#and i used to Force myself to try and use those solid brushes because artists i liked used them

[cherokeegal1975]

The Grey, WIP: 7/7/23

Well, I wish I had realized yesterday that by painting the base coats of the wings and then just fading out the references over the top of them, I could have saved myself some time and trouble. Now all I have to do is erase around the white wing and it'll be mostly done...save for some highlights I might want to put in.

This was a single image, then a doubled one because my graphics program has a tendency to merge all layers prematurely once in a while. A glitch that I'm not at happy about. I was just able to remove the bulk of the reference picture today. Look so much better without it there.

I was going to do a half gold and half silver halo, but with all that black and white, there's need for more splashes of color. So, the halo will be solid gold and have red jewels set into it. The flames will also add some color as well as the lady's skin. A nice brown. Her hair will be black.

References for the bits I need to see are still there, just invisible at the moment. Except for the frame design. I'm doing my best to eliminate anything I copied from online as fast as possible. Except for the wings of course. I need those.

I will lighten the hue of the cloak; I usually start dark and work lighter then darker again in spots as I go along. I even have brushes that will do fabric textures. I think I might try that. In spite of the need for more color, I still insist that the cloak be grey. Maybe I can add some patterning or something. I'll think about it.

Anyway, I never meant this drawing to look like a playing card. In fact, the main elements of the drawing just showed up randomly in my head when I wasn't really thinking of anything particular. But I liked what I saw, so I'm drawing it.

Yes, I know I'm cheating a lot. This is because sometimes I have trouble translating what's in my mind onto canvas. I can draw the human figure but haven't had a lot of practice at it. Nor do I have a lot of practice drawing clothing. It was just easier to find what I needed online to help me out this time. I don't know who all the artists are who put out all these free resources for me to use. Though angelic figures are common, I can say with confidence that this idea is uniquely mine. Just for the fun of it I did a general search image for a moment and found lots of angels, but nothing exactly like mine. So, there's that.

I can and to draw freehand. I'd do it more often than I have been lately if I had more time. My time off is sporadic at best/worst. Given the choice, I'd spend more time doing everything in my head. Taking a few hours a day just to draw. I can do a solid three hour session of drawing before my brain gets tired and I have to take a break. I rarely get that time lately.

Ugh. This is devolving into a bitch session. I won't do that here. Anyway, when this is completed, people who are into games like Dungeons and Dragons or similar games may use this character as part of your game. Just ask me first because I want to know about it. Give me credit for the design. No, you may not sell it. I need the profits far worse than you do.

I came to think of The Grey as a kind of judge for contests and legal issues...and maybe other things. She knows there's more than one facet to every story, there isn't just pure evil and pure good. There's always those shades of grey. And she's an excellent and fair judge. A living personification of justice and a powerful force for the good side. My mind had to work on this for a while as I drew her "card." Because originally, she had no story, no meaning. I'm still inviting people to have an open interpretation of her character however.

I can also see this as a big poster over someone's bed simply because it looks cool. It would be a nice decoration, especially if it turns out as nice as I want it to.

I'd appreciate it if no one used my idea until it was completed. I might make some changes along the way that I won't know about until I get there. Not that I think anyone will really. Every offer of free resources I put out gets ignored. I don't know why.

I will also post this on Redbubble when it's done and send a link. I can't seem to completely let my optimism go even though I'm aware that no one wants to buy my artwork. I don't know why.

[orokay]

it’s so interesting and neat to me seeing people send asks to me and other artists that reflect the sort of questions that i remember asking pretty much any artist i looked up to when i was first starting out as well. like, there are things that i thought that if I did the same as those artists that my art would be better that i realize now don’t really make a difference. we’re really all on different stages of the same journey and it’s so cool to recognize the things that you’ve done before and see where people are on their journey 

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 4 (Feysand)

I have the strongest urge to reread ACOWAR just to read the part where Cass and Azriel like “slam into the ice” or something when Feyre’s running from the Autumn Court. That scene is so good for absolutely no reason I love it. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

_________________________________________________________

~Rhysand~

As usual, thoughts of Feyre invade my head the entire week. 

I can’t believe I told her about Mor. 

My cousin’s treatment is my biggest secret, and I haven’t even let it slip to my closest friends. They all think I’m too busy with teaching to see them. And Mor... I told her I’m paying for her care by finance work online. 

And yet I told Feyre. 

The one person on the planet I probably shouldn’t have told. 

Except I don’t regret a moment of what happened last week. 

Even the goodbye kiss. Oh, yeah, that’s played a prominent part in the memories that flood through my head in the seven days between our appointments. 

I couldn’t resist it. She was standing there looking painfully beautiful, and thoughts of what she’d done an hour before were practically suffocating me. So I kissed her. 

Which was stupid as hell, because goodbye kisses are something couples do. Couples who have feelings for each other. 

And we don’t. 

We have a connection--that’s undeniable at this point--but we definitely don’t have feelings for each other. 

I ignore how that statement feels and get off the elevator, then use the key Feyre left at the desk for me and swing the door open to our standard Friday-night room.

As soon as I see her, I feel my face stretch into a wide, genuine smile I hardly use anymore. I’d feel ridiculous if she weren’t smiling back at me. 

“Feyre,” I greet, brain only able to produce one word. Usually I’d say something else, perhaps ask how her week was, but I can’t hold onto any solid thoughts as I drag my eyes appreciatively over her frame. 

Her typical jeans and tank-top have been replaced with a black work dress, and while it’s not provocative in the slightest, she manages to make it look like the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. 

“You have your horny eyes on, Rhysand,” she teases, taking a step towards me. 

Probably because I’m horny. 

I manage to keep that bit of truth in and scoff instead. “How do you know these aren’t my artist eyes?”

Her lips twitch as she takes another step towards me. ���Because I’m about a thousand percent sure you have no idea what the difference between surrealism and cubism is.”

I find myself walking towards her, too as I reply, “I could probably come up with a pretty good lie if you gave me enough time.”

She shrugs, and I notice we’re face to face now. Our little banter’s immediately forgotten as we look each other over, and my ego goes almost through the roof as her eyes go horny, too. 

I don’t know why, but I’ve never been so attracted to someone in my entire life. I’ve been around more than enough women, and it’s never been like this. I’ve never felt so... out of control. 

All I want to do is throw her down on that bed and kiss every inch of her skin until she begs me for more. 

Feyre’s apparently having similar dirty thoughts, because she tilts her head back and makes a request. And for the first time, she doesn’t even blush. 

“Kiss me, please.”

Always so polite. 

Grinning, I brush her hair behind her ear and cup her jaw. Then I lean down and press my mouth to hers in the softest, barest kiss possible. 

Pulling back, I meet her clear blue eyes and smirk at how annoyed she looks. I know what she wants, but I don’t want her to ask. I want her to kiss me like she wants to be kissed. 

And after calling me a “total asshole,” she does. Her hands pull my face back down to hers, and then her mouth is claiming mine in a slow, heated embrace. 

I really could kiss her all night. 

Especially when she’s like this, kissing me like it’s the last time she’ll ever get to do it. 

My hands pull her hips to me, then sneak around to her backside. She’s on her tiptoes, giving me plenty of access, but it somehow isn’t enough, so I lift her clear off her feet. 

Feyre gasps into my mouth, even as she wraps her legs around my waist. And it feels like fucking heaven. 

I remind myself once again that she's paying me to be here. I don’t deserve her. I shouldn’t enjoy it like this. Shouldn’t think about her all the time. Shouldn’t crave the taste of her skin. But, gods above I do.

And for once, I’m going to just let go and stop caring. 

So I walk us over to the bed, then flop down on my back with her on top of me, keeping in mind her panic at confinement. 

Then she surprises me by rolling over, gripping my shoulders so I come with her. I find myself between her thighs, braced on my elbows, looking down at her in confusion. 

Before I can speak a word, she beats me to it. “I trust you.”

She whispers the words, but I hear them loud and clear. And I don’t know why, but it makes my chest tighten to the point it hurts. 

Maybe because I know how big of a deal trust is to her. Maybe because in my mind, it makes me different from everyone else. Maybe because... I trust her, too. 

We’re kissing again, and even I have no idea who’s kissing who at this point. It feels like we’re both desperate for each other, like we can’t get enough. 

Her hands are all over me, and when they slide under my shirt, I lean up to tug it off. I don’t know if she just gave up trying to be polite or doesn’t care anymore or knows I’d say yes to anything she wants, but I’m not complaining.

A hand on my chest pushes me up a few inches, and then she’s reaching behind her back to unzip her dress. 

Because I’m a gentleman, I help her out of it, and then my hands are on her skin, callouses scraping across her abdomen, up her legs, down her arms.

I move to kiss her neck, smiling when she moans softly. Her hands slide down my abdomen, then the buckle of my pants flicks open. 

Pulling back, I look down at her and scan her face for any sign of hesitation, not wanting to do anything she doesn’t want.

But there’s none. 

And Feyre confirms it a second later when she smiles, cups my face, and says, “Please.”

She should never, ever say that word again, since she obviously doesn’t know what it does to me.

“Feyre,” I warn, knowing that once I start down this path, I won’t be able to stop.

She just nods and pulls me back down to her. “I’m ready. But only... only if you want to.”

Because even though she’s paying me more than most people make in a month for being here, she’d never force me. 

“Silly woman,” I tell her, and she smiles at the words. 

Her legs fall open further as I kick off my pants and briefs, but even as I sink back down on top of her, I don’t make a move to take things further. 

I don’t just want her to be ready; I want her to be desperate. 

So I keep kissing her. 

And then I run a hand down her stomach and slip it between her legs. She makes a helpless, indignant sound, but I don’t stop. 

Leaning down further, I tug on her earlobe with my teeth as I push a finger inside her, and she mumbles my name. I think I could listen to her say those four letters on fucking repeat. 

My mouth makes its way down to her chest, and I start teasing her there, too. Gods, the way her skin tastes is like a drug to me.

“Rhysand,” she warns, her back arching off the bed. 

I switch to her other breast, and her hands tug my hair in a way that makes my resolve start to crumble. 

“I know you told me to never tell you what to do, but I’m going to anyway,” I tell her with a smile, moving to press a kiss to her cheek. “Come for me.”

Surprisingly, she listens to the demand, arching into me and squeezing my shoulders hard enough her nails dig in. 

It’s only when she’s coming down from the high that I reach between us and bring us together. 

Feyre moans, and I let out a curse that would make a sailor blush, unable to help it. 

Because I was right: having her on my hand is absolutely nothing compared to having her beneath me. 

