving her plenty of things to draw. He certainly wouldn’t blame her - it might not be the flowers and green of Summer, but surely it catches someone’s eye enough to maybe buy and support some of her work.

Twenty minutes pass in a mindless blur, Sasuke just strolling along whatever street strikes his fancy. It’s been a while since he’s been this far out on foot...and he tries not to drive when he can help it. Partly to save gas money, partly to be environmentally conscious...and mostly because he’d just rather be home.

Rounding a corner, he pauses as a faint...something reaches his ear. It sounds like music? Pinpointing the direction, he does his best to follow it, and eventually comes upon a street musician outside a small row of shops. No one he recognizes, they sit and play a guitar on a raised flower bed in the middle of the pedestrian-only street. Accompanying their playing they sing a few lyrics, a foot tapping in time to the music.

Watching, Sasuke can’t help a slowly-growing grin. He’s not a musician himself, never having tried (and having no motivation to), but his brother’s passion for it still rubs off on him a bit: he’s not an artist, but he’s a happy patron of it.

Every so often, people dare to scurry up and drop a tip in the open guitar case at his feet, earning a smile and a thankful nod with each note or clink or change. Taking out his wallet, Sasuke drops a ten dollar bill among the rest before retaking a place to watch.

“...Sasuke?”

Startling as his name is called, Sasuke glances around as a song ends, the small crowd clapping politely. A few feet over, seated on a bench with her sketchpad, is Hinata. “...hey!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Was going for a walk and heard the music...you?”

“Same, honestly. Was trying to find something to sketch.”

Glancing to her paper, he asks, “...you mind?”

In answer, she tilts it toward him. A scratchy but recognizable portrait of the musician is coming together under her hand. “I’ve only been here for about twenty minutes...I hope he stays long enough I can finish the sketch.”

“Could always ask him if he has plans to come back so you can keep going.”

“Mm...true.” Readjusting her work, she gets back to it as her model starts up another song.

Torn between curiosity and not wanting to be nosy, Sasuke only glances over every so often to catch a glimpse as she draws. Though she comes off as rather reserved, her strokes are anything but: sweeping, bold things that capture her subject in a grandiose style he wouldn’t have guessed to be hers if he didn’t see her do it himself. Swept up in it, he eventually just watches without pause, eyes following her movements as she slowly puts together her subject.

After another thirty minutes, the artist announces he has to pack it up, thanking the crowd for their generosity. By then, Hinata’s sketch is basically done: a likeness that Sasuke recognizes as very similar in its design to the one she did of him.

As the people break up and scatter, Hinata shyly approaches the guitarist, Sasuke hanging back as not to interrupt. Instead, he watches as she shows the man her work, which gets him to brighten and smile.

...for some reason, a slight damper weighs on Sasuke at the sight.

They talk for a minute more, the man nodding before moving to collect his tip and put away his instrument. Hinata in turn closes her sketchbook, retreating back to Sasuke. “He said he’ll be back on Wednesday, so I should be able to catch him.”

“That’s great. Think you’ll be able to finish it then?”

“Well, I usually just get the basic concept down with the s-subject, and then I fill in the blanks afterward from my imagination. It helps sort of...deviate it from reality a little bit. So it doesn’t feel too much like a...copy? More like a reference.”

“...I’ll pretend I understand that.”

That earns a laugh. “If I wanted to just copy what I was seeing, I might as well just take a photo, right? But I like to add my own style to what I draw. I get the skeleton in the sketch and cleaned up lines, and then I let my interpretation take over.”

Sasuke gives a slow nod. “...makes sense.”

“Do you…?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I was just curious if you do anything...creative,” Hinata offers, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “Music, or...writing, maybe?”

“Me? Nah...my brother got all the creativity. I got all the logic. Not that he isn’t smart - he’s a genius. But I’ve never really found a creative outlet that I felt actually...fit me.”

Her head tilts, considering him for a moment. “I think...you might like p-photography.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a rather...technical artform. There’s rules you can follow, like how to proportion a shot to be the most pleasing to the eye. And all sorts of things you can focus on. Some people do portraits, or landscapes...or micro photography: really close ups of small things to see all the details!”

Sasuke blinks owlishly. He’s...never considered that before. “...maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I’d love to see if you do!”

“So...do you have more paintings?”

“Oh...lots,” she admits, laughing sheepishly. “I sell a few online, but...m-most just sit in my studio and collect dust…”

“Itachi contact you at all about some buyers?”

“Not yet, but it hasn’t been very long. Besides, he was already m-more than generous. I’m not about to hold him to it.”

“Well, knowing him, he’ll come through. He’s just a busy guy. But uh…” Sasuke idly itches his neck. “...I’d like to see more of your stuff sometime. If I could.”

“Oh! Um...sure!” Her expression turns sheepish again. “Let me just, um...tidy up before then. I tend to let things get a bit...messy. But I can text you sometime once things aren’t so...chaotic.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay! Um...it was nice seeing you again, Sasuke. Guess we just keep bumping into each other, huh?”

“Yeah. Kinda nice.”

“Mhm!” After a brief, growingly-awkward pause, she then offers, “I...better get home, though.”

“Same here. Have, uh...a nice evening.”

“You too!” She takes off down the street, and he finds himself a bit thankful it’s not the way he’s going. Nothing more embarrassing than saying goodbye and then having to walk together after…

Still, Sasuke finds his spirits a bit lightened from earlier. Well...maybe now he’ll finally get that text. Until then...he’ll just have to be patient.

                                                              .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to day 85!)      Now THIS is a throwback xD But given the prompt, I couldn't NOT do a follow up to day 85. Which I've wanted to, I just...didn't have a good prompt / reminder until now lol      I like to think Hinata's a creative type. Sasuke...maybe not so much xD I like having him be a musician sometimes, but being Mr. Logical also suits him, so it just varies from time to time. I actually do have him do some photography in a piece or two - I agree with Hinata, it fits well x3      Anyway I reallllly need to get to bed, so...that's all for now! Thanks for reading~

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 143

Episode: Futari wa Precure Splash Star 44 - “They’ll Disappear? Michiru and Kaoru’s Pain” Date watched: 20 July 2019 Original air date: 17 December 2006 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/Rv2F5U7 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

a jump to the sky turns to a rider kick

All Michiru and Kaoru want is to experience normalcy and the beauty of life with their friends Saki and Mai. Sadly, being ex-agents of Dark Fall makes this difficult in more ways than one.

The Plot

Saki, Mai, Michiru, Kaoru, and Minori all go to the zoo so Minori can draw animals, but the Kiryuu sisters have something weighing on them. Eventually we see in a flashback that they had a talk with Princess Filia about their conflicted feelings of wanting to be with Saki and Mai but belonging to Dark Fall, and she tells them that since they were revived using powers from both worlds, the destruction of either the Land of Spirits or Dark Fall could result in their own death. They don’t know what to do, and they haven’t told Saki and Mai about this, but Miss Shitataare and Dorodoron attack the group and reveal this secret. Their friends are understandably upset, and their attacks falter, but Michiru and Kaoru remind them that the cures themselves taught them that staying strong in spirit can allow someone to change their fate, that Saki and Mai fought for them, and now they want to believe in their friends. With new resolve, they manage to defeat Dorodoron, while Miss Shitataare retreats to fight another day. On the way home, Minori shows everybody the drawing she made of the monkeys, except that the monkeys’ faces have been replaced with Saki, Mai, Michiru, and Kaoru.

The Analysis

The existential crisis that M and K are now in is heartbreaking. Since they’re imbued with power from both sides, the destruction of either light or darkness could destroy them. That’s a huge burden to shoulder, and their body language throughout the episode shows they aren’t taking it well. However, they want to believe in a way forward, in defying their fate, like Saki and Mai taught them! Fundamentally that’s what their character arc has always been about, and I’m glad to see it brought up again. Even knowing that they might be fighting towards their own destruction, they continue to battle against their former allies and help their new friends, because it’s what their hearts tell them is right.

Unfortunately, there’s some aspects of this plot that don’t sit well with me. Michiru and Kaoru essentially come from an abusive household. Like many survivors, they have feelings of guilt about leaving, because they have been told all their lives that this is where they belong and their only purpose is to serve Akudaikaan as thanks for creating them. This is the line that all the generals of Dark Fall shoot at them, that they should be grateful to him. Possibly due to the age of the show and cultural differences, the narrative does not acknowledge that this is an abuse tactic, and instead pushes messages like “they’re a family, they’ll make up with each other,” via the monkeys. This hits the girls hard, and makes them feel more guilt for not trying hard enough to persuade their father figure that they don’t support his actions. The message about changing one’s fate doesn’t seem like a counter to the idea about families belonging together, and maybe if they had tied those closer together I wouldn’t have as much objection. As it stands, it’s kind of a sour note for this episode.

The art direction here is all over the place. The characters range from adequate to just bad, with a few shining moments in close-ups. However, there are some great moments with the animation, such as this pan out and in as the Kiryuus are told that destroying Dark Fall might destroy them too:

Their faces remain well-detailed in close-up rather than literally zooming in on the far model, the camera shifts perspective, it’s a well, composed shot.

It seems way too late in the show for fairy gags. They’re never terribly funny, someone speaks up at a bad time and their partner has to act silly to cover up their identity. At this point, Flappi and Choppi should know better. There are some good things to come out of this, though, in the form of Minori’s reaction to Saki and Mai acting goofy and imitating their fairies’ voices.

Also it gives Mai an opening to talk to Saki, explaining that she’s noticed the Kiryuus seem strange. We know Mai is fairly observant and it’s a nice touch.

If there’s a downside to the revived generals arc, it’s that the revived generals... kinda suck, as characters. Their personalities were often paper-thin but now they’re reduced to archetypes. Or maybe these two in particular are just a bad matchup, as Miss Shitataare’s penchant for pointless disguises gets in the way of Dorodoron’s usually decent strategies. Point being, I didn’t like them in this episode, and I’m sorry to see Dorodoron go out like this. He was funny when he teamed up with Karehaan and was like “I’m not getting beaten today, no thank you!” so for this to be how he goes..... it was underwhelming. That shot of him dive bombing is pretty cool though.

Last point of note, Michiru and Kaoru still don’t have any clothes of their own, they wear their school uniforms to the zoo. I really wish they would at least spend half of an episode going shopping, that would be a fun avenue for some character growth as they get to express themselves with clothes for the first time. They seem a little out-of-place wearing the uniform everywhere. Also, I don’t think it is ever explained where they live now, and that seems like an oversight.

Speaking of the uniform, it’s winter now and the cold weather addition to the YJH uniform is a crossover coat of about the same shade of tan as the winter top, with two rows of buttons and the Yuunagi logo on the left. In contrast to the Verone winter jacket, which was a different color from any other component of their uniform, this blends in much more seamlessly.

In summation, I do like this episode, I just think they aren’t handling Michiru and Kaoru’s ties to Dark Fall very well.  Someone needs to come out and say they don’t owe him their loyalty or compassion or anything just for creating them, but they won’t. I don’t think. We’ll see where things go.

Next time, it’s an episode I kind of already talked about! It’s Christmas time, and love is in the air! Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Zekkouchou Nari!

[momestuck]

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim... volume 8!

Welcome back, apologies it’s been a good couple of weeks since the last one of these. Last time, we had a fun entertaining art heist and a fun horrifically traumatising mass murder! What are we in for next?

This episode is called Of Stresses, Song and Otherwise. Our trolls today are...

Tyzias and Chixie. Tyzias looks like a programmer (though so far ‘computer nerd’ stereotypes tend to be yellow bloods, not teal), while Chixie... not sure what her deal’s gonna be! (Watch as I get everything wrong again.) Not sure if Tyzias’s horns are naturally like that or if they’ve been cut.

Tyzias

Tyzias is written by Lalo Hunt, who has previously written Tagora - clearly someone with a thing for teals!

Tyzias’s theme kicks in almost immediately. As now seems to be standard for tealbloods, we have harpsichords.

Our narrator is starting to get the slightest hint of like... restraint about the ‘MUST BEFRIEND EVERYONE THAT MOVES’ attitude. They actually don’t immediately go for like... jumping on Tyzias and trying to forcibly befriend her, but walk past... unfortunately she falls over. Impressively, she keeps her coffee cup level despite tripping over a rock.

Her typing quirk seems to be using lowercase letters, and repeating all uses of ‘w’ and ‘m’ four times. OK...

The narrator convinces themselves that this is the prelude to some kind of teen romance where they’re the cool person who helps the fallen nerd. Uh huh. Our extremely cool protagonist.

So we start helping her out and find she’s a lawyer. That’s like... every tealblood we’ve met now? Canon said they were also civil servants but OK, I guess everyone just loves Terezi. (To be fair, I also love Terezi.)

We get our first choice, prompted by the realisation that she’s a lawyer:

Tradition dictates that one of these is an instant-death option. I can’t help but expect that the ‘obvious’ choice, picking up more papers, will be the one that fucks us over.

...maybe not. We carry on going, and find out our dear friend Tagora has been talking about us, and he may be in a ‘group project’ with Tyzias here...

We spend some more time trying to get her papers together, against the best efforts of the wind. The narration emphasises just how tired Tyzias looks - quite the contrast from Tagora.

In fact, that carries us all the way up to the second choice. We can either suggest a breather, or trying to sort it somewhere else.

Let’s take a breather.

Insufflation sacks! Guessing that’s a narrator improvisation rather than actual Troll terms.

We take her to a ruined tower, which the narrator has apparently been spending time in when they’re not busily befriending every troll who survives long enough to get a portrait. This merits a new background.

She’s not hugely impressed by the idea of urbex (unrelatable tbh, if an alien appeared and wanted to take me to do urbex i would be there in a heartbeat), but the narrator actually shows some backbone and encourages her to climb up anyway. (I guess our broken ribs have healed some by now? I can’t honestly remember if we’ve fixed them all in this particular series of branches...)

Tyzias explains to us a bit about the political order on Alternia - that the Condesce rules, and this used to be a watchtower before she got higher-tech drones and so on. She doesn’t seem entirely happy about ‘her imperial bitchiness’...

We reminder that she’s teal, which uh... gee, narrator.

Looks like we’ve found an Actual Decent Person troll! Wow.

She’s particularly fed up with her whole role in the system, which she describes as the work to maintain suffering - because everyone is guilty, no matter what, and trials are just a formality.

Depressed, exhausted, horrified by her society... this troll is pretty relatable after all actually.

We ask about political parties (lol, good luck) and rebellious movements. She fills us in a bit on what we know to be the Signless/Sufferer’s rebellious movement, and the subsequent rebellion by the Summoner (which someone might have written up an infographic about for you... pssst).

Tyzias keeps going in a spirit of ‘ah, fuck it’. And gets more confident as she does...

Sounds like she’s got some kind of radical law project in mind. To me, the idea of changing the system within is like... kinda obviously never gonna achieve the substantial change needed, but I can totally respect it as a harm reduction measure.

this screenshot is going on my main

We get to telling her a bit about Earth. The protagonist tries to, well...

That’s a way to put it lol.

How romantic!

Damn, this episode’s a bit real lol

As a final kicker we learn that what she’s been drinking out of her mug is... just water. She’s putting on an act to give people a reason why she seems so depressed and tired all the time.

And with that, she takes a nap, and we get another friend.

D’aww.

Unfortunately, we lucked onto the best outcome on our first playthrough, so that means it’s all downhill from here. Which is a shame because I care about this troll.

First, for our instant death option, let’s stand around paralysed by the image of a gavel instead of helping with her papers. So rather than the bait-and-switch I was expecting, this plays out in the way most people would expect: she tells you to stop trying to ‘help’.

I thought it was a picture of a gavel, not an actual gavel! But OK. [treacheryofimages.jpg]

Now let’s try the other option: helping her organise her papers someplace else instead of trying to give her a break.

Unfortunately, in the process of sorting her papers, we lose one. I’m sure that’s not a Chekhov’s gun or anything.

This is a Very Good typing quirk.

The bookhive (library) turns out to have, what else, hexagonal shelves.

That’s cute but damn, not gonna be efficient...

This narration turns out to be read out loud. ‘wwwwowwww, harsh’ says Tyzias, but says that’s basically true. (I would motion that nearly every caste in Homestuck, at least going by the characters we meet, is a nerd caste...)

Tyzias mentions a few. Interestingly she says ‘goldbloods’ rather than ‘yellowbloods’.

We learn a bit about her legislacerator training project.

The narrator doesn’t want to hear this, but I’m kind of amused by the ideas of ‘scrolls of evisceration’. On Alternia, they know all to well that the ‘law’ is just a way of describing the ostensible legitimising limits to violence.

Tyzias mentions the difficulty of finding scrolls that haven’t ‘been scrubbed nice and fuchsia’. Which suggests that the Condesce, or another fuchsia-blood has been fiddling with the law?

The narration draws attention to some of the recurring tropes. But to be fair, we’ve only actually had to fight a highblood one time.

But no, it’s time for more interactions between our friends! Hooray!

Are we still wearing his bathrobe?

The guy seems to know a bit about what Tyzias is up to. Uh-oh.

I’m so glad our friends get along so well!

Anyway after Tagora pisses off, we get back to working. And that’s when the missing page comes up.

Figures. We’re in the shit.

Inexplicable product placement. This, of course, leads to a pun: ‘goregle docs’. But of course, that is monitored by the Condesce.

It’s actually quit easy to get onto at least some parts of the darkweb. There’s pages on the normal web which list the .onion addresses of various TOR hidden services. It’s pretty fascinating to have a look around at what’s up for sale for the kind of nerd who actually owns a bitcoin wallet.

Anyway, losing the page scuppers our friendship. She goes to retrace her steps - without us.

Anyway that was neat. Total shock: Bryn finds the exhausted, depressed nerd with radical politics relatable?

Chixie

Chixie’s route is by the ever-prolific Aysha U. Farah.

So what’s the premise for Chixie? Well, it seems to be fashion.

I guess we are still in a bathrobe after all. Also... I would quite like to see the protagonist in one of Elwurd’s jackets. They’d look ridiculous, but it would be cute.

Anyway, we could always go back to our highly fashionable friend Cirava, but I guess our protagonist has other plans.

We seem to have found the ‘Alternian nightlife’. The protagonist briefly speculates whether it should be ‘daylife’ instead, but seemingly not. We pop round the back of a club, which merits a different take on the whole ‘back alley and dumpster’ setting!

Chixie shows up, standing outside a door. The protagonist contemplates a disguise, and we get a joke about cosplayers...

It seems like she’s maybe trying to convince the people behind the door she’s propped open to let her perform. We have the choice of grabbing the door or standing there like an asshole. Let’s grab the door, since that seems like the obvious option. Of course, you never know with this game if the ‘obvious’ choice will cause you to fuck up and accidentally murder someone.

We are still wearing Tagora’s bathrobe. Haha.

So we let her in, and she says thank you... and goes inside, locking us out. Welp. Guess this was the instant death option lol.

So now let’s try the ‘stand there like an asshole’ option.

Her typing quirk is all-lower-case, and separating lines with slashes, much as you’d represent lines of a song. The narration describes her voice as musical.

It seems she is, in fact, a performer of some renown. She presumes we know who she is.

While we might be experts in moisturewave, whatever her genre is... not so much.

Speaking of moisturewave, Cirava gets a shout-out.

She uses ‘they’ pronouns for the protagonist, which is nice. Anyway, she takes us to visit her dressing room, and orders us to put on some actual clothes while she deals with harassment from someone who threw all her stuff out of the dressing room. Well, the ablutionrobe was nice while it lasted.

We end up wearing a dress.

This might be a kind of ‘fuck you’ to the earlier narration which seemed to implicitly mark the protagonist as male. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Anyway I’m all in favour of wearing a dress for the rest of friendsim.

So does the protag! Nice :)

Anyway, we learn what’s up with Chixie. She’s been kicked off the programme because a band with a purpleblood drummer showed up at the last minute. Well, that’s bad enough, but oh god guess who shows up next...

I literally shuddered.

Please can this be the arc where we absolutely beat the shit out of Zebruh? Please Aysha, I’m begging you.

The narrator determines that Zebruh is ‘not the kind of friend they want to hang out with’. Which is putting it mildly.

Zebruh, incidentally, has not changed one bit.

We get to our second choice.

Honestly anyone’s guess which arc is gonna be the positive ending here. But let’s try exploiting our connections, as utterly odious as they may be.

That was absolutely a mistake, lol.

He goes off to go and put her back on the programme. She’s like... for fuck’s sake, protagonist.

Anyway, what Zebruh does in response to our mentioning her missed performance is... literally buy the club out from under the owner, who’s ‘just’ a teal, and makes Chixie the headliner.

Of course, this is obviously him just trying to get sexual favours of some kind from someone who can’t say no. Like so obvious it probably doesn’t even need to be said.

There we go. Can we please put this fucker through the mirror or something.

Chixie knows exactly what this is and she’s understandably not pleased. We’re gone.

Yeah that’s like... pretty fucking deserved.

Now let’s try the route where we like... don’t do that horrific shit we just did. Hey, finishing on a happy ending... hopefully.

Please leave, Zebruh.

She seems to like... actually like us, which we haven’t really done anything to merit, but here we go. She even invites us to follow her chittr.

She admits we doesn’t know we aren’t creepy, and we assure her we’re less creepy than Zebruh, which like... low fucking bar!

Anyway, the band that scooped her comes on stage. The narrator muses on whether trolls are forced to dress in their blood colour by law or tradition.

Wow, that is cruel.

She sings along...

Apparently like... all troll lyrics are black metal lyrics?

We get a second branch! How extravagant.

So, because I’m curious, let’s try ‘you should do something!’ I see this going badly, but let’s give it a shot.

She goes and puts on a phantom of the opera mask, and grabs a mic - which I guess is wired in and has its levels turned up? I don’t know...

That is a raw look though.

Time to interrupt their set. I am hype to see this, even though we’ll probably end up getting culled.

And she starts a friggin... rap battle?

It’s a rap battle that’s also a limerick! Yeah. That’s something.

Anyway, Chixie does... very well at the whole rap battle thing. (Only the first five lines are a limerick). Makes me wish there was voice acting, if only for this bit!

I strongly suspect this is mostly a parody of like, existing rap songs, which I’m too culturally ignorant to see. All the same, the scene is well written and satisfying.

We escape outside, and Chixie freaks out a bit. And then gets simultaneously relieved and disappointed that she can’t be identified because of the mask. But, since she hasn’t changed clothes, someone catches her... and praises her performance.

Ooh, diamonds huh?

So that was in fact the good outcome. Which means after that epic rap battle, we now have to see the branch where we go to a bar and get miserable. Yep.

Of course, on Alternia, we don’t have alcohol... but Faygo.

And it actually makes her drunk!

She speaks on matters of fame...

And of course, this is mediated by blood colour. Lowbloods must be hypervigilant, while highbloods will get praise regardless.

Again, the metaphor layer is paper thin here.

Come to think of it, nobody does seem to have a job in Alternia. It’s like... fully automated luxury imperialism.

Anyway Chixie passes out on the pile of clothes and we get a... well actually it’s given a ‘victory...?’ label, but it’s clearly less victory than the awesome rap battle.

So yeah. That’s an outcome.

And there we go! That’s the end of the episode. I have a... perhaps unfair feeling that like... if Hussie was writing, this wouldn’t be nearly so on the nose about like, oppression. But who knows.

Fun episode I think. This game’s grown on me a lot now we’ve gotten used to the format. Or is it just that if you spend enough time with a massive sprawling multimedia webcomic, you get a little obsessed with it, even if it’s not actually... good?

[wistfulcynic]

The Final Chapter, Raised With the Fume of Sighs

Summary: Killian Jones is madly in love with the woman across the hall, but Emma Swan wants nothing to do with him and his playboy ways. Until one stormy night when she dares to let him in and nothing is ever the same again.

Graphic Art by @rouhn

Available On: AO3

Rated: M for sexytimes

Catch Up: Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10

A/N: So here it is, the final instalment of my first multi-chapter fic! I have always wanted to try my hand at writing the sort of thing I personally like to read, and it's been great fun not only to do that but also to discover that what I like to read is what so many of you like to read as well. Thank you again to everyone who has read, commented, kudos-ed, liked, and reblogged, I am honoured and inspired by it all, and already looking forward to getting stuck in to the next story.

@wellhellotragic @teamhook @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 11:

~3 1/2 years ago…

Killian stumbled into his new apartment and flopped on the sofa with a groan, flinging his arm across his face. He felt hideous, hung over in body and soul. The past few weeks had been nightmarish, a blur of bars and women and bad decisions that were meant to distract him but never truly did. No amount of rum or sex could fix the ruin of his life but he had no other tools at his disposal, no real idea of how to dispel his pain and guilt at Liam’s death and his shame at the end of his naval career. 