Even though my body begs me to move, I stay still until her eyes open and peer up at me. “Rhys.”

It’s just one word, but I understand exactly what she’s saying. “I know.”

I start to move, hips going slow enough to make us both crave more. Her legs are tight around my waist, and I grip her hip with one hand, bracing myself with the other. 

We’re kissing again, her hands in my hair keeping me where she wants. When her hips start to churn against mine, I pick up speed, and she groans into my mouth. 

Her name falls off my lips and she smiles against me, seeming to like it as much as I do. Her fingers run through my hair, and she moves to kiss down my throat, across my collarbone. 

It’s too much, just like I knew it’d be. She’s moving against me in an effortlessly sexy way, and I’m close to begging her to stop because it’s driving me fucking crazy. 

She definitely doesn’t feel like a client right now, that’s for sure. 

That thought threatens to ruin my happiness, so I shove it away and move a hand between her legs. 

Her head tilts back on the mattress, and I know she’s close because she starts murmuring all sorts of nonsense. 

Smiling, I kiss her again, moving both my hips and my hand a little faster. 

And it’s a good fucking thing she finds release, because I don’t know how much longer I could’ve made it. 

She’s tight around me, and it’s an effort to keep going as both of us groan and clutch at each other. I keep kissing her thoroughly as the aftershocks work their way through my entire body, unable to pull myself away. 

Even when I no longer feel like I’m falling off a cliff, I press kisses to her bottom lip, her cheek, her nose. It’s completely unprofessional and emotional, but I can’t stop myself. 

She looks goddamn edible, all flushed and happy and smiling up at me. 

Eventually I force myself to stop and roll off her, and then we both lay looking at the ceiling as our breathing returns to normal. 

“Thanks,” she giggles, the sound so adorable I chuckle, too. 

“Ditto,” I respond honestly, smiling when she rolls toward me and puts her head on my chest. 

Apparently she’s feeling a little unprofessional, too. 

I’m suddenly too tired to worry about it. 

My eyes drift close as one of my hands finds its way to her hair, pulling the soft strands through my fingers sleepily. Normally I don’t pass out next to clients, but it’s been a long ass week, and she’s so warm, and I’m so comfortable. 

I hear her murmur something, feel her lips press against my cheek softly, but I’m too tired to keep myself awake. 

~

I wake up with a start, sitting up in the bed and looking around the dim room in confusion. 

Feyre isn’t occupying her side of the bed, and a slight panic works its way over me as I run a hand over the cool sheets. Did she have a panic attack? Where is she?

I kick the covers off and run to the bathroom, but she isn’t there either. She’s nowhere to be found, because she’s not here. 

I’d think she went to get room service or something from the bar, except her bag’s gone, too. And suddenly, I realized what happened. 

She left.

It’s confirmed a second later when I see a white envelope sitting on top of my backpack. 

Heart working overtime in my chest, I trudge over and pick it up. It’s heavy, like there’s a lot of paperwork inside. 

Gods, she isn’t suing me or something, is she? 

That happened once, and it fucking sucked. 

Tearing open the envelope and looking at what’s inside, I realize it’s so much worse. 

I throw the thick stack of papers on the bed, focusing instead on the handwritten note in my hands. 

Rhys, 

I meant to give you this when you showed up tonight, but like you said, I have no self-control. It really is pathetic, but I blame you. 

I know we had another appointment, but I can’t see you again. I’m slightly embarrassed to say you were right to worry about repeats getting attached. I can’t see you as just an escort anymore. 

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve given me my freedom back, and I can’t thank you enough. All I can try to do is return the favor. 

-Feyre

What does she mean, she can’t see me as just an escort anymore? Does she have feelings for me? Why the hell did she leave?

And what does that mean, return the favor?

Remembering the papers in the envelope, I pick them up and scan over pages and pages of legal documents. It’s only when I get to the very last one and read the handwritten words do I understand. 

You’re free. 

Holy fuck. 

She paid for it. 

She paid for Mor’s treatment. All of it. Every last penny. 

That’s... she can’t have done that. It would’ve taken me at least two more years to finish paying off the debt. 

Holy fuck. 

She... I’m free. 

The words should be celebrated, written on a cake. They should be shouted off the rooftops at two in the morning with a big smile and a glass of champagne. 

But where the joy and excitement should lie is just a pit of sadness and confusion. 

Why’d she leave? She should’ve just told me this in person. Especially if she has feelings for me. 

Hell, she should’ve known that I... I don’t see her as just a client, either. I don’t know when exactly--maybe ever since that first night--but I haven’t for a while. 

She’s gone, and there’s no way to get her back. She’s given me this incredible gift and disappeared before I can even thank her. 

But despite all the confusion and frustration and helplessness is one undeniable emotion: resolve.

I want her. I want her to be mine without either of us owing each other a thing. I want her to know I care about her, too.  

I want her back, and I’m going to go get her.  

________________________________________________________

Part 5

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @highqueenofelfhame @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @that-other-pineapple @booksofthemoon @stardelia @awesomelena555 @queen-of-glass @whilma-warfstache @highqueenofelfhame @spyofthenightcourt @samcortlandisaginger @city-of-infernal-dauntless @verypaleninja @nikki1288-blog

[feeshies]

hi! big fan of you work! do you have any tips for beginner artists on tumblr??

oh hey!  that’s super nice of you to say :D i’ll try to help in whatever way i can, but i’m self taught and my style still isn’t quite there yet.  here are some scattered tips that helped me.

(also note that almost all of these center around digital art.  i forever lost my ability to do traditional and i’m okay with that).

1. i made this tutorial about using silhouettes to help create more dynamic/readable poses or character designs.  the idea of silhouettes in general has helped me immensely.  i’m not always the best at coming up with poses and in the past that lead me to rely too much on photo references (nothing wrong with using refs, but i would spend more time searching for the perfect pose instead of actually drawing), but having a dynamic silhouette is a helpful first step.  often times i’ll draw the outline of the figures first (this is especially helpful with comics if you want to make sure the full figure fits into a panel).

2. speaking of references, use multiple references.  unless you’re doing a study, i find that i don’t like being locked into one reference.  find multiple references for the pose, the lighting, the color scheme, the art style, even specific details like objects in the drawing.  is the character holding a sword at one angle?  collect references of as many different swords from as many angles as possible.  this can help you gain a more solid grasp of the subject and makes it easier to reproduce in later pieces.  if you don’t have it already, i highly recommend the program pureref for saving your references.  it saved my life.  i practically have a separate board for every drawing i make.

3. if things feel stagnant, change something.  often times when i find myself in a rut, the easiest way to pull myself out is to change my brush.  even just changing the density of my normal brush forces me to look at my art in a new way.  try different programs.  download a fancy new brushpack and never touch it again.  slap a free texture on your piece.  mix it up.

4. treat your program as an extension of yourself.  make the program work for you.  i use paint tool sai 2 and i have it set up so my canvas rotates with the wasd keys, since my hand is already used to that motion.  if i need to flip the canvas, rotate it, change the saturation, i don’t have to think about it.  it makes the process so much faster when i don’t have to take a moment to think “uh...what key do i use to pull up the eyedropper?”.  this is honestly why i prefer sai to other programs like ps or csp.  it’s so much more streamline so i can just focus on the process of drawing.  the extra features in these other programs are helpful, but i personally find them to be distracting (also i’m just used to sai).

5. okay, i really hope this makes sense bc i don’t really know how to articulate it, but it’s helpful to try to nail down the “rhythm” in a drawing, such as breaking it down into its most basic shapes.  for an example, here’s a sketch of charles offdensen from metalocalypse because i have a very one track mind.

this is what the portrait would start out like.  as you can see, it’s somehow both very messy and not very detailed because i am the worst(tm).  this is just a starting place to make sure i have all of the features in the (relative) right place.  this could be any character, but from here that’s when i start adding the features that make the character more distinct/recognizable.  this doesn’t only include the character’s clothes or hair, but their unique shapes.  if you look at charles’ character design in the show, you’ll see that he’s a bunch of squares and right angles in a suit, so i tried to replicate that.

(this is really sloppy but i’m doing this fast lol) those straight lines by his head aren’t part of the final sketch, aka if i were inking this or cleaning it up, i wouldn’t replicate them.  but i’ll add them to help me visualize the drawing’s rhythm.  also, as you can see, my sketching style is very messy and having a simple line as a guide can help me avoid chicken scratch and leads to an overall clearer drawing later on and it makes your lines appear much more confident.

6. it helps to break scenes up, not by “characters vs backgrounds”, but by “foreground vs midground(?) vs background”.  it will help your subjects feel more integrated into the setting.

okay this is getting long, so here’s a lightning round of quick random tips that helped me.

darken the corners of the mouth.

try to get away from the “ball and wire” method of drawing figures and instead try to visualize the torso as a bean (not that the ball and wire method never works, i just personally don’t care for it because it’s hard and i’m weak lol)

if you merge two of the fingers when drawing hands, you can trick people into thinking that you know how hands work

try to avoid drawing on a blank white background.  your eyes will thank you.

if your drawing is easy to read, you don’t have to include every detail (in fact, often times including every detail will make a drawing appear cluttered and unbalanced)

when drawing figures interacting, try to visualize them as a single entity instead of two separate figures.

draw a blob.  fill that blob with parallel lines.  idk if this is helpful, but it got me through boring anthro classes and it’s fun.

there’s no shame in overusing the pen stabilizer.  at least, that’s what i keep telling myself.

after writing this whole thing, i reread your question and realized that you might have been asking about posting art to tumblr specifically and i feel really dumb lol.  i still hope this is helpful.  if you need advice about building a presence online, i’m afraid i know even less about that.  i barely even add my own name to my art lol.

[honeymoonjin]

|| a fic for the bangtan smut central network’s in the mood project ||

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 3k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, idol au

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 your boyfriend is about to give an important speech at the United Nations but isn’t handling pre-speech nerves too well. luckily, you know some ways to help him relax.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 blowjob, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (they’re in a locked room in a public place), orgasm denial, praise, teasing, creampie

many thanks to miss nell @jamaisjoons​ for making the banner. happy birthday my yin < 3 all the love just for you xxxx

----

“You need to relax, Namjoon,” you instruct softly, but of course he doesn’t hear you.

“...the decision to join BTS, there were many huddles. Hurdles. There were many hurdles. Some may not- shit,” he curses, switching back into his native Korean, “is this what a heart attack feels like? I shouldn’t be here, they’re all-”

“Namjoon,” you interrupt insistently, bringing his anxious pacing to a halt. “Sit down.” You wait for him to reluctantly pull a chair beside you, still fidgeting with his cuffs and shuffling his feet on the carpet. “It’s going to be okay, alright? You’ve delivered this speech to me, to the others, countless times. You know it. You just need to take some deep breaths and calm down for me.”