There was one small bright spot, he reminded himself. Despite the ignominious way he’d departed from Oxford, Killian found that after the better part of a decade away he was not opposed to easing back into academia. At least it would give him something to do besides drink and fuck. He’d been lucky to find the opening for an adjunct professor at Columbia, lucky that they were willing to sponsor a visa for him, give him the chance to start fresh somewhere new, somewhere he could earn his place. It was a real opportunity, one he desperately wanted not to fuck up. Which meant he had to pull himself together, Killian thought, his first class was tomorrow and he needed to be prepared for it, needed to plan, needed to be focused. He groaned again, cradling his aching head. He needed a cup of tea. 

Dragging himself off the sofa, he went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then pulled open the refrigerator door. 

“Fuck.” He’d forgotten to buy milk. “Fuck, fuck, bloody buggering damnation, now what?” He really didn’t want to walk all the way to the shop in his condition, but tea without milk was unthinkable. Perhaps there was a kindly neighbour in the building who might spare a drop, he thought. Unlikely, but he supposed it was worth a try. 

Taking a moment to splash cold water on his face and run damp fingers through his hair, and put on some clothes that didn’t smell like alcohol and sadness, he went across the hall and knocked on the door directly opposite his own. 

It opened, and Killian’s world tilted sharply on its axis, shifting everything around him, altering the course of his life forever. The woman standing before him was a vision, sunlight shining through her pale gold hair, green eyes wide in the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. She looked like an angel, like a fairy tale princess, like— like someone who could never be within the reach of the likes of him. He stood, stunned, struggling for breath and for sanity, aware he was staring but unable to tear his eyes away. 

Say something, gobshite

Desperately, he groped for his charm, the one thing he could always rely on to get him through difficult situations. It came to his aid, as it always did, and he produced a dazzling smile. 

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Killian Jones, I just moved in across the hall. I was wondering if I might borrow a drop of milk.” 

For the briefest moment their eyes met and something flashed between them, a recognition, like calling to like, a profound sense of home. Then it was gone, so abruptly he thought he’d imagined it, and her expression slammed shut followed quickly by her door. 

“No,” she said, punctuating the flat declaration with the click of her lock. 

He stood outside her door for what could have been seconds or hours for all the notice he took of the passage of time. After… however long it was, he turned away and headed for the elevator. Suddenly, he felt up to walking to the shop. The air and the exercise might clear his head. 

He felt different, he realised, somehow… brighter. The pain and the guilt and the shame were still there, the sense of unworthiness, the general despair. And yet he couldn’t help feeling that in a world where a woman like that could exist and could live across the hall from him there might also be a place for hope. Hope that maybe he could pull through, that he could make things better, be better. Hope that he could discover what had made her slam the door in his face, in his face, for fuck’s sake —he paused for a moment to examine the reflection of it in a shop window; somewhat worse for wear perhaps, but still devilishly handsome. What had she seen in it that no one else did? She was intriguing, and she was bloody gorgeous, and against all probability it seemed she had relit a spark of vitality in him that he thought had died with Liam. For the first time since his brother’s death, Killian found himself feeling that there might be a chance for him yet. 

*.    *.    *.

Present day…

Killian burst into the apartment with such exuberance that the door nearly leapt off its hinges. “Swan!” he called, striding into the living room where Emma was on the sofa reading a textbook, and pulling his laptop out of his bag, “You’ve got to see this!” 

He opened the computer and presented it to her with a flourish. On the desktop was the home page of the New York Times. 

Green Enterprises Executive Charged With Misappropriation, declared the headline. Neal Cassidy, son-in-law to CEO Peter Green, has been charged with misappropriating company funds, he is being remanded in custody as prosecutors convene a grand jury. 

Emma’s jaw dropped, then she snorted. “I knew he was involved in something shady,” she said, “He couldn’t not be, it’s just who he is.” 

“Well it looks like seeing you again put the fear of the gods into him, love,” said Killian, not even trying to keep the glee out of his voice. “It seems that he had been doing a decent job of hiding his activities, but the day after the fundraiser his pattern changed and he got sloppy. He was trying to cover his tracks, but the bloody idiot only managed to draw attention to himself. He might as well have stood under a big sign that read ‘Criminal Activity Here.’” He grinned at her in satisfaction. “There’s no way Peter Green will let him get away with thievery, that man values loyalty above all else. Tamara has already initiated divorce proceedings. He’ll be persona non grata in every financial centre in the world, even if he avoids jail, which is unlikely given the power and influence of the people he crossed.” He set the laptop aside and pulled Emma into his arms. “I’d still like to punch his arsehole face, but I have to say, as comeuppances go, this one is pretty bloody satisfactory.” 

She remained silent, and he pulled back to look at her. “What are you thinking, love?”

She frowned slightly.“I’m thinking that I should be glad he’s finally got what’s coming to him,” she replied. “But I kinda don’t care. I meant it when I said I’m free from him. If he goes to jail that’ll be justice done, but it’s nothing to me beyond that.”

“You are far too good, my darling,” he said, raising an eyebrow, his grin tinged with malice.  “I intend to revel in his downfall.” 

She laughed and kissed his cheek, then slipped from his arms, sliding to the end of the sofa. He could tell that she had something to say, and needed space to prepare her words. 

“Killian,” she seemed suddenly nervous. “Do you know what today is?”

He did. “Er… Wednesday?” he said teasingly, but she was focused inward and failed to pick up on his tone. 

“Yes, but it’s something else too, kind of an anniversary. I mean, not really but just something you might remember, and—”

He decided to stop teasing, and took her hands in his. “One year ago today was the first night we spent together. Of course I remember, love, how could I not? I’ll never forget kissing you for the first time after years of dreaming about it, it was like all my Christmases had come at once. And as for what came after… well, it will forever remain one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.” 

She flushed with pleasure at his words and at her own memories, but her expression remained troubled. “I’m so sorry for running away from you the next morning—”

“Darling, you have nothing to apologise for—”

“No, please, let me say this. I never told you why I ran.” 

He opened his mouth, but she shushed him and carried on. 

“I know you think it was because my past with Neal made me scared of getting close to people so I just automatically pushed everyone away, and that’s partly true. But if it had only been that I wouldn’t have run, just kicked you out before you’d even gone to sleep, or at least I would have done that if it had been anyone but you. I’d never fallen asleep with a man before except Neal, and when I woke up that morning, for a minute I didn’t remember what had happened, I only knew that I felt warm and content and— and loved, for the first time in my life. I felt like I belonged with you and I wanted to stay there with you forever, and I’d never felt any of those things before, not ever, not even with Neal. What I felt was stronger than anything I’d felt in my life and I barely even knew you, and that’s what scared me. I ran not because you were the same as the other men I’d been with, it was because you were so different. I just… wanted you to know that.” 

Killian was stunned. Although he knew now that Emma had never hated him as he’d once believed she did, he’d had no idea that she’d felt such a strong connection to him so early on, that the irresistible pull he’d always felt towards her had never been one-sided. He suddenly remembered their first meeting, the brief eye contact, the overwhelming sense of having found the missing piece of himself, quickly dispelled in the face of her blunt rejection. 

“Love,” he said slowly, “Do you remember when we first met, there was, well for me anyway there was a moment…” 

She nodded, looking slightly ashamed. “I remember,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You felt like home. You always have. That’s what scared me most of all.” 

Killian reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a small, blue velvet box, caressing it gently with his thumb. It was old, the nap of the velvet worn thin on the edges. Inside it lay his most prized possession. 

“Emma,” he began, holding the box up where she could see it, not missing her slight intake of breath. “This was my mother’s. It’s the only thing I have left of her, the one thing Liam was able to save. My father sold all her other valuables, but this Liam took and hid from him, knowing what a treasure it was. My mother was given it by her grandmother who had also inherited it from her grandmother, going back I don’t even know how far. When Liam died and it came into my possession, I could never have imagined letting go of it, of the one thing that ties me to the mother I can barely remember. I do remember it on her finger, though, and I— I would like nothing more than to see it on yours.” He slid off the sofa and knelt before her, and opened the box. Emma gasped. “I know it’s not a traditional ring but we’re not exactly traditional people, and we’ve certainly not had a traditional courtship. This ring is a symbol of love and family to me, and I love you more than I am able to express, and I want you to be my family. You saved me from the darkness I was mired in when we met, pulled me into the light and into a life so marvellous I could never have envisioned it. I want to be with you every day until I draw my last breath and depart this Earth forever. And so, Emma Swan, will you marry me?”

He looked up at her face. Tears glistened in her eyes, dropping onto her cheeks as she tried to blink them away. She began to nod, swallowing hard, trying to force words through the constriction in her throat. “Yes!” she croaked, “Yes, Killian, yes, yes, yes!” Taking his face between her hands, she slid off the couch to kneel as he was kneeling, and began to kiss him, holding him tightly to her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back until they were both breathless and laughing and he pulled away to take her hand and put the ring on her finger. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. 

“Like its new owner,” he replied with a brilliant smile, “It’s a wild pearl, small but flawless, much like you. Our family legend says that it came from somewhere in the South Sea Islands, what is now called Polynesia, brought back to England by an ancestor who had been a ship’s captain, some said a pirate.”

“Hah,” she said, “I always knew you had some pirate in you.”  

He chuckled. “The stones at the side are Bohemian garnets, added when the pearl was laid in this setting, probably sometime in the late nineteenth century. The ring itself is Welsh gold.”

“Killian, I— I’ll treasure it. I love you so much. I—” Overwhelmed, she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and toppling him backwards onto the carpet. When she broke the kiss he looked at her quizzically. 

“I love this carpet,” she said, stroking it. “I have since I first saw it, when I went to your place to stop you from leaving, to tell you I loved you. Every time I look at it I think about that day and how I almost lost you, and how I never want to be apart from you again. I want you to make love to me on it now.” 

He growled approvingly deep in his throat and kissed her deeply as he rolled her over onto her back, slipping his leg between hers and running his hand up her side, under her shirt, snapping open her bra and cupping her breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she moaned into his mouth. As he teased her breast she managed to unbutton his shirt and push it insistently off his shoulders. “Get this off,” she demanded, breaking the kiss and giving his shoulders a shove. Reluctantly he released her breast to sit up and pull off the shirt as she turned her attention to his jeans, undoing them in record time and reaching inside to grasp his cock. Now it was his turn to moan, looking down to see her hand adorned with his mother’s ring wrapped around him, stroking his heated flesh. He wondered if it was wrong that he found that insanely erotic. Nudging her off him briefly so he could divest her of her shirt and bra, he leaned down and latched his mouth onto her nipple, nipping it and bathing it with his tongue as she took him in hand again and he slid his own hand between her legs, blessing the stretchy leggings she wore. He stroked her clit with his thumb and slipped two fingers inside her, and her hand on his cock faltered under the onslaught of sensation from his touch. She revelled in it for a moment, riding his hand with small thrusts of her hips, then she pushed him away. “I want to come on your cock,” she panted, and yanked his jeans down over his hips then shimmied out of her leggings as he kicked the jeans away. She pulled him down to her, spreading her thighs wide as he positioned himself between them. 

“Don’t be gentle,” she commanded, “If I don’t have rug burns on my ass when we’re done, I’ll want to know why.” 

“It’ll be because this rug is made of silk,” he purred in her ear. Her laugh ended on a moan as he thrust inside her, heeding her proscription on gentleness, pounding himself into her as he lifted one of her legs under the knee and draped it over his shoulder, angling his hips to hit her in just the right spot. 

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she gasped, lying back and letting him fuck her for several long minutes, her hands flexing in the nap of the carpet before she ran them up her own body and took her breasts in a firm grip, pinching and rolling her nipples as he loved to do. He groaned at the sight of her touching herself, and her eyes flew to his. The combination of intense love and almost feral lust in his expression sent her flying over the edge and she came hard. He fucked her through it, letting her little gasping moans and the feel of her quivering around him drive his pleasure higher. Just as he was about to come she shoved him off her and onto his back. He snarled, and she laughed. “Patience,” she purred, straddling and sinking down onto him in one smooth move. She took his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together above his head, leaning down to give his mouth access to her breasts as she began to ride him. He took her nipple into his mouth again, more roughly this time, sucking it hard between his teeth and dragging his tongue across the compressed tip. Soon she was breathing in short, desperate gasps and she came again within minutes, letting go of his hands and collapsing against his chest. He grabbed her hips and lifted them, slamming them down to meet his as he thrust up into her, again and again, desperate beyond control, until he exploded into an orgasm so strong it was almost painful. 

They lay silent and entwined until their breathing steadied and the sweat dried from their bodies. “Gods, that was magnificent,” said Emma, finally, rolling off him and snuggling against his side, her head on his chest. “We’re sweating all over your silk rug,” she remarked. 

“I don’t care,” he murmured, still coming down from his high, too blissful to give much of a damn about such details. 

She traced random patterns in his chest hair with her fingertips. “Do you think we’ll still have sex like this once we’re married?” she asked, and he felt a stupid grin split his face at her casual use of the m-word. “You don’t think we’ll ever end up just doing lights-out missionary three times a year, do you?”

Killian had a sudden vision of himself and Emma, wrinkled and grey, making each other scream in ecstasy on the floor of a living room he didn’t recognise, in a house they had yet to buy. “No,” he said decidedly. “I do not believe that fate will ever befall us.” 

He could feel her hair brush across his chin as she nodded and her cheek flex against his chest as she smiled. “Good,” she said. 

 *.    *.    *.

~3 1/2 years later…

The wind whipped around Killian, ruffling through his hair and tossing up the collar of his shirt as he manoeuvred his boat out of the mouth of the Hudson and pointed her towards the open sea. It had taken far longer than he’d anticipated to get her ready for this voyage. A year or so’s hard work, he’d once figured, and she’d be set to go. That had been nearly four years ago, since which time life had consistently got in the way of his plans for repair and restoration of his beloved vessel. Yet Killian had no regrets, for the life that had thrown a wrench in his plans was far too good for him to wish it to be in any way different. 

The bright sound of laughter reached his ears and he turned to see Emma standing at the boat’s railing, the tiny blonde source of the gleeful noise perched on her hip. His heart swelled at the sight of them, as it always did. His wife and daughter, the two great loves of his life, his cherished Emma and his darling Hope, who was the symbol of her namesake for him in every imaginable way. Even after three years of marriage, even after Hope’s first birthday celebrated just the week before, Killian sometimes struggled to comprehend that the life he was living was truly his. A tenured professor, a husband, a father, what had he done to deserve to call himself any of those things, a dark voice at the back of his mind still sometimes needled him. Impostor syndrome, Emma called it. 

She had completed her MSW with flying colours and had been working full time at the women’s shelter for over two years. Like him, she still sometimes had doubts about her worthiness for such a role, had days when she felt useless and like nothing she did made a difference, but those days were growing increasingly rare. Emma had really come into her own over the past few years, her confidence in herself and her abilities growing by leaps and bounds as she let go of all the insecurities that had held her back in the past. Killian was absurdly proud of her. 

He needed to follow her example, he thought, to forgive himself for the mistakes of his past and accept that he had earned his life, that he was a far better man than he’d been seven years ago, that Emma and Hope loved him and he made them happy. He was working on it. 

He smiled as Emma came over to him, still laughing with Hope. The little girl held out her arms, the blue eyes she’d inherited from him sparkling merrily. “Daddy,” she said. He took her from her mother, balancing her on his hip with one arm while with the other he continued to steer. “Well, darling,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her blonde curls and breathing in her sweet baby smell, “What do you make of the boat? I hope you like her, as she bears your name.” 

Emma humphed. “I still think we should have called her the Jolly Roger.” 

“Swan—”

“In honour of your pirate heritage, Killian!”

“My very likely apocryphal pirate heritage!” 

“Still.” 

He shook his head in largely feigned exasperation and she grinned, stepping in close and wrapping her arms around her husband and daughter, stroking Hope’s hair and resting her chin on Killian’s shoulder. He turned his head to press a kiss on her cheek. 

And so the Swan-Jones family set out together for an adventure at sea, aboard the Lady Hope. 

-------

Sorry not sorry to anyone who thinks engagement rings should be diamond solitaires; I personally dislike diamonds and also think that sentimental softie Killian would want to give Emma something more meaningful.

[promptistrashqueen]

Sunshine from a Stranger 3

Part 1 Part 2 

Short on account of a need for a transition chapter and also because I have to sleep soon?

Prompto stares at a wall, it’s got lovely black and silver filigree paint and in the center a piece of art depicting the ascension of the first Lucian King. He doesn’t really see it, just notes, idly that if he breathes on anything it will probably lower the value and yet still, he would be outclassed by the dirt on the floor here.

Probably, he assumes, scuffing at the nicely polished floor with the cheap sneaker Iggy-Ignis had provided him, because that dirt has touched the feet of royals. He’s so out of his element.

Lucis. Insomnia. It’s all beautiful and he’s met alphas from here now and they are more than he could’ve hoped, they are...god they’re human. Not the monsters he’s come to fear, even the most sane alpha’s in Niflheim twist when they get too near him in his heat and yet…

He remembers Noct, pressed against his side as he rode out the uncomfortable, sometimes painful heat. The memory makes his cheeks color especially when it occurs to him, he was cuddled to the Crown Fucking Prince.

He breaths in slowly, looking back at the wall and trying to actually take in the painting. Slightly down the hall from the bench he sits on, his tank top and jeans a testament to his lack of belonging, there’s a man with dark hair in a uniform he’s starting to recognize.

Kingsglaive. The word is supplied to him from his limited knowledge of Lucis, the whispers of a place without dread, with equality that overlooks the secondary sex, see’s people. The Kingsglaive are elite fighters, protectors of the crown, outshone only by Crownsguard, the specific protectors each King picks as his personal guard.

Prompto can’t look at the painting anymore, so he tries to observe the man without being obvious about it. He’s fairly tall, a few days growth of whiskers, his dark hair is partially shaved a few braids swing when he turns his head instinctually to listen more to the earpiece he wears. The black garb is decorated with faint silver and he wears it well, his eyes are blue, not as captivating as Noct’s but...oh. Shit.

Prompto blinks, the blue eyes wink at him and he blushes. The glaive starts walking toward him and his leg bounces as he thinks about bolting, but, well there’s nowhere to go, not while Noct and the others are talking to Noct’s dad.

The King, Prompto reminds himself.

“Hey kid.”

Another surprise, the Glaive speaks Gralean. He smiles quickly at the other man, breathing in carefully, Alpha.

“Hey. Uh, ‘m Prompto?”

“I’m Nyx. You sure that’s your name?”

Prompto laughs a little and relaxes a bit at the way the Glaive smiles, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m...new to this whole, people thing.”

Nyx nods, humming a little, and Prompto gets the impression he’s going for sage agreement.

“We all gotta start somewhere. You came in with Prince Noctis from Niflheim?”

Prompto nods, looking away as he does, his leg is still bouncing.

“Well kid, I don’t know shit about you but if the Prince brought you here you’ve got to be alright, especially if Lord Scientia agreed to it. I know it’s a lot to take in but trust me, past the ancestral grandeur the King and his son are decent people.”

Prompto smiles a little, he already could’ve guessed as much from just a few days travel with Noct.

“Yeah, Noct was great, for an alpha.”

He cringes Nyx is one too after all, but he doesn’t get a chance to take it back.

“Yeah, hard-headed lot we are.” He laughs and Prompto relaxes again, grinning.

“You’re not from here either though?”

Nyx shakes his head, “Nah. That’s a long story, I’m sure yours is too. Maybe if you stick around for a while we can share,” he tilts his head again, listening, “Sounds like the King’s asking for you kid.”

Prompto swallows, brushing off his shirt a little as Nyx responds to someone over the communication device, “This is Glaive Ulric, I’ll bring him in.”

It’s almost startling to hear him speak Lucian and Prompto has to consciously switch back over, having settled into Gralean again. Nyx raises an eyebrow at him, standing, as though to ask if he’s ready and Prompto nods, blonde bangs falling into his face and he shoves them back again, determined.

Nyx leads him through the door Noct and the other’s went through before and he steels himself, expecting a throne room. Instead it’s a comfortable office-like space. A large desk covered in papers, several chairs, shelves, some art. No windows though and when his gaze lands on the man behind the desk it makes sense that the security risk would be too high.

Noctis, standing beside the desk, Ignis seated, Gladiolus leaned agains the wall. Prompto marks their locations thoughtlessly, his fight or flight kicking in because the two Alpha’s behind the large desk are giving off such strong influence he feels his knees threaten to give.

“Hey Prom.”

Noctis voice draws his attention and he realizes he’s not really breathing. He forces in a breath and smiles quickly, “Hey Noct.”

Winces, because fuck that’s informal, but he’s starting to get his head on straight again and Nyx nods to the room at large before excusing himself, Prompto misses him immediately. Another odd man out, well, kind of.

“This is my dad Prom. He has a couple of questions, if that’s cool?”

Prompto looks back at the seated man, grey hair, Noctis’ eyes, but a little bluer, the raiments of a King.  Yeah Noct, he thinks, your dad.

“Yeah. Uh, what uh, what did you need to know your Majesty?”

Shit. He should’ve probably bowed or something, well...there goes that. The King doesn’t seem particularly disturbed but the man on his right, short white hair and a scarred face, is much more frightening, at least until Gladio speaks up.

“You’re freaking him out dad, lay off.”

“Dadsclub.” Prompto says it out loud, he can feel the shape of the words on his tongue and he’s pretty sure it’s from spending too much time alone because there is no good reason for him to blurt that kinda shit out in front of these men.

The tension that’s been coiling in the room snaps as the King chuckles and Noctis laughs aloud, even Ignis gives an amused huff.

“Prompto. I’m glad you seem remarkably chipper despite coming from what Noctis assures me is a bleak situation. I simply wanted to ask if you would be willing to do a full interview once you’ve had a day or two to settle here, there are many things that we do not know about our northern neighbors and also I wished to see if you were alright with arrangements being made to stay here in the citadel. Normally we would request you be placed under watch until our security concerns were cleared but from what Gladiolus and Ignis have said I do not believe such measures necessary.”

Prompto nodded quickly, his hair falling back in front of his face, “I can do that. I mean, I don’t know how much help I can be but uh, Noctis brought me all the way here it’s the least I can do. If it’s too much trouble for me to stay in the citadel I can go somewhere else but I don’t know anything about Lucis really so if I could stay here that would be great! Your Majesty!”

The king smiles again, “You may call me Regis when we are in private Prompto. I am not your king by birth and I don’t expect your allegiance so quickly. Take some time to learn more about Insomnia. I’m sure Ignis can find accomodations here quite quickly. If you choose to stay with us I only ask that you take the time to learn more of our customs and manners.”

Prompto nods again and glances at Noctis who gives him a thumbs up and a smile.

“Thank you...Regis.”

“Now then, Clarus and myself are needed elsewhere. Noctis I would like a full report by the weeks end and if you would please help Prompto settle in, I believe we can reschedule our dinner for tomorrow night.”

The king and Gladio’s father left them quickly and Prompto stared at the desk in their absence.

“Prom?” Noctis’ voice cuts through and Prompto looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh man I am so out of my depth dude!”

Gladiolus laughs and pushes off the wall, clapping his shoulder, “Don’t worry kid, Iggy and I will catch you up on important stuff since the nap Princess won’t be any use. He can show you all the fun stuff I guess.”

Noctis makes and indignant sound and Ignis rises, “Alright. If the two of you can keep the scuffles to a minimum until I show Prompto where he’s too sleep for the night?”

Ignis turns to him and Prompto smiles a little, “You probably are tired but I’m also going to give you some brief information about Insomnia’s laws, particularly pertaining to secondary sex. When you decide more about what you want for the future we can talk more about gaps in your knowledge of the laws here and of biology as I don’t think Niflheim has comprehensive education?”

Prompto shakes his head, not that he’s never been in class, but it was a lot more fight things or fuck things oriented and he doesn’t know a lot about basic life stuff. Hell, he can barely make food that tastes like anything.

The thoughts are drowned though as Noctis swings the door to the hall open again, a bright smile, “I bet there’s a free room near mine.”

Yeah, Insomnia’s fuckin’ weird but Prompto thinks he might be able to find a home here, besides, he’s already started making friends.

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 3

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Chapter 3- Embers

~~~

Sherlock isn’t the type to blend into a crowd unless he really wanted to. Couple that with an out of place American and myself, and you have yourself quite the show.

Folks on the Tube recognized him immediately, and swarmed him asking for pictures. A few younger ladies asked if Amelia was his girlfriend and she would jokingly change her answer each time.

“I’m his cousin.”

“-his administrative supervisor.”

“-his testicular oncologist.”

That last one scared away any fans who lingered about.

It was difficult to tell if Sherlock was disappointed by the lack of attention or impressed with Amelia’s ability to be make someone so uncomfortable, they walked away.

~~~

“Can you stop wiggling your foot?” she snapped her head toward Sherlock who’d been bouncing his leg impatiently. They were three stops away from the bank, and after a brief fan frenzy, Amelia was relieved that the whole ordeal was almost over.