“How am I meant to calm down?” he asks, hand hovering at his temple as he resists the urge to run his fingers through his perfectly styled hair.

Although the question is rhetoric, you can’t help but flick him a coy smile, sliding your hand over to rest on his thigh, massaging the taut muscle softly. “I can think of a few ways…”

He shakes his head, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. “I need to be rehearsing, baby.”

“Then rehearse.”

His eyebrows lift in confusion as you push your chair out, standing up to double-check the door to the spare meeting room is locked. “What do you mean? What are you doing?”

“Rehearse,” you repeat calmly, “I’ll take care of the rest.” You smirk as you spin his chair around to face outwards and drop to your knees in front of him, running your palms up and down his inner thighs to spread them. You can see the waver of indecision in his eyes, the temptation that he wants to give in to. “Just think, baby,” you persuade in a velvet coo, “if you can give your speech while your cock is down my throat, you can give it anywhere.”

“Fuck,” he curses gutturally when your fingers run lightly over his already-tented crotch, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Fuck, okay. Door’s locked?”

“Just us,” you reply smoothly, tugging at his belt. “Now, I don’t hear any rehearsing,” you tease, flicking your gaze up to meet his.

His eyebrow lifts at your tone, but the tension eases when he feels your hand, slightly chilled from the air-conditioned room, bypass his pants and underwear and bring him out of his pants, heavy in your palm. “Ah, feels so good, baby. Okay, where does it start? I was… no, I’d like to begin by talking about myself. I was born in Ilsan…”

You grin internally as his deep russet voice fills the room, more gravelly than usual with arousal. All you’ve done is grip him, licking a single wet stripe up the underside of his cock for some lubricant, and already you can see the way his knuckles turn white as he latches on tightly to the arms of the desk chair. The lines of the speech are almost so familiar that you tune them out, focusing on your mission to relax him.

Before dating Namjoon, you never got any enjoyment from going down on guys. You saw it as an act of service that would be rewarded by oral for you, like a transaction, but never was it anything you actually wanted to do. Your current boyfriend, however, is different. There’s something addicting about watching and feeling him come apart under your ministrations, and while he always takes control in the bedroom, you’ve come to love the specific power you have when your lips are wrapped around him.

You do that now, taking his swollen head in your mouth, tongue always active as it seeks out those familiar ridges that draw the most beautiful sounds from him. You tune back in as you do so, eager to see if he can manage to keep focussed.

“...shut out my own vo- voice, and started to listen… listen to the voices of others. No one called out my name…” Namjoon’s thighs are clenched so tightly they’re rock solid, and his words sound distant because of his head being tipped towards the ceiling, veins in his neck visible with the force at which he clenches his jaw. But still, he keeps delivering his speech, line after line. You’re somehow both proud and disappointed.

With renewed vigor, you sit up higher on your knees so that you’re at a better angle to take him deep inside you, forcing your throat to stay relaxed as his cockhead poked at the back of your palate, almost triggering your gag reflex. You pull back up off him with a wet pop and then slide back down again, this time keeping your eyes firmly on him.

One of your hands comes up to fondle at his balls, massaging the skin just behind, and his head shoots down, a palm heavy on the back of your head as he pushes you down again, grinding his hips unconsciously.

“Fuck, baby,” he praises with a lust-filled, lazy grin, and you feel your heart swell. But of course, his job was to keep rehearsing, and you remind him with a warning hum and a wiggle of your eyebrows, and his jaw shifts, cheek popping. “I know, I know,” he makes out through gritted teeth. “Fuck, where was I? ARMY. Because of the love and support that our ARMY fans all over the world make for- god, fuck right there!”

You would grin triumphantly if your jaw wasn’t spread so wide around his thick girth, but swallowing around his cock had the desired effect, as his fingers dig in slightly on your scalp and his hips stutter. You feel him begin to harden even more, and you know he must be close. You slow down, pulling up off him and giving your jaw a chance to relax, instead pressing soft kisses to his tip, flicking your tongue teasingly over his slit.

“Dammit, I was so close, why did you stop? You’re meant to be relaxing me,” he complains, head tipping to the side as if he’s too tired to hold it upright. You can see the beads of sweat at his temples and the glistening sheen at the hollow of his neck, and you know the makeup artists would be cursing you to the ground right now if they could. But you don’t care much about that.

You smirk, reaching your other hand up to rub your palm flat over his tip as the other holds him steady. You know right on the tip is one of the most sensitive places for him, and he jolts violently, curling forward with a surprised moan, choked in his throat. You quirk an eyebrow, pleased at the way he’s falling apart so beautifully for you. “And you’re meant to be rehearsing.”

You can read the confliction in his face clear as day. The urge to chase his orgasm coupled with the knowledge that he should, in fact, be practicing his speech right now. “You better not stop,” he warns darkly, before shifting in his seat, eyes dancing blindly around the room as he fights to recall his next lines.

“I have come to love myself for who I am, for who I was, and for who I hope to become.” He valiantly fights through his speech, at some points his voice barely more than a choked-out gasp, but he manages. You return to sucking him off enthusiastically, but the whole time, you’re grinning internally, barely holding back a laugh of dark glee.

He reaches the edge quickly, so wired up and ready for release, and with how well you know his body, know his every reaction, you let his voice wash over you and continue until he’s gripping your hair tight enough to pull out some strands, and his back is arching with the suppressed urge to move his hips.

“We have learned to love ourselves, fuck, I’m so close, we- you- fuck, that’s it. So now I urge you to spe-eak yourself. I’d like to- fuck!” He lets out a desperate wail, hand pushing on your head to try and bring your mouth back on him again, but you knock it off, sitting back on your heels and delicately wiping the spit from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, why the fuck did you stop, I said not to stop,” he babbles mindlessly, hand giving up on trying to pull you closer and instead reaching down to grip himself, jerking furiously, but the edge is already gone, and he pants, fingers slipping lower to palm his balls in frustration. “Why the fuck did you do that?” he huffs out, equal parts angry and exhausted.

You adjust your clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles in your shirt and standing up to brush off any dust from your pants. His dark gaze follows you, and you shrug with a cheeky grin. “You messed up.”

“What?”

“You missed a part. A pretty big chunk, actually. ‘Today, I am who I am with all my faults and my mistakes.’ That whole part before the final paragraph.”

He fights to catch his breath, all pleasure and humor removed from his face. “That was way back in the speech,” he notes, “so why did you wait so long to stop, hm?”

You pout, shrugging. “I only just realised.” Your eyes lift to the clock on the wall, tuning back in to it’s regular ticking. “Fifteen minutes ‘til showtime, Joon, the boys are probably wondering where you are. Might want to deal with that before you go.” You gesture at his angry red cock, dripping with saliva, with a tip of your chin.

His eyes cloud over and his jaw tightens, the usual power figure you had grown used to in the bedroom. His arm reaches out and his fingers close around your wrist, tugging you closer, making you stumble into the table beside his chair. “It’s you I’ll be dealing with,” he promises darkly, standing up and pressing a hand between your shoulder blades, folding you over the edge of the table. You automatically prop yourself up with your hands, but he keeps pushing, forcing you to flatten fully against the cold glass surface, arms lying uselessly at your sides.

Your eyes fall shut and you let out a sigh as he flips up your skirt, exposing your soaked underwear to the cool air. Rather than taking them off, he slips his fingers under the fabric at the back and bunches it in the centre, tugging roughly so that it drags against your clit and lifts your hips up, cheeks fully exposed.

He wastes no time in bringing his free hand down harshly on your skin, the smack resounding in the near-empty meeting room. You whimper, shifting on your toes beneath him. “Now,” he growls, “I don’t have time to be disciplining you now like you deserve, so you won’t get as many spanks now. But you know what that means, right?”

You sniff. “They’ll be harder?”

“Correct. I want you to count them for me, and apologise for being such a little tease after each one.” He smacks you on the other cheek with such force that you can hear the air whistle before you feel the blow, and you jerk against the table, fingers curling against the smooth glass, wishing you had something to grab onto.

“Two, I’m sorry for being such a little tease, Namjoonie.”

He alternates cheeks, each hit leaving your skin feeling on fire, but every time your body naturally jolts in response, the ruined fabric of your panties rubs against your clit, and you feel yourself growing even wetter, dripping past the underwear, soaking the tops of your thighs. He only spanks you ten times, far less than what he would normally give when you’d misbehaved, but you really feel every one, and by the time he’s massaging the sting from your flesh, you’re shivering beneath him, legs barely strong enough to hold your hips up.

“Good girl,” he praises softly, “we can finish your punishment later tonight, can’t we?” You whine, curling your toes at the thought, and he laughs softly. “But I don’t have time, so I’m going to use that pretty little hole of yours now. Are you ready for me?”

You fight a soft smile. No matter how much lust clouded his vision, Namjoon always worried about you, always took care of you. You nod silently, turning your head so that your warm cheek cools on the glass, your arms lifting to hide either side of your face. He had just smacked your ass enough that you wouldn’t be able to sit for the rest of the day and here you were getting all soft over him.

“Baby’s gone all shy on me, hm?” You gasp onto the tabletop as he nudges your legs further apart with his foot, slipping your panties down so that they catch at your lower thighs, leaving you exposed to him. “What happened to the little minx that wouldn’t let me cum because I fucked up my speech?” You murmur something, muffled by your upper arms. “What was that?”

“Just fuck me, Namjoonie,” you beg with a pout, “‘need you.”

Though you can’t see it, you can sense the triumphant grin on his face. “I know you do, baby. This pretty little pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, though you give it with a content moan, and simply lines himself up, pushing into you slowly but unyielding, not stopping until he rests his hips flush against you. He curses lowly, muttering mindless praise as he pulls out just as slowly, before plunging back in.

Your mouth falls open with the satisfaction of being filled, and you can’t find it in yourself to care about the drool that marks the table. He picks up speed after you wiggle impatiently, and every snap of his hips sends your body jerking forward, caught by the edge of the glass table digging into your upper thighs.

You must be making too much noise, because your boyfriend reaches forward, leaning over your back, to wrap a strong hand around your jaw, thumb pressing between your lips. You open your mouth and obediently suck on him, moaning still as the new angle makes him hit places in you that have you feeling electricity in your fingers and toes, mindless with pleasure.