In and out, she reminded herself mentally over and over. She had no reason to believe someone would attack her in the middle of the day, at a busy London bank, with two quasi-celebrities. It would draw too much attention.

Still, it only took a moment for someone to look away from her and she could be snatched up, gone without a trace. Locked away in Chemco’s basement until she died.

“Can this train move any faster?” Sherlock had shot back to her, continuing to bounce his leg.

“Come on Sherlock, she’s nervous,” John tried to intervene, but the detective ignored him like a petulant child.

“John, I don’t know how you handle him,” Amelia murmured, her jaw clenched as she watched the dot on the subway map move closer to their stop. “I’d have murdered him by now.”

“Good luck with that,” Sherlock replied snidely. “I bet you wouldn’t know the first thing about how to get rid of a body undetected.”

The train stopped at their station and he stood up, gliding out of the doors, leaving Amelia and John jogging to catch up with him.

“A lye solution at 300 degrees Fahrenheit for three hours,” she snapped back at him, catching sight of the bank and crossing the street without another comment.

The building boasted some of the best security in the world. It provided top of the line security personnel, fingerprint scanning, and a nearly impenetrable vault.

Granted, all Amelia needed was access to the security boxes and the key in her front pocket. It would have been too risky to leave any traces of her presence even in such a secure location.

The bank was ornate, suitable for some of the biggest businesses in town. Amelia wouldn't have been surprised to find if the bank held billions in cash behind the well dressed clerks and smiling attendants.

“And where would you even find a proper container to break down the flesh components? Lye is a very corrosive base,” Sherlock’s voice floated over her shoulder while she waited in line to speak with a bank employee.

“Jesus-!” Amelia caught herself in the chest, nearly startled out of her skin at the detective’s sudden presence.

“You should learn to watch over your shoulder,” he mused, and if Amelia knew him better, she would have seen a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. “Especially when hired hands are out to get you.”

A middle-aged female employee stepped up to the pair, and Amelia smiled her way through explanations before she was lead to the back vault with her security box.

“You’re unassuming enough to throw people off their suspicions,” Sherlock noted quietly, watching the employee leave the room. “Even with the accent.”

“I’m just a nice person,” she replied, unlocking the box and sliding the metal panel off of the top. "Sometimes people are decent to you if you don't act like a baby from the start."

"That's not what happened on the train," he reminded her. "I would even venture to say you were even quite rude."

She ignored him, focusing on the security box.

Sure enough, sitting at the bottom of the velvet lined box, in a hard plastic case, was the hard-drive. Plucking it out, she opened the case to double check that everything was still in place, before passing it to Sherlock.

“That has everything I’ve got for proof,” she explained while he tapped the plastic case impatiently. Clearly someone had big plans for the evening. He waited while she closed things up, summoning the employee to lock up the vault once again.

“Why didn’t you close the account?” he asked once they’d stepped out of the bank.

“All of my IDs are back home,” she replied sheepishly. “Honestly, it’s a little concerning they didn’t check anything there. I mean, this particular ID is fake, but they don’t know that.”

“Speaking of, should we try and recover what we can over at the shop?” John hurried over to pair, checking over his shoulder. "Check for clues and the such?"

“Are we allowed?” she questioned with a nervous frown. Sherlock and John exchanged an amused look before the detective summoned a taxi with a wave of his hand. Giving the shop’s address, Amelia chewed her bottom lip as she thought through the last twenty-four hours. Certainly her uncle would have heard about the fire and tried to contact her, but her phone had been left behind by the register.

She really needed to start carrying things on her person.

There’d be insurance adjusters, not to mention, the fire marshal said he was going to swing by at some point in the week to double check the burn patterns and her report.

When the taxi arrived, Amelia’s heart sank when she saw the extent of the damage.

The building was just about gutted, the fire having spread from the shop to her small apartment above. Hopefully, the small fire-proof safe she’d purchased for her passport and birth certificate held up to the heat in her closet.

John paid the taxi driver while Sherlock and Amelia stared up at the blackened mess. It still smelled like burnt wood, the wind catching a few ashes and scattering them at her feet.

“Shall we then?” John took the first step toward the entrance, lifting the yellow police tape that blocked the way, ushering Amelia and Sherlock underneath.

If the outside looked bad, the inside was even worse. Hollow shells of her previously cheerful shop were all that remained. The refrigerator with the roses was just shattered glass and blackened metal. The register had all but melted to what remained of the wooden countertops.

Lifting what Amelia assumed was her cell phone off of the rubble, she sighed.

“I don’t know what I expected,” she confessed, stepping through the debris pathetically. She had the place barely two months, and already it had gone the fate of all her other hopes and dreams. John and Sherlock were picking through piles of ash for anything that survived.

Wandering into the back room where she had been preparing some wedding centerpieces, Amelia found broken vases and charred flower remains. Her desk was, surprisingly, still standing, though covered in burn marks.

All of the extra storage containers and seedlings she’d been babying had been destroyed. All of that time and money, gone in a few hours.

“I’m headed upstairs,” she called to the men, earning a pair of affirming shouts in response.

The stairs leading to her apartment were covered in water and soot, with a few spots nearly breaking under her weight as she went. Watching her feet, she was thankful to see that a few things upstairs had survived the fire.

The safe was her first priority. While she was looking through her closet for the small metal box, she was surprised to see it already pulled out and open on the floor of the bedroom.

It made sense that someone would have checked for the hard-drive there, though they’d been kind enough to leave behind her identifying documents (albeit a few hundred dollars in cash that were noticeably missing.)

At least she’d be able to get a new phone and banking card. She wouldn’t have to sleep on the old couch at Baker Street that night.

Pocketing the papers, she dug through her clothes and found a few outfits that had been saved from damage. Searching the small space, she located her backpack hanging near the staircase, the lining only slightly melted from the heat.

Stuffing anything she could salvage into the bag, Amelia saved anything that would just need a good wash.

Fortunately, her photographs and scrapbooks had been moved to Ruthie’s storage shed in Kent a few weeks previously, leaving mostly clothes and small knick-knacks she’d located around London.

Locating a pile of singed sketches and soot covered canvases, Amelia picked through the pile trying to save as many art supplies and pictures as possible.

The irony of her flower portraits being burnt around the edges wasn’t lost on her, and she piled the papers and sketchbooks under her arm, grabbing any unburnt pencils and throwing them with her clothes into her backpack.

“Any luck?” John peeked up from the stairs with a curious glance around the space.

“The essentials were still in the safe,” she confirmed, pulling out her passport. “And a few changes of clothes, so I’m not totally destitute.”

“And art supplies?” he perked up, walking more fully into the room to look at the ruined mess at her feet. Lifting one of the more aggressively burnt canvas’ he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “What a shame, these were beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Amelia was genuinely touched by the doctor’s compliments. It’d been some time since she’d shown anyone her work, much less and objective stranger. “I guess it means I have to work on something new.”

“It looks like you were able to save some stuff,” he noted with a nod toward the bundle under her arm. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

“You did lend me your sofa last night, so I’d say it’s a square deal,” she chuckled, ducking past a fallen ceiling beam and moving toward the stairs again.

She asked him about his hobbies, and he confessed there wasn’t much outside of crime solving.

“We should have a paint and pour,” she joked.

“A what?” John blinked as they rejoined Sherlock.

“We drink wine and paint a picture,” the detective interpreted coolly. “There wasn’t much left for clues as to who the men were. The fire effectively destroyed any organic evidence.”

“I’m not surprised,” Amelia kicked at a melted water bucket on the ground. It was pretty good at destroying all living things, she silently added.

“Shall we get lunch?” John turned to the pair. It was obvious he was trying to cheer up the sour mood between his two companions. “I imagine you probably have to go apartment hunting as well, we could look for listings in the paper?”

“Great idea John, I’m famished,” Sherlock was out the door first, not bothering to wait up for Amelia or John.

“At least he has the data,” Amelia tried to assure John, who looked after his friend in confusion.

“He was fine a second ago,” John mumbled, shrugging off the behavior and helping Amelia over the rubble and back outside.

They discussed meal plans, but Sherlock continued to remain quiet, lost in his own world. John didn't seem to pay much mind to it, aside from the initial confusion in the shop. So, Amelia followed his lead, despite her gut telling her that something was off.

Deciding on Speedy’s Cafe back at Baker Street, the group elected to walk the few blocks instead of paying for another car. John carried the canvas’, chatting about the general fare at the cafe, asking about what else Amelia would need to get done and offering his cell for her to call her uncle.

Stopping outside of 221 B, Sherlock quickly excused himself into the apartment, telling John and Amelia to get a table.

“You know what? Drop your stuff off in the flat, and I’ll meet you guys here in a few minutes?” he offered, passing the art back to her. Amelia agreed, and was not very far behind the detective.

“Hey Sherlock where should-,” Amelia stopped mid sentence when she saw the flower sprig Sherlock was examining under the light.

Seeing the new comer, he immediately thrust it behind his back.

“Ah, you know, wherever,” he gestured vaguely around the room, watching her pointedly while she deposited her items on the couch.

“Whatcha got there, Sherlock?” she inquired, taking a step forward, bending to get a look at his back.

“Nothing,” he jumped away, turning toward her. “Shouldn’t you be with John? I’ll be down in a second.”

Amelia frowned, starting toward the door, and whirling on her toes just before leaving, catching Sherlock by surprise as she tackled him to the ground.

They hit the old wooden floor with a thud, Sherlock whacking his head on the floorboards and Amelia smacking the back of her head on John’s side table.

“Ugh, that was poorly planned,” she grumbled, rubbing her head. Sherlock seemed to agree with a grunt, absently rubbing the back of his head with the hand holding the flower.

Eyes wide, she took her chance and plucked it free, hopping up, and immediately identifying it.

“Aconite?” she asked, shaking her head. "Where on earth did you find this?”

He stood up and snapped it back, moving to his chair and examining it under a magnifying glass he pulled from his pocket.

“Also known as Monkshood," he supplied dryly, snatching the flower back. "I found it at the shop."

“You’re quite the clever one, Sherlock Holmes,” Amelia snarked back. “But I know for a fact my Monkshoods were still seeding in the back room, so it’s impossible I had one in full bloom. So unless someone dropped it-”

She stopped when he looked up at her with raised brows. Her mouth slowly fell into an “oh” shape.

“You said the flowers have their own language,” he turned it over between his fingers, holding it up toward her. “Care to enlighten me?”

“‘Hatred’,” she recited meekly, paling at the implication. “and 'be cautious’.”

Chapter 4

[mousehole5000]

i thought i heard a noise in my room and got scared so instead of sleeping i accidentally a snippet of the wangxian in college as RAs of the same floor and in the same analog photography class au that exists in my head now. i should probably give this another look over but now im actually sleepy so thats for later

The knock on the door at 6:30 sharp might as well have been the shrill ringing of the fire alarm for how suddenly it shook Wei Wuxian awake. He groaned and threw his pillow in the general direction of the door, sleepily decided that would be enough to stop the sound and promptly went back to sleep. To his great surprise, the knock returned. With a an even more emphatic grunt, he threw his second pillow- more towards the end of the bed than to the door itself. This time the knocking continued. Wei Wuxian reached for another pillow only to discover that he had exhausted his meager supply. He cracked one eye open to look around for more projectiles to launch at the intruding noise. The knocking stopped, and instead a soft "Wei Ying" came from beyond the door. His other eye snapped open. Shit. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his robe from the heap it lay in on the floor, shoving his arms through the sleeves as he stumbled towards the door.

He opened the door to find Lan Wangji mid-knock, dress shirt crisp but left unbuttoned at the top, hair showing slightest sheen of dampness, the faintest hint of lemon lingering in the air. His vintage Minolta XG-M was slung across one shoulder and a compact black sketchbook was tucked neatly between his arm and his chest.

"Sorry! My alarm-" was never set "-didn't go off, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in I'll be ready soon," Wei Wuxian said as he used his foot to push a jacket laying on the ground away from the doorway.

"There is no rush," Lan Wangji said calmly as he entered the room, mercifully maintaining eye contact with Wei Wuxian instead of looking at the pillows and trash and general mess on the floor, "We still have a few hours to find shadows to photograph."

"Tch, then why did you say it would be better if we started out earlier?" Wei Wuxian grumbled as he hurriedly picked up clothes from the floor and tossed them towards the corner where he thought his laundry hamper still was.

"You were the one who chose our departure time," Lan Wanji reminded him.

"You didn't have to agree with me," Wei Wuxian said as he sulked towards the window to check that his notebook hadn't gotten swallowed up by the disaster that was his desk. He was in luck, it was right on top of his 20th Century Art: One Hundred Years of Change textbook, open to a half-finished drawing of a certain co-RA with a pesky habit of looking too pretty for his own good. Well, too pretty for Wei Wuxian's good anyway. He quickly flipped the notebook closed and shoved it into his camera bag upon remembering the cluster of tiny hearts in the bottom corner of the drawing.

"Wei Ying, hold still," Lan Wangji said softly.

Wei Wuxian looked back, and found himself looking directly into Lan Wangji's Minolta.

"Ah, Lan Zhan," he pouted, "I'm not camera-ready this early in the morning, can't you wait until I've got a decent outfit on?"

"Hold still," Lan Wangji said again, pressing the shutter release, "For class."

Wei Wuxian sighed and shook his head, "It'll be a shame when your project fails because you had such a poor subject. I wish I could make it up to you, but really, you're digging your own grave here."

Lan Wangji pulled the shutter release lever back and tilted his head, "You can help me develop the prints today, if you feel bad," he said, taking a step closer, "For now, hold still."

The idea of spending the afternoon alone in the dark room with Lan Wangji, coupled with standing before him in his shabby robe while under the scrutiny of the camera put a strange lump in Wei Wuxian's throat that was actually enough to make him shut up a for a few seconds and let himself be photographed. When Lan Wangji nodded and replaced his lens cap, Wei Wuxian quickly excused himself to the bathroom to change and splash cold water on his face, to chase away the last of his lingering dreams.

[vintageficcompany-blog]

The Song Is You (Chapter One)

Summary: A summer road trip with your best friend lends its way to some revelations. 

Author’s Note: This has been a long time coming, you guys!! You’ve probably been hearing Esme and I talk about our fic collab for a while now. We’re very excited to finally begin releasing this special piece to the public! All we can say now is that you will finally understand all the Monster Mash and “rick rolling” jokes you’ve heard in the last weeks. 

*** If you wanted to listen to the road trip playlist that is mentioned in this chapter, please click here!! 

Words: 4,481 

Warnings: an extremely cheesy mixtape, lame jokes, Lin showing off (so, nothing?) 

Without any further ado, welcome to the world Esme and I have so lovingly crafted for you! 

The colors were mesmerizing, like the abstracts you had studied in art class. Reds of all vibrancies passed you by as oranges and greens called you forward. Pinks whispered riddles and yellows screamed their delights. You sat in the passenger seat, your window open, letting the fresh summer breeze spread over the car that had become your small world for this road trip. Your hand danced on the whirls of wind outside and your smile was genuine and unable to be swayed.

On your left sat your best friend, wrist draped over the steering wheel, and cheap sunglasses guarding his eyes from the seasonal sunshine. He felt your gaze and glanced over at you, a grin bringing out the half dimples most people didn’t notice. He broke the silent trance the beauty of nature had caught you in by cursing under his breath.

“Hm?” You cooed, your mind still trapped inside the vibrant hex of the world you were passing through.

He sighed, reaching his free hand up to run through his hair, “I think I missed our turn.”

You resisted a laugh, trying too hard to hide it, “Lin, I wrote you out the most detailed directions ever, measuring distances in song times so you’d understand it. How do you miss a turn?”

He shrugged, reaching up to take his sunglasses off, revealing his wide eyes as he glanced over at you. “I must have miscounted songs.”

“Jesus Christ, Lin. This is why you let me drive.” You rolled your eyes all while trying to remember the distances you’d so perfectly done and any alternate routes.

You could picture Lin’s pout even if you weren’t looking, “Are you saying I’m incapable of driving?”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief, “Not what I said, bud.”

He frowned, steering the car expertly over the tricky road you rode, “No, you mean you’re the superior driver.”

“Well, I did get a higher written score on the final in driver’s ed, if you recall.” you taunted.

“I’m still convinced it’s ‘cause you cheated off Jamison.”

“Lin.” Your voice laced with light warning, but you knew once he started in with the bickering there was no stopping him. He kept up and you countered mindlessly until you watched him miss another turn. You gasped, turning around in your seat to check the exit number.

“Lin!” You exclaimed, but his mind was still stuck on his supposed lack of driving skills.

“I’m just saying, men can drive. I can do this. You see how well I’m maneuvering this road? These corners? This is slick!” He guided the car perfectly around a tight corner, avoiding the edge of the road. You had to admit – it was kind of impressive for someone who had only played video games before. This road trip was his first time driving his own car for period of time longer than half an hour. You’d let him take over for the majority, knowing he’d appreciate the liberty and you could just kick back and journal your heart away as he navigated.

But now he’d missed the initial turn and the alternate route you had planned. You had spent the last two months in the library, pouring over atlases to mark your exact path. You couldn’t believe he’d mess it up this much. Your mouth was still hung open in an “O” as you shouted his name again, this time louder.

“Lin!”

He winced, “What? I’m driving perfectly!”

“Christ, Lin. This isn’t about your driving skills.” You were growing exasperated but you knew there was a recovery to come, as always.

“But you have to admit they are amazing skills.” He glanced over at you, waggling his eyebrows, trying to draw a laugh from you.

“Okay, fine, you’re the next Mario Andretti.” You gave in, letting out a small giggle that the wind picked up and carried away, turning it into music for the world. You watched as Lin’s grin grew larger, pleased he’d gotten you to cave.

“But that’s not our problem.” You went back to your serious voice, catching his attention.

“Wait? It’s not? That was a pretty big problem.” He split focus from the road to you, his driving having slowed since he was done showing off. You said a silent thank you to whatever gods controlled his mind, appreciative that you were no longer in danger of crashing for the sake of a man’s ego.

“Please tell me you know there’s bigger problems than your driving in the world.”

He shrugged, “Well, there’s also how underappreciated my jokes are.”

“I swear to god…” You muttered, shaking your head to erase the small smile that had appeared as you looked back out to the scenery.

There was a beat of silence before you remembered the actual issue at hand, finally speaking up. “You missed two turns, Lin.”

He turned his head to look at you, the grin on his face never leaving and you appreciated how comfortable he made you feel. Any time on your own, you would be on your way down a slope of anxiety if you had missed directions like that. But there was something about his lightheartedness, his delight in the ride, and his carefree spirit that made it easier for you to lighten up, to laugh at things you might otherwise breakdown at.

Truth be told, he’d had to fight to get you to come with him on another one of his silly schemes. He’d shown up at your house early one morning, earlier than he usually was for picking you up for school, and bursted into your bedroom to announce this idea of a cross-country road trip at the end of the year. He’d had to remind you that this might be your last chance to be together considering you’d applied to several colleges that would place you hours away from him. He begged you for the next week, printing out articles on the art of the road trip and the sights to see in California and leaving them on your desk. What had convinced you to come had been the hope you saw in his eyes whenever he noticed you leaning closer to yes. You lived to make him joyful, knowing it was the one thing you were decent at. You’d conceded, giving away your idea of your last summer at home being relaxed in trade for the idea of seeing his smile for the weeks you’d be together. There was something enchanted about that smile and how you warmed inside when he directed it at you. One flash of it and you were at his very beck and call, and he knew it.

Back in the present, he had continued on his current trajectory and you relaxed, for once not worrying about directions or destinations. You tried to take a page from his book and let life, and this road, take you where it wanted you. You were focused on the curves of the road and how they intersected with the cliffs that lead to the ocean, a beautifully carved section of nature. You barely noticed the softly playing radio, but you were enticed by the hum Lin carried. The tone was alluring and full and he did it without any further thought. Ever since he had forced you to join the theater club with him, you had constantly been in awe at how effortlessly he could make music, how artfully he was able to capture one-second of a melody and turn it into a soundtrack. You were mesmerized by his talent, even if he refused to believe you. Yet another similarity you shared, you were both modest to a fault, never quite believing praise when people gave it to you.

As the road fell more into the mountainous sections, you noticed faults in the continuous humming. Training your ear to the radio, you heard it was beginning to die out, static overtaking the singer’s words. You knew Lin noticed because he never stopped observing the music. In an instant, you saw his hand reaching out to fumble with the dials as he kept his eyes on the road. He tried fervently to find another station that could carry a solid tune, but failed. You heard him sigh and felt bad for the fact that you were quickly running out of music, the one thing you knew kept him in a good mood.

Only his voice broke you from your silent trance, “Hey, (Y/N), would you mind taking the wheel for a second?”

You nodded, waiting for him to pull over so you could swap positions. Instead, all he did was look over at you expectantly.

“Wait, you mean like… not swapping positions?” You asked, confusion rising in your thoughts and your anxiety beginning to spread through your body.

“Yeah, just like make sure we don’t go off the cliff. You are the better driver, right?” He raised an eyebrow and you rolled your eyes, not quite believing he was still holding onto that.

“Fine. But be quick, whatever you’re doing.” You reached over, stretching against your seat belt, to grasp the wheel and steer. Lin took the opportunity to push his body up out of the seat, twisting back to the backseat to unzip his bag. Your eyes on the road, you began to have questions as he took longer than he should’ve.

“What are you doing back there?” you asked of him as you heard him groan.

He didn’t answer, but you saw what he had been so intent on a second later when he returned, a smile on his face that made you forget all chances of danger and all memories of your anxiety. In his hand was his worn-out CD case, which you knew from experience was neatly organized first by genre, then by artist’s last name, then alphabetically by album name.

You shook your head as he took the wheel back and you returned comfortably to your own seat. You reached over stealthily, stealing the case off of his lap. He acted startled, but started laughing almost as instantly as you did.

“You’re quite the mischievous one, aren’t you?” He asked, his laugh punctuating the sentence for him.

“As if you didn’t already know.” You teased back at him, watching the twinkle return to his eye.

Carefully, you unzipped the case, wondering if that was the only thing that held the entire thing together. Lin had had this case as long as you could remember, starting his collection of music as a child and continuing even now. Lin reached over, tossing the cover back and flipping to the back of the case. His eyes still on the road, he took out a CD that had been affectionately labeled “Road Trip With The Nerd.”

You rolled your eyes, “Am I the nerd?”

He nodded happily, “You can’t deny that you are.”

You watched as he slipped the CD into the car’s player and the first notes of the way too well-known Journey song started.

Lin, both his hands back on the wheel, grinned triumphantly, “Presenting the Road Trip Mixtape!”

You were trying too hard to contain your laughter as his enthusiasm grew, his fingers beginning to tap on the wheel to the beat of the song before his humming, and eventually his full-blown singing, took over. The words rolled off of his tongue by memory.

“I can’t believe you made a mixtape for this trip.” Your words sounded harsh, but the smile that he saw told another story entirely. He glanced over at you, his sunglasses back on, reflecting the luminosity the world seemed to share with him.

“How could I resist? A chance to make a tape with the ultimate sing-along songs? Priceless.” The grin he had could’ve fought the sun for brightest spot in the universe and won.

“Lin, you seriously make mixtapes for everything,” You said, going back to when he’d given you your first. You’d just met barely a day earlier, but you had sworn you’d never meet someone as remarkable as he was. Apparently, he had felt the same, proven later when you’d found a tape under your pillow labelled “Best Friends Forever?” You’d listened to it one end that night and the rest of the year, though you never told him. Now, it lived in a box under your bed, along with any and all others he had ever made you. You cherished them like long-lost friends or good luck charms. Whatever mood you were in, whatever mood you wanted to be in, there was a mixtape for that.

You were broken from the spell of memory when Lin spoke, “I do not make mixtapes for everything.”

“Lin, seriously, you made me a mixtape for when I got a dog.” You countered, acting annoyed but knowing fully that you would never stop loving every mixtape he gave you.

“That was a very important time in your life!” You laughed at his adamant tone of voice and he knew you were only joking with him.

Your words came out before you could stop them, “I guess it must have been important for me to keep it after all these years.”

You were just realizing what you had revealed and trying to come up with words to replace them, but Lin jumped on what you had already said.

“You kept it? I thought you hated that tape. I mean, ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ was a masterpiece but still.”

You gave a short laugh, “Don’t flatter yourself, I kept all of them.”

You were gradually digging yourself into a deeper hole as you kept talking and silently wished someone would just tape your mouth shut.

“You kept all of them?” Lin’s voice grew a notch quieter, filling with astonishment at your words.

“That’s… not what I meant?” You tried, and failed, to cover up this revelation, to damper the enlightenment Lin was currently experiencing

“That is what you meant and you know it,” he persisted and you couldn’t help but grow agitated, beginning to fidget. You searched for the perfect distraction and found it in the music.