You both freeze when there’s a knock at the door. “Five minutes, hyung,” you hear a muffled voice call, “are you ready to come out now?”

“Just a minute,” Namjoon replies in a surprisingly steady voice, “I just need to go to the bathroom and I’ll be out. Nervous pee,” he explains.

“Alrighty,” one of his members replies back, the smooth tone of the voice making you think it must be Taehyung, “we’re just gonna be waiting outside the door to the main room. Don’t leave it too late, the other speech is already wrapping up. Seokjin-hyung is starting to freak.”

“Just a minute,” Namjoon repeats insistently, sighing in relief when he hears the receding footsteps.

You crane your neck back, dropping his thumb from your mouth. “I don’t care how nervous you are, you better not fucking pee in me.”

He lets out a tired laugh. “Sorry, I figured it would be better to lie than to say I was balls deep in my girlfriend. Now; where were we?” Without waiting for an answer, he sits up and grips your hips, thrusting into you with a renewed vigor that has you biting down hard on your lip to prevent the moans from spilling out.

You’ve never experienced him fucking you with such frenzied passion, and you can’t deny the speed at which it brings you to your edge. With every snap of his hips, his cock strikes a deepness inside you that’s almost too much pleasure to take, and shakily you reach back an arm; whether it’s to slow him or to simply anchor yourself, you don’t even know.

You feel his fingers slip between yours, holding your hand tightly as his other rests on your hip as leverage to drive harder and harder. “Good fucking girl,” he pants out, “you gonna let me cum in you?”

You nod, head lolling weakly on the table. “I wanna cum too, Namjoonie,” you whine, slipping your free hand lower, pressing it between your body and the table so you can rub at your clit, sending warmth through your body with the added stimulation.

“Cum for me now, baby,” he directs, and curses thickly as he spills inside you, continuing to thrust even as you feel his seed gathering around your entrance, dripping out onto the table edge and very possibly the carpet.

You speed your fingers up, not wanting him to come down from his high before you get there yourself, and it’s the sound of an impatient knock at the door that sends you over the edge, Namjoon halting to call out, though you can’t even hear it as your eyes roll back into your head and your body shudders, wracked with silent waves of pleasure. You pout in disappointment as he pulls out, no doubt needing to hurry to get back out to the rest of his band members, and pulls your panties back up, patting it over the soaked and ruined crotch before pressing your legs together.

He leans down over you as you tremble with aftershocks, his breath hot on your ear. “Keep it in for me, baby,” he requests. “I’ll celebrate a speech well done later by fucking it back out of you.”

You groan, waiting for the energy to return to your limbs so that you can stand back up and tidy yourself up. Namjoon mumbles an apology that he has to leave, checks his appearance in the mirror one last time, and heads out. You smile sleepily onto the heated glass of the table. That’s certainly one way to get rid of nerves.

[mabelleflanerie]

The Birth of Fauvism

A Study of Matisse’s The Young Sailor II

As I walked through the Metropolitan’s exhibition gallery of Greek and Roman art, through the great hallway showcasing pieces from Africa, Oceania, and the Americas, and into the Modern and Contemporary Art galleries, I realized that within the span of three short minutes I had experienced the fastest chronological and geographical exploration of art history. Hidden towards the far back of the museum is a group of rooms showcasing a collection named “Reimagining Modernism”. It houses the paintings of everyone from Picasso to Grünewald. The smallest of the rooms, 904, is quite unlike the rest. It doesn't have a bright vibrant wall on which the paintings have been mounted. While the other rooms have walls painted in a rich burgundy or deep royal blue, 904 is a pale grey room. Upon further inspection of its contents, I began to understand the reason for the choice of wall colour: Filled with extremely vibrant artwork by Matisse, Vlaminck, Picasso, and Derain (to name a few), it would have been an eyesore to make the walls equally as colourful. It would have even taken away from the paintings themselves. The largest, most multi-coloured, and therefore loudest of all the pieces is Matisse’s 1906 painting The Young Sailor II. At first glance, I responded in shock and to be honest, slight fear. Why would Matisse choose a bright pink background for his model who is already dressed in a jarring blue and green get-up? Well, upon further research I have discovered that these colour choices are what made Matisse stand out from his fellow modern artists. 

The Young Sailor II is a fauvist portrait of a young fisherman named Germain Augustin Barthélémy Montargè from a small Catalan village called Collioure (Rewald, 89). Germain is seated on a wooden chair and his facial expressions are painted in a very cartoon-like manner (Fig. 1). Although much sharper than Matisse’s first version, there is still a lot of ambiguity that is heavily present. The only sense of differentiation between the body parts or pieces of clothing is through colour choice. The painting itself is a striking palette of green, blue, pink, and orange. The face of the model does have a few details however: The eyebrows are extremely exaggerated and I even sense a playful expression being presented. Sabine Rewald, curator of Modern Art at the Metropolitan Museum states that Germain’s “theatrical looks and his colourful costume, set against the pink, candy-coloured ground, combine to make this work one of Matisse’s most decorative portraits in the Fauve manner” (Rewald, 90). The model is dressed in some sort of a bright blue jacket, green pants with a checkered printed cuff, pink shoes, and a blue-green cap. Being that Matisse has not included any details of the garments, I find myself staring at the cuffs of the pants wondering if he intended them to be boots or checkered socks instead. This sort of confusion seems to be a common reaction to Matisse’s artwork: Julia Brucker, contributor at The Art Story, states that although Matisse’s artwork “was important in endorsing the value of decoration in modern art” the manner in which he paints with his colours is frequently disorienting to viewers (Brucker). This fauvist portrait does exactly that and I suppose it is what forced me to keep staring at it until I was completely hypnotised and enraptured by it. 

Matisse - Young Sailor II

“Fauve” was a word that kept appearing on the information plaques of 904’s paintings so I sought to discover the meaning behind this strange word. Synonymous to “grand félin féroce” or in English “wild cat”, “Fauvism” describes a movement in modern art where the artists  focused on personal expression through eccentric colour use (Wolf). The artists, or “Fauves” as they were known, included Henri Matisse himself, Albert Marquet, and Georges Henri Rouault. They were inspired by the artwork of Van Gogh, Gauguin, Seurat, and Cezanne and they concentrated on the use of vibrant colours: “Matisse emerged as the leader of the group, whose members shared the use of intense colour as a vehicle for describing light and space, and who redefined pure colour and form as means of communicating the artist's emotional state. In these regards, Fauvism proved to be an important precursor to Cubism and Expressionism as well as a touchstone for future modes of abstraction” (Wolf). Justin Wolf, from The Art History Contributors specifies three key ideas important to Fauvism: Firstly, the Fauves saw the significance of colour and the atmosphere it created. Colour was in fact autonomous to the painting itself. Secondly, the Fauves drew attention to the flatness of the canvas in order to create a sense of unification in the artwork. Lastly, the Fauves focused on depicting human expression and inner emotions. Being that Matisse excelled in these three modes of painting, he was considered to be the forerunner and pioneer of Fauvism: “Synthesizing all these ideas, Matisse turned away from using subtle hues of mixed paints and began working with bright colour, directly from the tube, as a means of conveying emotion. He had been working outdoors since the mid-1890s, and his travels to Corsica and the south of France in 1898 increased his interest in capturing the effect of strong natural light” (Wolf). Looking at the painting, I see exactly what Wolf is describing. There is very little shading or colour gradient in the piece. The jacket is a flat blue with a small number of purple stripes and the pants are a solid green just as the background is a solid pink. The brush strokes are visibly large but other than that there is no sense of texture being created. 

However insignificant of a fact this may seem to us, to Matisse, it was very intentional: “Rather than using modelling or shading to lend volume and structure to his pictures, Matisse used contrasting areas of pure, unmodulated colour. These ideas continued to be important to him throughout his career” (Brucker). The reason Matisse did this is because he felt it permitted him to better communicate the model’s emotion and the emotion that is depicted in the painting is one that is quite peculiar. The young man seems to be posing in a “look how fabulous I am” manner with a particularly wily look on his face. What I began to wonder while I was sat on the wooden bench in 904 staring in beguilement at this piece is how much say Matisse had in the posture or expression of the model. According to Brucker, it’s highly possible that Matisse was in fact using the model as a medium in which he could portray his own feelings by “reducing them to ciphers in his monumental designs” (Brucker). This theory seems to be proven by Matisse himself - “Matisse, by way of Cezanne and impressionism, attempted to realize his emotion in front of the object. (Matisse frankly stated in an interview of 1912: ‘I do not literally paint that table, but the emotion that it produces upon me’)” (Bock-Weiss, Matisse, 58). So now, this painting gives us much more than just a depiction of a sailor in Collioure. It gives us insight on Matisse’s life during the summer of 1906. Matisse painted The Young Sailor II while on one of his travels to the Catalan region near the Spanish border. This small village of Collioure was a frequent vacation spot of his and is in fact the birthplace of Fauvism (Brucker). Germain, the model, was one of many fisherman from this small seaside village.

Collioure, France (by journalistontherun.com)

But what exactly made Germain stand out from the eight hundred and ninety-nine other fishermen that lived in this village? According to Rewald, the Montargè family were unlike other Catalans: “Since Germain was six-feet tall and of athletic build – which is unusual for  Catalans – it is not surprising that he might have caught Matisse’s eye during one of the painter’s early morning strolls along the pier in Collioure’s harbour… Another characteristic that made Germain stand out in a crowd was his Slavic features. These are shared by the Montargè family … and are still referred to, by the people in Collioure, as ‘cet air primitif’ (‘that primitive look’)” (Rewald, 89). Prior to this painting, during the summer of 1905, Matisse produced many other works of art portraying Collioure: The Open Window, View of Collioure, and Landscape at Collioure are among Matisse’s most well-known fauvist paintings. He worked alongside Derain and together they developed and refined the fauvist style (Wolf). After four months in Collioure, Derain and Matisse set off for Paris to present their work at the Salon d'Automne. 