“Hey, look, it’s that Bruno Mars song you love!” You reached across to turn up the volume, hoping Lin would get lost in rapping his favorite verses.

Instead, he took over the controls on the car stereo, edging your hand away. When you silently asked for an explanation, he sighed.

“We missed the first song. We have to restart it now.”

A theatrical roll of your eyes followed, “Seriously?”

He nodded eagerly as the tracks restarted, “You can’t fully enjoy it if you miss any of it!”

“My god, Lin.” You gave a shake of your head, trying to hide the slight smile that crept onto your face.

As he returned to his singing, you flipped through the rest of the CDs, memories invading your mind as you smiled thoughtfully at all the mixes he had kept throughout the years. You knew from the many nights you’d spent over at his house that his attention to detail was never lost on his mixtapes. He hand-plucked every song from his vast assortment, choosing them specifically for the person and the occasion. Often times, you knew his work went unappreciated, but you admired how he kept at it – just another thing to add to the list of what you treasured about him.

The songs kept interchanging and Lin kept up, staying in time with every lyric, every beat. His precision was not lost on you as you just enjoyed the scene you were watching, as if you lived on the outside of your own life, looking inward on your adventures.

That was, until you heard the opening chords of a song everyone on the Internet cringed at. The laugh that escaped you was bubbly and unable to be contained and it made Lin chuckle as he awaited the words that would inevitably follow.

“Please tell me you did not just Rick Roll this vacation.” You told him, knowing what the answer would be already as he grinned playfully.

“Oh, I so Rick Rolled this vacation!” Lin’s voice was louder than expected, and your laughter only grew as you watched him put a fist to the air, dramatically continuing to act out the words he sung. In between your persistent amusement, you joined in, unable to help the temptation of the song. In that moment, you couldn’t remember a time you had ever felt this purely, unapologetically blissful.

Through another song, one you could remember jumping and dancing to with Lin in elementary school, your shameless happiness only grew. Dance moves came and went, and you were beginning to settle back down when the next song came on. A scoff escaped you without any warning and a short giggle followed.

“What’s up over there?” Lin called, too busy driving and humming to look over.

“I cannot believe you put this song on here.” You said, shaking your head in utter disbelief.

Before he replied, you continued, “You do know what time of year it is, right?”

Lin ignored you, singing along. After a few moments, you were just laughing as he tried to keep a straight face. Despite his valiant efforts, it proved too hard to do and he burst out into a rambunctious giggle just before the second verse.

You raised your eyebrows, still in a question as to why that song was even here, and he answered as he attempted to calm himself.

“Come on, The Monster Mash is a great song regardless of season!” He exclaimed and you knew he fully believed that statement was true. Instead of a reply, you reached forward, your finger hovering over the skip button. Before you knew what had happened, Lin swatted your hand away.

“Hey!” you cried, pretending to be hurt.

Lin shook his head roughly, “You’re such an amateur. You can’t skip any mixtape songs or the entire tape loses its meaning!”

You gave him a look, your mouth curving slightly downward as your eyebrows rose, “Lin, come on.”

He looked hurt you would even suggest he skip the song, “(Y/N), I spent hours crafting this mixtape. The least you could do is act grateful.”

“You’re such a drama king,” You muttered under your breath, but Lin caught you.

“Excuse me?”

You plastered on a smirk, “Lin, this is the Monster Mash. It’s July.”

“Shut up,” He teased, turning the song up to drown out your complaints. You stuck your tongue out at him by way of a reply and all he did was chuckle, his singing tone breaking with the timbre of the laugh.

You let him have his moment, admiring his dedication to the art of ‘mixtaping’.He had held steady in a lot of his passions – theater especially. When he’d announced he wanted to be an actor when you were both children, you had thought he was joking. But he’d kept with it, no matter what matters life tossed his way. He’d somehow seamlessly juggled a busy family life, a needy best friend in you, a demanding school career, and a challenging extracurricular theater club. You weren’t sure how he balanced it, but you were even less sure of how he always had a smile on his face. No matter what trials he faced, he faced them with a grin and an invincible enthusiasm and confidence. For as long as you could remember, you’d been in awe of what a spectacular human being he was.

A moment later, a song broke through your thoughts and you were instantly thrown back to middle school, on the edge of a new age. You turned to Lin to see he had the same nostalgic smile on his face as you did. You imagined you both looked far away in this moment, not quite living in the moment but in a past life.

Two words fell from your lips, quiet and gentle, a mixture of wistfulness and amazement. “You didn’t.”

Lin caught your meaning, “I had to.”

You met his reminiscence with a thoughtful smile, “Oh god, we were… how old?”

His smile grew wider as you watched his eyes grow more longing, yearning for that time in your lives, “We were so young. And so incredibly unaware.”

________

The initial excitement of the night had nearly vanished the minute you had stepped into the dance greeted with the sight of Michael and Rachel holding hands. As if the sting of being strung along wasn’t enough, you were now going to be forced to listen to the gossip. You could already hear it:  Michael kissed Rachel last night!

Lin must’ve noticed your spirits fall because he pulled you by the hand to the fringe of the dance floor. Suddenly going to the dance with your best friend seemed more pathetic than exciting. You frowned as you remembered that he had only asked you out of pity.

“Don’t let him get you down. He doesn’t deserve you anyways.” Lin comforted you, his hand remaining in your own.

“I was just being stupid.” you shrugged, kicking at the ground. Lin frowned, but once he heard the song shift, he knew exactly what to do to cheer you up. His hand slipped from yours and your eyes were drawn back to him as he grinned at you. You were about to ask him what he was doing when he started to dance. Your eyes widened as he attempted to do the running man - a move that did not at all fit to the beat of the song - and you couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. Your laugh echoed across the gym as Lin seamlessly transitioned into the sprinkler.

“Don’t make me dance alone.” Lin paused, holding his hand out to you. You accepted it; you had already made a fool of yourself with Michael, what else did you have to lose? Lin’s smile brightened and he tugged you further into the crowd before he started to spin you, giggling before you landed in his arms. He took to guiding you, leading you through increasingly more dorky moves until you let loose enough to start freestyling your own. He kept your hands in his, occasionally throwing in a twirl or a dip, his salsa background getting the better of him. You didn’t even realize that people were watching until the song ended and you heard a few people clap or cheer accompanied by laughter - you couldn’t distinguish it from your own as you collapsed into Lin in a fit of giggles.

________

“You were arguably my greatest date to a school dance ever,” you mused, breaking through the nostalgia that had consumed the car. The memory had done enough to silence the both of you as you’d traveled back in time. You didn’t glance over at Lin, but you figured his eyes held the same gleam of times lost that yours did. How you wished life could be that simplistic again.

“Jason being my competition? That’s not much of a compliment.” Lin snorted thoughtlessly before his eyes darted over to see the pain flash across your features. Guilt invaded his conscience before he was even aware of what he’d said or how he said it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but you were quicker.

“I was stupid. I should’ve known Jason was gonna be a dick and you were the one for me all along.” A smile quirked at the edges of your mouth, but didn’t show itself fully enough for Lin to believe your joking words. They were laced with too much emotion, too much forethought. They sounded too forced to be believable.

Lin had known it was a low blow to bring up Jason, your boyfriend of two and a half years that you had caught cheating less than a year ago. Jason hadn’t been man enough to talk to you about the end of your relationship and figured you’d get the message sooner or later. It had taken you far too long to see the troubles, but you remembered Lin’s cautious words of warning each time you expressed any lack of enthusiasm towards your relationship. He had been there for you – he hadn’t backed away when you took your frustrations out on him. That’s just the kind of man Lin was.

Little did you know, Lin was as irritated as you were heartbroken. He’d stood by for too long and watched you get emotionally abused time and time again. It had been a struggle for him to keep his mouth shut, but he knew you’d wise up on your own. Nobody needed to push you towards your destiny because you were intelligent enough to find it by yourself. Lin believed in the power of the good that was inside of you, he just knew it could be difficult to find it when you’re being dragged down by a forceful evil nature.

But none of that gave him the right to bring Jason up.  

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –” Lin murmured and you shook your head, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The last thing he wanted to do was make it any worse and you weren’t in the mood to talk about it. The wound was too fresh and still open. The road trip was, in some way, your band-aid. An escape from the town that had done you wrong for too long. You knew you would have to face it by the end of the summer, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to ignore it for the time being.

You turned your head to look out your window to admire the scenery once again, but it was lost through the blur from the speed of the car and the watery vision from tears on the edge of your eyes. The muddled colors did little to soothe your heart.

You were broken from your distant trance from Lin’s soft touch. You glanced down quickly, catching his hand on yours. The warmth that slid over your body helped to ease your racing thoughts.

Raising your eyes, you caught his. The look he directed at you communicated his apology and his promises. There was a light behind the softness, igniting him from the inside. Even when discomfort and wretchedness had taken over his mood, he managed to shine.

“You’re gonna find someone who loves and appreciates you like they should. There’s someone that’s made for you, give yourself time to find him.” Lin’s words came sincerely, accompanied by a squeeze of his hand. You found yourself believing in what he was saying, pulled into his brilliant, positive nature.

They hung in the air as the mixtape he had burned had come to an end and you mentally shook your head, hoping it’d work like an etch-a-sketch.

“I’ll put the next CD in.”

[doomedandstoned]

Discarded Self Cooks Up a Simmering Stew of Dread in Foreboding Debut LP

~By Billy Goate~

Album Art by Thahir M

Flooding forth with misery and hate comes the first album from Discarded Self... Created during a time of personal isolation, the album ranges from tales of the macabre to introspective trips into self-loathing and personal degradation that dredge up terrible memories of the past to drown in personal regret. There is no hope for the future here.

Thus speaks the introduction to this self-titled debut from DISCARDED SELF, the brainchild of one Jarret Beach. Nestled on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan in the small city of Lloydminster, Jarret has been jamming on bass with Ashes of Yggdrasil and fronting Destroy My Brains on vocals and guitar since at least 2014. It was the pandemic that drove him inward and inspired him to write this harrowing opus -- an album that erupts with pitch black sentiment, exploring unhappiness, hardship, and distress through several different lenses.

"I Smell Pipes" sets the record in motion with devilish growls over a searing guitar lead. The song becomes increasingly emotional with dissonant harmonies. Whether intentional or not, the drums sound muted, giving it a dank, low-fi feel throughout. The emphasis seems solidly on the riffage, which is all fine by me, though some listeners may wish for a more spacious approach. For full effect, turn those speakers up high!

"Orbitoclast" follows next with a strumming opening and jarring amp feedback. When the vocals join, it's a sludge moshfest ala Iron Monkey and Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean. The guitar is clear, dark, and menacing, and it contrasts with the harsh singing effectively. There are burts of frenetic grinding, with fevered drumming from Joaden Paluck (Destroy My Brains, Wrought) joining Jarret's fire and brimstone riffing. The song ends with clip addressing depression and the danger of suicide, from some old training video in a rather clinical tone.

"Push The Knife" is the longest track of the album, opening with death-soaked drumming (this time with Brett Steward from Ashes of Yggdrasil on the skins) and solemn doom chords that become increasingly animated, finally spilling over in a torrent of blackened tremeloes. The instruments pause long enough for Jarret to proclaim, "I'm barely being held together...fuck this life." The lyrics contemplate the misery of one's existence and the utter despair of realizing: I could really end it all. Having been there, I can identify with practically every word of this song. Also, I'm picking up on a Buzzov*en vibe here, with Jarret's raspy, metallic vocals drawing us into the hardship of the subject quite well. It's as though the pain of depression has gradually worn away at his person, transforming him into this savage beast before us. The sonic mix on this track does a decent job of accommodating the swirling array of death, doom, and black metal styles without sounding too thin and distant.

"On The Unlevel" is another 10-minute monster, with death-obsessed lyrics (this time, it seems, from the perspective of the oppressor). It takes on the mess of politics and policing, though at times I had trouble distinguishing between rage against the system and actually taking revenge on one's enemies. In some sections, I'm reminded of Eyehategod and their propensity for simple, melodic guitar motifs. The drums are especially pronounced here, a collaboration with Daden Paluk (Destroy My Brains). About 7-minutes in, a solitary bass announces the fiery coda, which grinds down on the words "This is what you get, greedy piece of shit." There are some maniacal screams mingling in the backdrop that made me think of a human being who's finally snapped and will no longer be trodden over.