Matisse - Vue de Collioure

While Collioure proved to be the birthplace of the fauvist technique, the Salon d’Automne of 1905 is where the movement got its name: Louis Vauxcelles, an art critic who was inspecting the pieces at the exhibition used the phrase “Donatello parmi les fauves” in reaction to what he saw (Wolf). Translating to “Donatello among the wild beasts”, the word “Fauve” endured despite being disparaging. However slighting the reviews were, their portraits were bought by the likes of Leo and Gertrude Stein and Fauvism proved to be important to how colour was seen and used in the domain of modern art: “The Fauves liberated colour from any requirements other than those posed by the painting itself. "When I put a green," Matisse would say, "it is not grass. When I put a blue, it is not the sky." Art exerted its own reality. Colour was a tool of the painter's artistic intention and expression, uncircumscribed by imitation” (“Explore This Work - Henri Matisse, Open Window, Collioure”). What colour did was add meaning and context to the painting in a new and different way. Instead of asking why Matisse painted a sailor boy looking into the distance, we can now contemplate as to why the sailor boy’s ear is  orange while his right hand is pink and what Matisse is trying to communicate by doing this. Before Matisse and Derain, artists were compelled to paint a blue sky, a tan face, and a red flower. Now, the artist was free to paint a red sky, a blue face, and a tan flower. Fauvism, for the first time diminished the authority the object had over how it was painted and it consequently gave way to the more successful abstract movements such as Cubism and Expressionism. 

Along with painters such as his rivals Picasso and Mondrian, Matisse re-invented the way in which art was produced. By the use of simplification and color as the sole subject of painting, Matisse had a considerable influence on art and future abstract artists, proving him to be a major figure during the twentieth century. Be it Cubism, Pointillism, or Fauvism, the art of painting went through some drastic experimentation during the early 20th century and Matisse was surely an important part of it.

Bibliography: 

Bock-Weiss, Catherine, and Henri Matisse. Henri Matisse: Modernist Against the Grain. Pennsylvania State University Press, 2009. p.58 Brucker, Julia. “Henri Matisse Artist Overview and Analysis.” The Art Story - Modern Art Insight, The Art Story Contributors, www.theartstory.org/artist-matisse-henri.htm. “Explore This Work - Henri Matisse, Open Window, Collioure.” National Gallery of Art, www.nga.gov/Collection/highlights/highlight106384.html. Kleiner, Fred S. Gardner's Art through the Ages: The Western Perspective. Vol. 2, Cengage Learning, 2009. P.688 Matisse, Henri. “The Young Sailor II” .Jacques and Natasha Gelman Collection, 1998. Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York Matisse, Henri. “The Young Sailor I” . Private Collection, 1906. Rewald, Sabine. Twentieth-Century Modern Masters: the Jacques and Natasha Gelman Collection: , Metropolitan Museum of Art. Abrams, 1989. p.89-90 Schapiro, Meyer. Nature of Abstract Art . American Marxist Association, 1937. Wolf, Justin. “Fauvism Movement Overview and Analysis” The Art Story - Modern Art Insight, The Art Story Contributors, www.theartstory.org/movement-fauvism.htm.

[vannminner]

I have been using the ThinkUp App every morning for twenty one days now. As it has become a solid part of my routine, I am going to start sharing my affirmations with my friends.

How I do it -

1. I made a flip calendar using a spiral index card holder. On each page, I wrote the date, and added an affirmation- one which felt aligned to my goals.

2. Every morning, I wake up, and I add that day’s affirmation to the ThinkUp App.

3. I create an affirmation photo using WordSwag to use as the cover photo (see above). I select background photos that make me feel at peace, or ones which I feel align with my interests/goals.

4. I record my affirmation- this is important. At first, I felt my voice was off. My tone felt forced, like I was reading a children’s story. Now, I try to be patient with my recordings. Often, I’ll record all of them so that my volume and tone match how I am feeling on a good morning. This make take a few tries, but there’s no time wasted when I am speaking about myself in a positive way.

5. I meditate. This part is SO challenging for me. If I can’t completely zone into it (which happens often), I will write while my affirmations play in the background, or do something mildless, like brush my teeth and wash the dishes. I try to run the app for at least 20 minutes a morning. During those first few days, it can be awkward- as you’ll only have a few affirmations to play on repeate. After a while, when your affirmation library has built up, you’ll have a whole dialogue of positivity for all areas of your life.

Results -

I have been feeling much healthier; much more confident. It was awkward at first, and I felt like a fraud, but now I am beginning to believe the affirmations I have written for myself. I find that I am making better desisions, even if they are challenging. I have found that I have a level of respect for myself that I didn’t before.

If anyone has any interest in getting started with affirmations / meditation, I would love to be your guide. OR, if you just want to FEEL better, and maybe try something a little out of your comfort zone; something that I believe can truly help anyone exactly where they are right now.

As many people know, I struggle with PTSD and depression. Over the last few months I have been less active on Tumblr because my over all mental health was declining. I haven’t been writing as much. I haven’t been hosting fun challenges. I had all of these plans, but no energy to get them going. FanFiction became a chore, and I felt I was forcing myself to produce, instead of just enjoying my time creating.

Now, I have been taking my morning pages more seriously (if anyone is interested in understanding that, I can make a separate post, or shoot me a message). I have been taking weekly artist dates (again, ask and I shall explain), and I have really found a home in my meditation and affirmation practices. I am not back at my 100% level yet, but my solid 70% feels much better than the 30% I was operating at before.

Be kind to yourself.

[katzirrart]

Art Growth Compilation

I really enjoy doing posts about improvement in art.

It makes me feel better about my work, especially with how busy I am these days.

I wanted to compile all the comparisons I’ve made over the years and kinda discuss the posts, for myself or others.

I thought it’d be funny to start with comparing how I first drew on a tablet, using dodge and burn tools, to how I do now which is using layers and actually painting. It’s funny to look back on that, you know?

I linked the post I made, compiling all the month to month memes from 2003-2017 that I try and do yearly. And everything else is under a cut ;w;’‘/

Most artists have done a drawing of themselves and a few Pokemon, or their team. I did that in 2010, and was dissatisfied with my work...

I took a crack again in 2013 after I’d learned to draw more animals and not be so Edgy(tm) I really liked the results. I still didn’t use references though, because I was lazy. I just didn’t want to. I still was on that boat feeling like I was CHEATING. I wasn’t being CREATIVE if I looked at references.

Artists get stuck on using reference and it’s AWFUL. USE THEM. USE TWENTY. LEARN!! It’s so HELPFUL, I wish I had started sooner.

In 2014 though -

I tried again.

I had gotten better at anatomy, but most of all, I started to work off references more. I started to really focus on not stylizing so much, but to work on actually making things look like things. I started to work on caring about COMPARISON sizes. Composition!!

While Pokemon reference sizes are -wiggle hands- and while my team changed up, I was satisfied that I could draw Arbok ACTUALLY like a cobra now, Meowth is easy given it’s just a noseless cat so to speak, Haunter is literally a triangle cloud - I was satisfied having drawn that team.

My secondary team in the new games? I was excited to draw them. It was fresh and new and FUN and it turned out PRECIOUS.

I learned better how to proportion things in an image for layout, and just... making characters feel COHESIVE in the same space.

It was a nice thing to keep visiting. I have a sketch in the works for an update even hopefully.

These pieces are kind of interesting to me too, because they’re towards the end of my era of THIN lineart?

My lineart has gone from this, and THIS,  to this.

Literally I use to not believe in line weight, I can still do thin work of course, but I’m not a fan of trying to FORCE it like I use to? Even the second link, I went from the SMALLEST brush in Sai, to using a marker brush that had barely ANY give, to a custom brush on Sai that acts like a Paint Chat brush I use to use with friends online!

That’s what I mean about style too, like you may reserve yourself about things - like not coloring black in and outlining with white, or certain ways you do things. But the growth and changing and figuring FUN ways to color that black etc is where the fun of art comes in, to me??

Learn. EXPERIMENT. PUSH!

A few months ago, I did my first redraw. Of this piece from 2012.

Six years difference.

This was interesting for a number of reasons. There’s aspects I like more in the old one, but not many. I really like the pose a bit better, but I like the casual closeness that I did in the new one because that’s more my Shepard.

But technically speaking, it’s worlds better because I took time. I paid attention to details. I did fun things instead of rushing. I took time with my coloring and didn’t SMEAR it around. I had a friend who use to complain I drew so fast and they felt so SLOW, but I love what that taught me. I started taking more time on my art, and enjoying it more since I caught more mistakes and vastly improved. By leaps and bounds.

It’s amazing what a difference six years makes in not only style, which is often a FOCUS of these things? My style has come awkwardly and naturally to me over the years of critically picking certain things apart? but I really love where it’s gotten.

I have things I want to get back to, but I love... where it is, and CAN be?

But it’s wild to me how much change happens in technical handling? It’s a hand in hand thing, you can’t focus on one or the other only, or the other suffers.

Honestly this has been my favorite improvement to notice though?

Kisame was a character I felt I should be able to draw EASILY? Not so much. Itachi? ALSO EASY. Not so much??

Kisame has weird eyes to grasp how to draw? Thus focusing on them kept making them wonky to me!! On top of that, he’s everything I’ve been use to drawing for AGES because he has a muscular body, with a smaller waist? ... that was something I was use to drawing? I still was awkward getting back into the swing of that... Drawing HIS HAIR though? NOT SO EASY....

But like, Itachi should have been easy, but I have a thing about him appearing too feminine as he gets drawn because his eyelashes, and I’ve really found a nice... medium at this point?

But even still like my face styles and eye styles are finally to a comfortable point for me? I have stopped focusing on some weird things with Itachi’s hair and just... DO IT? But even still like...

The improvement here is literally just if I don’t know how to do something, or I’m not satisfied with how I do it? I just keep at it.

It’s a theme of this post honestly... repetition, persistence.

Keep drawing it. Keep trying to figure out what it is that’s catching you off about how you do it. Don’t like how you do eyes or how they fit on the face? Look at facial structures and references and figure it out. Draw them separate and figure out how to apply them to what you are.

Remember there’s a skull in there. I draw the holes in the skull like the eye sockets, and the nose area to help my proportions for SURE.

I’ve also gotten to a nice marriage in my lineart? The piece before the recent one, those lines feel HARDER or HEAVIER? The newest piece seems...softer? Like I’m lighter handed again?

I really like critiquing my own growth on what is good or working better for me? Older pieces it looks like I’m putting lineweight for SAKE of it versus where it goes now?

INTERESTING.

Like this lineup -

My style shifts so RAPIDLY, it still is noticeably MY style to people, but parts shift so VIOLENTLY because I’m constantly picking at what I don’t LIKE.

It’s funny too in the case of Kisame and Itachi because consistently I’m drawing the SAME character over and over - can make you REALIZE how you’re doing something wrong?

Like, here’s a difference of eight years, and it’s all the brush I use now, and it REALLY shows how my style has changed - in the aspect of one point of reference?

I have a childhood favorite character too, of Daisuke, and I use to be bad at drawing boys, and I use to be SUPER bad at drawing fluffy hair?

It was something I specifically started to learn to do? And I started to draw Daisuke every few months or years for a while. Especially when I started to first REALIZE I didn’t like my style that much?

But the middle one was July 2009, top left is less than 6 months later, and the last one is about a year later. DRASTIC DIFFERENCE. But next -

This one was in 2012, when I started to do more with teeth, or first dipping my toes into anatomy. I started to focus more on HANDS too, I was super bad at them. Overall I started to focus more on making my art have...ages? Like a boy versus a man. Facial features being DIFFERENT.

I can look at this boring little bust and see that he comes off more of a teenage boy to me now. I need to work more on figuring how to draw asian features especially the eyes. Sometimes I hit the mark, other times I don’t.

but between this and 2012? Not too much has changed. I do hair fluffier now, and I angle the eyes better. The teeth not being outlined doesn’t give that weird effect where I might give him TOO MANY TEETH....

People do that and it’s easy but whoof.

So there’s still learning and adapting to do in QUICK drawings, you know? but I can still see there’s good things. That took me like 5 minutes to draw? Not bad honestly.

In it’s own bracket is original characters though too?? But also divergent of STYLE shifts because like...

OKAY. Nightmare Syndicate’s story.. started for me in 7th or 8th grade, that was when I was...14? 15? I’ve been fleshing it out for like 13 years, that’s wild haha!! I love my kids and all.

But okay so SIALI. She’s still fairly similar but I restructured her face for SURE. She’s gotten less edgy, she’s.... a teenage girl.

FELIX?? CHRIST. He’s been such a long journey!! More on that later?

Rot and even Cor?? Rot and Cor are a shorter span of development, but Rot started in Highschool so almost 10 years ago, and Cor has been fairly solid - but even just DRAWING him over three years? Go look at how much he changes.. I’m not married to concepts easily. haha!

People act like making a character you’re STUCK with it. Like Oh boy, I better make this character good, from the get go!!

I only worry about that with small potatoes like my Pillar(Gods) designs I just made for the comic?? Even still, small things will change with them I’m sure.

But not only has Felix and Siali changed, but they’ve GROWN with my style and DEFINED it even. I’ve had to adjust my style to support Felix’s look honestly a LOT. Bend my rules. Break my anatomy stickler attitude - and honestly, that’s the thing.

You have to learn the rules and anatomy BEFORE you can break them. A style built upon broken anatomy will fail you down the road if you just excuse everything with style.

Learn to draw the hands. Learn to draw the feet. Figure out the face. Bones exist. You can break the FUCK out of it once you learn how to do it, you know? Like I’ve seen so many styles I LOVE who are cartoony and BROKEN AS FUCK, but there’s still some STRUCTURE to it. Most of those people can still structure a face just fine, and the reason exaggeration works so well is because there’s like unwritten rules for what works and doesn’t based on that?

Idk.

Felix has a very elongated torso, he’s like 7′ or 8′ tall so I mean?? He’s... broken anatomy, but he’s... lanky - but his muscle is LITHE and stretched. It makes contextual sense. That’s the important part.

But even designs, it’s important to understand designs YOU make, or like... to understand they’ll CHANGE and that’s growth within your art too?

Like okay, example. Felix has a millipede inspired monster form. But with designing that? I still have to know how millipedes and SNAKES work because there's bones and vertebrae in there??

But there’s also the difference of like... CONCEPT, versus execution. You can design a fucking badass character, but understanding your own concept is SOMETHING.

I had no idea how this would play out, until I was mapping out his ‘midsection’ spikes? and man. MY STYLE WAS MADE FOR THIS CHALLENGE NOW. Which is so interesting how smooth my style has always been? Felix has defined ANGLES in it, and it’s hilarious tbh?

But even too, I’ve had to work with Felix’s monster form FACE, to break the rules to make it WORK the way I need it too?

On the anatomy subject too, like when I first got into Marvel comics 6 years ago or so? I had no idea how to do muscle structures?? I was so BAD at it.

I can look at this left image and CRINGE so badly at how NONE of those are muscles?? THOSE ARE THINGS I PERCEIVE AS MUSCLES. Like...

A course I took taught me to draw what I see, not what I know. That’s the whole point of that post that goes around about drawing a shrimp. Look it up. It’s hilarious and cute.

But it’s like, asking an artist to draw a bike, you can tell who uses reference and who WINGS it. It’s funny, but like it’s what you know versus what you see.

I started to study anatomy like crazy and was seeing improvements days at a time. The right image was done like... a month later? already I can see the muscles under the pectorals? those look normal now. the abs aren’t dough lumps under the skin in a perfect 6 pack, they’re the actual plane shapes.

I was trying to find a good reference for myself of learning to make men ‘thicker’ too in terms of the waist etc since the left is really...thin.... but...

A bit better, but even still, comparing these two - they’re 2 months apart? and I can see understanding more about arms and how they connect to the body, where the planes ACTUALLY lay for the chest and obliques and such?

I can see improvements from July 2012 up there, to - WHOOPS. I FORGOT TO CHANGE THE YEAR LMAO... TO FEBRUARY 2013...omg

I mean, I could go on and on about improvements I see, when I go through my art though? Gosh.

Like I’m seeing so SO many bad hands and feet in my old stuff, and just CRINGING because tricks I learned for myself by now?

I give so many pointers and streams and screenshares on discord still to help people with art and it cracks me up?? Like...

I dunno. I’m pretty mediocre tbh, but god damn.

[shirlleycoyle]

Meet The Genetic Sleuths Solving Decades-Old Trans Murders

On the blustery morning of November 26, 1983, a beachgoer spotted a still-warm body in Half Moon Bay, California. The victim, who looked about 20 years old, had been stabbed more than 20 times and left in the sands near Pillar Point Bluff. Their wrists were slashed, their face bruised and swollen. (Out of respect for the victim’s unknown gender identity, Motherboard is using they/them as a pronoun.)

At their time of death, the person was presenting as a stylish, slender woman. They were 5-foot-10 inches tall, wearing an auburn pixie cut and casual clothes: yellow capri pants and a turtleneck over a foam-form bra, fishnet hose, and two pairs of feminine underwear. A Madonna-style white metal crucifix hung around their neck. 

When taken to a medical examiner, the victim's body was misidentified as male, and nobody ever came to claim it. In an effort to identify the individual, cops dubbed them “John Doe #83-26” and released a crime sketch depicting a man. It failed to convey their gender identity or expression, including that they were likely wearing makeup and going by a woman’s name.

The case of Pillar Point Doe soon went cold and their identity remained a mystery for 35 years—until two genealogy sleuths recently cracked the case. The trans couple, who specialize in cold cases involving trans and gender non-conforming people, found the forgotten victim’s birth name through an online DNA database, reviving the hunt for their killer.

“I would work until I passed out”

Lee and Anthony Redgrave traced Pillar Point Doe’s relatives from Wales to Utah using the family history site GEDmatch, known for its role in finding the notorious Golden State Killer. The search was close to home for the Redgraves, who toiled obsessively for months without pay. 

“I would work until I passed out. I’d cry myself to sleep at night, and have dreams where I was woken up thinking that [the victim] was telling me their name,” said Anthony, who along with Lee, ran a small team for the DNA Doe Project, a non-profit that identifies deceased people through forensic genealogy.

Lee added: “There are a lot of factors—and homicide detectives have absolutely no idea how to do this.”

The Redgraves were inspired by personal tragedy to help solve the case. In January 2018, a transgender friend of theirs, Christa Steele-Knudslien—a beauty pageant organizer and trans activist—was beaten and stabbed to death. The attack, which came after another friend’s suicide, sent Lee spiraling into a depression.

“It really tore my brain up,” said Lee, 41, a non-binary night owl with arms full of tattoos. “I got depressed, and when that happens I usually throw myself into a project.”

Anthony and Lee Redgrave

When a true crime-loving friend recommended they volunteer for the DNA Doe Project, it seemed like a good distraction.“Partially, I’m sure, it was her being like, ‘You have to stop being in a funk,’” Lee said. “We both felt really helpless about Christa—and this was something we actually could help with.”

They had plenty of experience with genetic genealogy, but they knew the limits of DNA and family tree matches for transgender victims. Database searches often lead to “dead names”—birth names victims no longer use, and aren’t known by in their communities. And most law enforcement systems don’t allow searches across sex marker categories, blinding them to some gender non-conforming folks.

A “trans-informed” perspective could shed some light, considering trans people are more likely to be the target of violent, unresolved crime. “Being a trans person, I know I’ve been incredibly fortunate not to have had a bunch of horrible things happen to me,” said Anthony, 38, a soft-spoken Civil War buff with a long ginger beard. “That was a driving force.”

When the Redgraves first heard about the Pillar Point Doe case in July 2018, they knew almost immediately it was ripe for a genetic gumshoeing.

An Unlikely Partnership

The victim, who was carrying no identification, had been found only two hours after they were stabbed in the neck and chest, allowing cops to collect a piece of blood-soaked blotter paper known as a “blood card.” This meant Pillar Point Doe’s DNA didn’t have to be extracted from bone, a longer and more expensive  process. And yet it would likely show a complete picture of the victim’s entire genetic makeup, one that could be extracted in a lab and uploaded to GEDmatch, they said.

But the couple still had to convince the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office to hand over the blood sample—and to team up with them on the investigation.  

The Redgraves had a hunch cops would be willing. Their request came on the heels of the Golden State Killer’s arrest a few counties away, and in a section of northern California that tends to be queer-friendly.

“The thought was it was a good case because it was the Bay Area. We expected  there would be more friendly law enforcement and a LBGTQ liaison in the Bay Area,” said Anthony. “We had to give an elevator pitch to the department, like, ‘This is why we want this specific case, and this is how it will benefit you.’”

The cops, it turned out, were game. The Redgraves signed non-disclosure agreements and— in a rare move—police released Pillar Point Doe’s private case files,  including the blood card along with crime scene and coroner photos. 

The Redgraves agreed to do the genetic sleuthing, then pass off next of kin matches to police, who would talk to relatives, collect DNA samples and handle the investigation from there.

It was an unlikely partnership. Many trans people refuse to work with cops since law enforcement has routinely targeted the community, trans activists and experts said. According to a 2015 survey, at least 57 percent of trans respondents said they would be afraid or uncomfortable going to police for help.

“It comes from being abused or not taken seriously by officers who historically have been disrespectful or dismissive of trans people,” said Rodrigo Heng-Lehtinen, a policy expert for the National Center for Transgender Equality. “There’s a real stigma. Sometimes just being visibly trans in public is enough to get stopped or harassed by police on suspicion of being a sex worker—whether or not you actually are.” 