"I'm Weak" is my favorite of the record, beginning as it does with those grim downward steps, followed by irradiated crooning grungy milling. The song is about living with guilt, shame, anxiety, and self-loathing while in isolation. For many of us, nothing felt more like solitary confinement than those unending weeks in lockdown, which forced some to come face to face with what they hated most about themselves. "I'm not well, in my cell, in my tomb, crying for doom" Jarret sings. A headbanger for damned sure.

"Cultist of the Pentagram" wisely picks up the pace with a tonal shift from self-pity towards an imagined deity from some dark dimensions, perhaps Cacus of Roman Mythology ("I am your Caco god"), who was said to be the fire-breathing son of Vulcan -- and a giant at that (eventually taken down by Hercules). Regardless of the cultist's identity, it is a most interesting lyrical theme and I found myself easily pulled into the narrative. Musically, this pure sludgey, grindcore!

"Abused (e)Motionless" turns our attention to the victim of treachery, attempting to see the word through their eyes. An interesting mix of circular, grinding guitar and drums, with slow, doomy progressions, and venomous vocals (which remain omnipresent throughout).

Finally, we arrive at the conclusion of this stormy, angst-filled journey. "Dance Upon The Dead" established a gentle arpeggiated acoustic theme, which is frequently interrupted by a crashing guitar and drum combos, until vocals join in with their usual corrosive fashion. This time, we're dealing with a true doomer, full of mordant chords and deep, emphatic bass notes. Jaden is up once again for drumming duties and executes his role with taste and tact. The song develops with increasing variation and intensity as it goes along. I thought of Grief as I listened, a band that also traffics in fierce, hot-blooded, sludgey doom action.

No doubt, Discarded Self is an enormous work and may be taken in doses on first spin. It will mean even more to the suffering, as I can imagine it being quite a cathartic listen for those who feel trapped, maligned, and in dire straits. Overall, a welcome entry from a prolific and highly motivated artist who does an admirable job collaborating with his drumming compadres. I can only imagine the beast that Discarded Self will become when the Lockdown is lifted for good and public performances become a viable option in Canada and places beyond.

Give ear...

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

An Interview with Discarded Self

By Billy Goate

How would you describe the vocal approach to the songs on this record?

After recording the guitars and bass to a programmed click track, I soon realized the song arrangements had some real potential to be something aggressive and memorable so I went for my first run of lyrics on a song. I wrote the lyrics for the song "I'm Weak" before I even had any drums (which is something I almost never do) and I wanted to record them since I was really feeling the flow and ideas I had for delivery, but it was too late at night and everyone in my house was asleep. So I decided to do a little practice vocal run in a quiet voice. When I do metal vocals in a quiet voice for practicing and stuff, I use kind of an evil Satyricon-Dopethrone black metal kind of voice. It's easier on my throat than my normal hardcore Destroy My Brains full blast screaming, and it helps me lay down my ideas without any type of voice damage.

You collaborated with a number of drummers on this release. How did you work in tandem with them during the Great Lockdown of 2020 and what impact did it have on the final outcome of your tracks?

After I recorded my idea, I sent the track to the drummer of the track Rob, and he said he really dug it. I told him those weren't the real vocals and I would do the real ones in a day or two after I practiced them a bunch and got my delivery down. But when the time came to lay it all down, I had the practice voice stuck in my head and when I tried to lay down my normal vocals, it sounded weird because I was already used to the way the black metal style vocals sounded. So I decided to give what was once my quiet practicing voice a try, and record the full song in that style. It blew me away when I was all done, so I decided to change up my idea and use this vocal style for the whole album. I really like it.

Talk about the artwork. It's a tremendous piece! Really stands out.

After that it was time to go on the hunt for some artwork. Almost as soon as I started looking, an artist I follow, Thahir M, put up a piece called "Monster Hunt" and I immediately knew that was the artwork I needed to represent the project. A very powerful giant demon with dragons flying above almost like a World War II photograph with the fighter planes littering the sky. It took me about a second and a half to rapidly fire him an offer on the art before someone else snatched it. That is where the album art came from. I actually used this art as inspiration while I was recording almost all of the vocals on this album. As I recorded them I would stare at the image of the art and try to imagine I was a demon soldier in that army. I already had the lyrics memorized, so I didn't need to read them as I recorded them.

I'd venture to guess that a lot of us assume one-man bands are just wunderkinds, you know, born with all this multi-instrumental talent. Were there areas you found particularly challenging for you as you sought to bring your vision to life?

I am not a drummer. I suck real bad, and I probably won't ever practice enough to ever record anything so I needed some drummers. I had this idea of using all of the best metal drummers in my city, and it would kind of help bring the scene together a little bit. 3 of the drummers I wanted to get, I was already in bands with, so that was easy, and the last drummer was a guy with some serious skills and creative talent, plus he had his own drum recording setup.

I ended up getting all the guys I wanted on the project which were, Jadan of Destroy My Brains, Rob the drummer of Ashes of Yggdrasil, Brett the lead guitarist of Ashes of Yggdrasil (who also plays drums), and BJ from the band Dahlmers Realm. I couldn't really be more happy about it. So every time I would finish my guitars on a track I would send them off to the guys with a click, and let them stew on ideas. Slowly the ideas came in and we got them all recorded. I was really impressed with what the guys came up with and we worked and tweaked the ideas until they all felt perfect.

It sounds like a very meticulous process!

Almost every time I got the final drums and guitars all together I would stay up for days with almost no sleep writing lyrics furiously, and perfecting my delivery for the songs. The last song Dance Upon the Dead, I actually stayed awake for about 30hrs, writing and recording. I even blew my voice out real bad, but I have a real stupid and bad habit of fighting through it and I finished the song with a pretty buggered up voice. (it just adds to the torment).

What's the benefit to writing metal as an independent musician-composer, compared with being in a band?

The best part of this project was I did it all in my studio at home, and I didn't have to change any of my mixing ideas because other band members did not like it (not that that is a bad thing having extra input or anything). So this album turned out 100% how I wanted it to sound. I went with a less is more approach, and didn't really do a lot of processing on the instruments to get the sounds I ended up with.

You initially were sharing songs as you created them. What kind of response did you get from your tracks early on?

As I completed songs, I would release them on Bandcamp and YouTube, and I set a goal to have one completed every two weeks until the release date I set, which was Jan 15th, I believe. The day I released "Orbitoclast," is where everything changed and I started receiving a ton of positive feedback. "Orbitoclast" was only the second song released, so I was really getting excited to pump this project out.

I was only about two or three weeks away from my release date when I was contacted by Piers Andersen from Cvlt Legion, and he said he is starting a record label called Sarcophagus Recordings and he asked if I wanted to be his first band. I didn't even need to think about it, because I knew he was a part of Cvlt Legion and those guys promote bands at a ridiculous rate, so I went for it. He wasted no time and he had me pull all my material down from Bandcamp and YouTube, so he could properly promote the album. We changed the date to April 30th, and he went to work promoting the album. He is good, he's had me on more sites and pages than I even knew existed, and we've even done a pile of interviews which I enjoy doing.

What did you learn from diving headfirst into such an ambitious first record?

All and all, this project taught me a lot, and I do believe I have further evolved my songwriting and recording techniques for the better, so it was a real good experience, and I've also learned more about the promotional side of music which is really important if you want anyone to hear your stuff. I hope everyone enjoys this album, and you can expect to hear another album from this project in the future as I'm already at six rhythm sections written for another album.

Let's close by getting into the specific breakdown of the album's songs.

1. I Smell Pipes

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The opening track of the album is actually written about a close friend I used to have when I was younger. It is describing a short chapter of his life, which in turn was the end of his life. He was a good friend but became a fiending drug addict "I Smell Pipes" was actually a quote he used to say when he would arrive at a party, and it signaled for all of the other crackhead/jib users to go into a room a light up rock and crystal all night. What started off as what he called fun recreational drug use, turned into full on lying, cheating, stealing, robbing, rock bottom living on the streets drug use. He passed away with a needle in his arm banging speedballs.

I wrote the song with more fun style riffs, because that was the last thing I remember about him before he disappeared and wound up succumbing to his chemical addictions. He used to be a fun guy. Hard drugs are no joke, there are only two ways it will go for you, if you want to live that kind of life. The lucky ones go to jail and sober up. The unlucky ones die, or live a long time as a worthless drug fiend. If you are having trouble with addictions, talk to someone and seek help. The alternative is more than most likely going to be a coffin. I wrote this song with a heavy heart, and it was really hard to record the lyrics.

2. Orbitoclast

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The song "Orbitoclast" is a collection of riffs and vocal ideas I actually started this project with. It starts off slow, but gets straight down to it with a thrashy section that has shredding vocals bleeding all over it. For those that aren’t aware, an orbitoclast is the instrument that is hammered into a person’s brain, when they were the poor individual who received a lobotomy in the late '40s early '50s. The song is of course about the horrifying practice of lobotomy, but has an extra hidden meaning. It’s a metaphor for giving your trust to someone who doesn’t have your best interests in mind, and only their own personal interest, with no concern of who they damage along the way.

3. Push The Knife

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"Push The Knife" is a slow moving look into the mind of someone who is sick with depression and touches on the topics of suicide/blood sacrifice. How it feels like you don’t want to exist in society, and you want to disappear and be forgotten. The song was originally titled "Staple", and is essentially about barely holding your life together like a “bent staple with one arm” as the lyrics suggest. The song takes a horrible turn as the protagonist of the story performs a blood sacrifice of themselves in an attempt to become a demon, and seek revenge upon the whole world who has wronged them throughout their life, joining Satan's and executing revenge upon the world. This song features Ashes Of Yggdrasil’s lead guitarist Brett on the drums, and backup vocals as well.

4. On The Unlevel

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song is my hate-fueled message to the government and other forces of oppression and control. I wrote this whole album in 2020, and being the naturally rebellious person that I am, the government control, restrictions, and lockdowns are not anything I ever pictured happening in my life and the damage they have caused to our society is mindblowing. If you feel the same as me, I strongly suggest looking up the lyrics to this song to understand the anger seething from within me when I was writing this. "On The Unlevel" is an attack against oppression, control, racism, division, and lies. Things can’t continue like this, and everyone needs to work together to repair all of the damage, and seriously think about the crucial changes that need to be made in our world if we are ever going to see it the same way it was, or better than it was. This is a true rebellion song of 2020.

5. I’m Weak

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"I’m Weak" is an ode to all those who are born into this world as a person with crippling disabilities, mental health problems, or sub-par lesser functioning beings, that are unable to accomplish anything in life, and the feelings that are often associated with that, which are often followed by self doubt, self loathing, low personal esteem, drug abuse and suicide. "I’m Weak" is a tribute to a close friend who lived with all of the above named issues, and is no longer a part of this plane of existence. They will remain unnamed. This song embodies what the band name Discarded Self is all about.

6. Cultist Of The Pentagram

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The track "Cultist Of The Pentagram" is about those who follow the rebel and master Satan, and their efforts to complete Satan’s work, in destroying God and his followers. This song is a complete assault on the world’s organized religions, and their slaughters and atrocities committed against their fellow men, women and children of earth, in the name of their so-called God. The true liar and evil presence that plagues our realm we exist in.

7. Abused (e)Motionless

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song was another personal and painful song to write. It is about the many forms of abuse from a loved or trusted person. The damage and trauma caused is generally irreversible, unforgettable, and leads to all sorts of problems throughout the person who was abused. It is a deep look into the person’s mind, and how fucked up they can become from it. If you or someone you know is being abused, be brave and get out of that situation. Reach out, someone will be there to help.

8. Dance Upon The Dead

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

I’ve been watching a lot of serial killer movies for I don’t know, the last 25 years. (laughs) I used those types of films for the inspiration of this song. This song was written from the perspective of a husband or father of a victim of a serial killer. It is clearly a revenge song, and describes the hate and rage that would be felt by the families of the victims. It’s a disgusting dive into that reality, and ends in a way that quenches the thirst of pure revenge.

9. Upside Down (Fistula cover)

Upside Down (Fistula cover) by Discorded Self

I wanted to pay tribute to a band I love and admire, so I recorded a cover of Fistula’s song "Upside Down." Almost every single time I’m hanging with friends I always make them listen to Fistula. Almost everyone I know now knows about them, so that’s really awesome. That also must mean I drink a lot! (laughs) The original song "Upside Down" is a real simple one, so I wanted to really spice it up and added a few things, yet kept it the same, and my drummer Jadan, who is also a big Fistula fan, does a two and half minute drum solo at the end of the track. If you are reading this, and you haven’t heard of Fistula. Do yourself a favour and just turn my Discarded Self album off and check them out. You are going to get simply destroyed!

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