Cases with trans victims have long been de-prioritized by cops, who assume victims are sex workers, living a “high risk” lifestyle or are “disowned” by their families, Heng-Lehtinen said. 

But a lack of trans awareness is bad for police, too. Detectives who are ignorant about the community are more likely to use a transgender person’s dead name  because it was printed on a government-issued ID, or to seek outdated information from estranged family members who knew them pre-transition, he said. It keeps those investigators from understanding the whole picture. 

“If you’re an officer who’s asking around for Mark Smith and everybody in the neighborhood knows her as Marcia, that’s not helping anybody,” Heng-Lehtinen said.

Lee chalks it up to lack of education and training. “If you look at popular media over the past 20 years, the characters that are dressing opposite of what they’re ‘supposed to be’ are usually trying to trick somebody or get away with something—the end of ‘Ace Ventura’ is a classic example, or ‘The Crying Game,’” Lee said. “You get a lot of that mentality still in law enforcement, just because they haven’t had an alternate education.”

Identifying Doe

The Redgraves quickly got to work on creating a more gender-accurate forensic sketch of Pillar Point Doe. In the 80s and 90s, at least three drawings had been made of them, all wildly different. 

One showed a “partially-Asian goth” guy with boxy slicked-back black hair, Lee said. Another depicted a shaggy-haired Val Kilmer look-alike with almond eyes. All were of men, and none were quite right.

“It seemed like [police artists] were trying to make this person look male,” Lee said. “Considering they had natural hair, not a wig, and were wearing pants with multiple layers of hose and underwear, it’s likely that they were tucking to have a more female appearance,” Lee said, citing details about the victim's outfit.

“They were probably attempting to pass as female as opposed to someone who was [a] drag performer or engaging in prostitution while cross-dressing.”

Based on those clues, the male sketch on fliers would have likely been lost on Pillar Point Doe’s queer “chosen family”—or anyone who saw them the night of the murder, the couple said. So using crime scene and coroner photos, the Redgraves and an artist came up with a new sketch that depicts the victim with a more feminine look, a yellow outfit and natural-style makeup.

In March 2019, Pillar Point’s blood card came back from the lab. It showed Pillar Point Doe’s entire genome sequence on a huge hard drive. 

From their cozy home office in central Massachusetts, the Redgraves and a small team plugged those chunks of genetic code into GEDmatch, which compares DNA from testing sites like 23andMe and ancestry.com to find possible relatives with similar genetic makeups. Unlike law enforcement’s Combined DNA Index System (CODIS), the site can pinpoint distant ancestors, not just immediate family members. 

It works like this: Say you find a painting in a park with no signature and you want to learn the name of the artist. If you could somehow scan the piece’s complex colors and brush strokes into a massive database of art, you might be able to match it to the person who made it. Other paintings by the artist with similar patterns—a distant cousin, in this analogy—may also pop up.

In general, DNA evidence is only as accurate as the people who collect and analyze it. Technicians have been known to misinterpret samples, and police have submitted tainted or mixed genetic material. But Pillar Point’s blood card appeared to be a solid sample, the couple said.  

The search led the Redgraves to a small town in Wales, where Pillar Point Doe’s distant relatives once worked at a glove factory. “We kept finding people who descended from this really specific family, but then finding the right branch turned out to be really hard,” Lee said.

Scores of unwed mothers hailed from the town for unknown reasons, leading to frustrating genealogy dead-ends. “It happened over and over again in this one little town,” Lee said.

The couple built a massive family tree and cross-referenced names with public records. They traced that to a group of relatives to a Utah pioneer community with roots in the Mormon Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “When you work on someone’s genealogy, you get to know them in a really intimate way through their ancestors,” Lee said. “You know you’re getting close when they start looking like who you’re looking for.”

The couple soon discovered Pillar Point’s cousins belonged to an intermarried clan of families. Some men had multiple wives and children, amounting to a genealogy headache. “It’s a problem that’s common in isolated religious communities. The fancy word is endogamy,” Lee said. “You end up with a  whole lot of half-relations and unreliable predictions.”

Setbacks

Then a fiasco unfolded. The arrest of the Golden State Killer in 2018 had sparked privacy fears from critics who claimed GEDMatch could be used for nefarious reasons. When a criminal case centering on a minor stirred up more controversy on the site the next year, the owners abruptly purged the “law enforcement matching” section of it in May 2019, according to the Redgraves.

With no warning, it left the couple with only about 20 percent of the genetic clues they’d had before. “Think of it as the number of letters turned around on your ‘Wheel of Fortune’ puzzle. [Afterwards] there were 80 percent less letters, and we still had to guess the phrase,” Lee said.

The setback forced them to get creative. They sought uploads from people who descended from early settlers in Utah, along with the Mormon church, and mapped out “clusters” of potential relatives.

Anthony spent hours tinkering with DNA Painter, a tool that helps genealogists make sense of matches. Eventually, it led to Pillar Point’s possible great grandfather. 

During an all-nighter in October 2019, they had a breakthrough. When they got to one of the possible great grandfather’s relatives, they checked records for proof of the person’s life after 1983, and found none. Lee pulled out Pillar Point’s crime scene photo and checked it against a high school yearbook photo of the grandchild.  

It all added up:  Here was the long-forgotten face of Pillar Point Doe.

They both burst into tears. “There were periods of crying and shaking for a few days afterwards. It was really intense,” Lee said.

The team then sent Pillar Point’s birth name to cops, who collected DNA from a relative to confirm the match, reinvigorating the investigation.

San Mateo County police have since declined to release Pillar Point Doe’s birth name—or to allow the couple to—saying it could hurt their hunt for the killer. “This homicide is actively being investigated. Unfortunately, disclosing information about the details may hinder our investigation,” Sergeant William Young, from the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office, told Motherboard.

Cold Case, Close To Home

Now, the Redgraves want more answers. “Ideally, police will find the perpetrator,” Lee said. “[Cops] definitely want to tell us something but they can’t. It makes us feel hopeful.”

Not long ago, Lee got a tattoo of poppies in Pillar Point Doe’s honor. It was inspired by the California flower bloom that could be seen from space in March 2019, the week the couple began searching for the victim's identity. “I am absolutely forever changed from working on this case,” Lee said.

Ultimately, the Redgraves hope Pillar Point Doe will be remembered for who they were—a complex and loved person, not a forgotten John Doe. “Hopefully someone who loved them will carry on their memory,” Lee said.

The couple now runs the Trans Doe Task Force, a research group that helps police and medical examiners with transgender and gender-expansive cold cases. Recently, they launched a database that allows for DNA comparisons across sex marker categories. They also founded their own firm, Redgrave Research Forensic Services, and Anthony has helped train law enforcement departments on five continents.

These days, the couple has a small framed high school photo of Pillar Point Doe in their home, near portraits of other people from cases close to their hearts. 

“Pillar Point has become part of our family. I feel like we are basically like their  foster parents,” Anthony said. “I’m going to feel that way until I know exactly how this case ends.”

Meet The Genetic Sleuths Solving Decades-Old Trans Murders syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[thegladelf]

Killian Jones and The Girl Who Lived 5/8

Alright, y’all, this here is my favorite chapter. I hope you guys like it!

Thank you as always to @icecubelotr44 for taking my madness and making it make sense. Shout outs to @jemmingart and @prongsie for being such awesome artists. Make sure you check out jemming artwork and prongsie’s artwork for this chapter when you’re done reading!

Up on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s your preferred platform.

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: G

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Chapter Five: Christmas

Christmas decorations appeared all over Hogwarts before Killian realized November had come and gone.

Time slipped by you like water through a sieve when you spent every spare half hour in the library looking for information.

They still hadn’t found a single line on Nicholas Flamel. They checked all the usual sources: Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry and every other promising book the four of them could find.

Between school and this research, Killian was at the point where no sooner did he open a book than he wanted to hurl it at the nearest wall. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, was thriving. She made little diagrams of the library and was crossing off the shelves with gusto as they went through them one by one and found nothing. She seemed just as pleased to cross shelves out as she would be if they had found anything.

That was the only sour spot in his life, though. Not even Liam telling him to sign up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas dampened his mood.

"You're not upset?" Emma asked as he signed his name right below hers.

"Nope." He grinned.

Mary Margaret eyed the list with a jealous eye. "I wish I was staying. It doesn't feel right, going home to Gran when you three are staying here."

"It's not like we'll be alone," David said around a mouthful of porridge. "Heck, I've still got half my family here, even if my parents are off in Romania."

David's parents sent him a letter similar to the one Killian received from Liam, though his read, "We're visiting Tom in Romania" instead of, "I'm crashing on a friend's couch and it's already tight, so if you don't mind..."

Killian wished Liam could come to Hogwarts for Christmas, too, but since that wasn't possible, he couldn't think of any other people he would rather spend the holiday with.

Not even Regina's gloating could bring down his mood, though he did feel a bit sorry for Mary Margaret, who turned bright red every time someone asked her if she was attending all the Malfoys' grand holiday happenings. The answer was always a firm no as her Gran didn’t approve of the Malfoys. According to Mary Margaret, her mother Eva had been the only exception to this rule—she said it helped that her mother’s family had disowned her.

"Watcher," Hagrid said, narrowly missing the four of them as he hauled a massive fir tree into the castle. "Don't want to knock any of yeh down now."

They were just moving out of the way when a snide voice said, "Quit blocking the door." Regina sneered at Hagrid as she slipped past. "Pay attention, Nolan, that could be your job one day. I'm sure that hut is a step up from whatever hovel your family lives in."

David leapt for Regina. Killian lunged after him, trying to keep him off of the girl.

"NOLAN!"

Everyone froze.

"It's not his fault, Professor Snape," Hagrid said, dusting pine needles from his shaggy coat. "Ms. Malfoy were talkin' trash about his family."

"Fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid, regardless of who started the fight." Snape did his best to look reluctant as he said, "Five points from Gryffindor, Nolan, and be glad it's not more. Now move along."

Regina and her friends smirked as they ran past, covering their mouths as they giggled.

"We should go, too," Mary Margaret said, nudging David with her elbow, "we've got enough time before lunch to search the library."

"What're you folks doing in the library, term’s nearly over? Yeh should be enjoyin' the holidays."

"Oh, we're not working," Emma said, widening her eyes at Hagrid. She might have been mistaken for a Christmas angel with those green eyes and the blonde hair in curling wisps about her face. "We've just been trying to figure out who Nicholas Flamel is."

"What?" Hagrid half-dropped the massive tree, forcing a squawk out of David as he ducked out of the way. "Now I've told yeh to drop this—"

"Oh, we're not interested in that," Mary Margaret lied smoothly. "We just want to know who Nicholas Flamel is."

Emma nodded. "I know I've heard the name and it'll bug me until I can remember where." She paused. "I don't suppose you'd want to save us the trouble, Hagrid?"

"I'm not sayin' a thing. Not. A. Thing." And he hoisted the tree back up and carried it into the Great Hall.

"Well, it was worth a try," Emma said.

"You three will be sure to keep looking while I'm gone, right?" Mary Margaret said. "And make sure you take my list!"

"Yeah, sure." Emma sighed. "I just wish we could get into that restricted section. If whatever is up there is dangerous enough to need all that guarding, it's probably something dark."

Killian nodded solemnly.

All the students who were going home packed off in the afternoon. His and David’s three roommates were lucky enough to spend time with their families, so their room felt all empty and echoey as he tried to sleep that night. He stared up at his canopy, listening to David's soft snores and fighting the restlessness in his limbs. Finally, he got up and crept down the stairs, hoping that maybe a little movement would loosen up his nerves and put him in the mood for sleep.

"Who's there?" a soft voice asked as his feet brushed the bottom step. It sounded like Emma.

"It's me."

"Killian?"

"Yeah." He wished he had his wand. The common room was pitch black, the odd shapes of chairs and tables and couches the only solid things he could see. "Where are you?"

"Over here—No—Oh, hold on… Lumos." A small point of light flared, revealing Emma's pale face, her hair ghosting around her face. She peered over the back of the couch that sat in front of the cold fireplace.

Hands out in front of him, he shuffled his way around the couch. Emma sat up, pulling her feet in to make room for him.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked.

Emma shrugged. "It's too quiet with only me. I couldn't sleep. You?"

"The same..." He tilted his head, thinking. "Well, not quite the same, Dave snores, but it feels...emptier without Archie and Will and Robin."

Emma nodded like that made perfect sense. Like you could feel the absence of someone.

You could. Sometimes, even when they were still there.

Killian shifted to face her, drawing his knees up. His robe was still upstairs, tossed carelessly at the side of his bed—he hadn't exactly meant to set up down here. With a roll of her eyes, Emma tossed one end of her blanket to him, allowing enough slack that he could draw it over his knees too.

"David was horrified when I told him the Dursleys aren't going to send me any presents," Emma said softly.

"I'm not expecting anything from my family, either."

"But that's because Liam can't afford it." Emma picked at a thread on her blanket. "He'd send you anything you wanted if he could. The Dursleys just wish I never existed."

Killian waited patiently. He knew from things she said offhandedly that the Dursleys hadn't been kind, but as Emma whispered about her cupboard under the stairs and missed meals and clothes that were too big for her, he started to think his own upbringing hadn't been so bad.

He almost told her about it. About everything: His mother, what had happened at the beginning of the summer when their mother told Liam she had no intentions of sending him to Hogwarts, how everything fell apart after that. But he couldn't. It didn't seem right to gripe about the minor inconveniences in his life. Secondhand robes and textbooks with notes already written in the margins seem small in the light of what Emma’s stories revealed.

The couch creaked as Emma shifted. "Sorry. I'm talking all about myself. You probably don't want to hear all about my dysfunctional family."

Killian shrugged, then remembered Emma probably couldn't see him. "It's alright."

"What about you?" she asked. "Is it really just you and your brother?"

He opened his mouth to say no, then clamped it shut again. Clearing his throat he said, “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a little while, until Emma yawned so loudly it made Killian jump.

"We should get back to bed," he said softly.

"I guess." She didn't sound eager to head back up to her empty dorm room.

"Hey, if it's silence that bugs you, there are three empty beds and a snoring Dave upstairs."

Emma laughed, deep, from her gut. "I like that idea. Hold on." Light flared at the tip of her wand again and she handed it to him while she gathered her pillow and blanket. He realized she'd planned to sleep down here. She balanced them all in one arm, reaching for his hand with the other.

"We'd better put the light out or Arthur will have a cow."

Killian shuddered. Artie would not be pleased to find them out of bed at this hour, even if there was no school in the morning. They crept upstairs, holding back giggles and stubbing their toes. As they passed Arthur’s floor, both of them held their breath. Killian prayed he kept sleeping. Sending Emma back to that big, empty room just seemed wrong after everything she told him.

"He really is snoring," Emma whispered as they entered. She set her pillow on the bed next to Killian's and crawled onto it. "Goodnight, Killian."

"Goodnight, Emma," he whispered back, "and Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

As it turned out, Emma snored, too. It should have annoyed him, but Killian fell asleep with a smile on his face.

He slept peacefully until the next morning when David awoke him very rudely. One moment, he was dreaming of being at home with his family and the next frigid air attacked his hands and his feet and his stomach where his pyjamas rode up. Killian squinted up at David leaning over him, Killian’s blanket in one hand.

"Oi, Killian!"

"What's happening?" It felt like he was talking around rocks. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, pushing David away as he did so.

"There's a girl in our room," David hissed.

"It's just Emma." He glanced over to where Emma was still curled up under the blanket

David thought about it for a minute and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." He threw the blanket back at Killian. "Well, you get to wake her up, because it's Christmas and it's impolite to open presents if everyone isn't awake."

"You shouldn't wait on my account, I won't…" Emma's sleepy voice trailed off as David jabbed a finger pointedly at the foot of her bed. Scrambling to peer over the edge, she gasped. "I've got presents."

"You both do. Honestly,” David said, shaking his head as if they were both daft. . “It's Christmas."

He broke into a big grin as Killian and Emma vaulted out of bed, hurriedly donning their robes. The three of them grabbed all their packages and sat in the middle of the floor as they ripped the paper off without bothering to take turns.

"Oh, look at that," Emma said. "The Dursleys didn't forget me." Giggling, she passed the sad present to Killian.

It was a card with a fifty cent piece taped to it. The card read, We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

David's eyes went wide. "What is that?"

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance, not sure if he was joking.

David continued staring at the coin with eyes nearly as wide.

"It's a fifty cent piece?" Emma clarified.

"Oh, Muggle money?" David's eyes lit up and he practically ripped it from Killian's grasp. "Can I look at it?”

Emma rolled her eyes. "You can keep it for all I care."

"Really?"

Despite their dire predictions the night before, Emma and Killian made out pretty well. Hagrid had carved Emma a wooden flute and David's mom had knitted them both a sweater. A green one with a big gold E for Emma and a bright red one with black K for Killian.

David turned bright scarlet. "Those are from my mum. I told her you weren't getting any presents," he muttered. "She makes us sweaters every year. I'm always maroon." With a sigh, he held his sweater up for them to see.

Mrs. Nolan also sent each of them a box of homemade fudge. Killian swallowed back tears, he remembered being very small and making fudge with his own mum one Christmas, back when she was still halfway present.

They received more chocolate from Mary Margaret, frogs instead of fudge this time. A box each for Emma and Killian.

Killian's last present was a spyglass from Liam. It was old and a bit battered in places, the bronze accents looked a little tarnished, but it still slid in and out with ease. He put it up to his eye and immediately jerked it back down. He hadn't meant to get a near microscopic view of David's nose.

With a spyglass came a note, Killian, Sorry it's not a pair of binoculars, but I thought you could use this to watch the Quidditch matches at school. This way you won't have to share with David anymore. Liam P.S.-It has a setting to see in the dark, just in case games go late.

Killian turned the spyglass over and over in his hand, wondering how many meals Liam had skipped to buy this. Or had he found it in their parents’ things? It was certainly old enough. There was a little ring on the bottom with an arrow. At the moment the arrow pointed at a tiny sun etched in the bronze, but a little moon kept the sun company one notch over.

"Here, you've got one more, Emma," David said, shoving Emma's last package at her.

Emma frowned at the parcel, tilting it this way and that as she studied it. With a shrug, she unwrapped it, releasing a length of silvery material.

David's eyes went wide. "I've heard of those. If that's what I think it is—well, let's just say there aren't many of them."

"Many of what?" Emma and Killian demanded at the same time.

"Invisibility cloaks."

Killian stared at the cloak. It swished back and forth as Emma slung it around her shoulders, like water. He and David both jumped up as everything below Emma's neck disappeared.

"Blimey! It is!" David shrieked.

"Look, there's a note." Killian bent and scooped up the paper that had fallen to the floor. He glanced down at it. "Emma..." Killian paused, showing her the note. "I think that's your father's cloak."

She snatched the paper from his hands, the cloak sliding from her shoulders and pooling around her feet as she stared at it.

"You alright there, Emma?" David asked.

She nodded. "Yeah." Her voice cracked.

Killian understood perfectly, he would give anything to have something of his father's.

They had just enough time to clean up most of the mess before Happy burst into the room bellowing. He, too, wore a sweater with a letter on it, a big grey H on a background of navy.

"Merry Christmas!" He stopped short at the sight of Emma. "Oh. Hello, Emma." His eyes jumped from her to the present on the floor to the blanket and pillow on the bed next to Killian's. "You're lucky you're first years or this might look suspicious." He winked at Killian for some unfathomable reason. "Don't worry, I shan't tell Artie. Speaking of. Dave, you want to come help me force him into his sweater? You know how he gets.

"And then we're going to go wait outside the Slytherin door," he continued, his voice floating down the hall as he and David left the room. "For James. None of that separate tables guff today, our whole family is sitting together."

The rest of the day was wonderful.

David and Happy did indeed drag James to the Gryffindor table and he seemed to enjoy himself. Even Arthur loosened up, joking with the rest of them as he sported a grey sweater with a bright, crimson A.

"This is the best Christmas I can ever remember," Killian whispered to Emma later that night. It certainly was the happiest, even if he still missed his brother.

A few feet away, she nodded. David was already snoring and she grimaced as he let out a particularly loud one.

"I can't believe Mrs. Nolan sent me a present," she whispered. "The Dursleys hardly even remembered I existed."

Killian nodded. "I was lucky if my mum remembered it was Christmas, let alone to go out to get presents."

It took him a moment to realize what he'd said. He clapped his mouth shut, hoping Emma didn't ask many more questions. She had to know something with how people talked behind his back, but if she did, she knew better than to ask.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," was all she said.

He drifted off to the sound of David's snores and Emma's gentle breathing. He heard her move around a few times and almost asked her if something was wrong, but sleep already had him and he drifted off before his mouth could form the words.

Someone shook him violently several hours later.

"Wha—" he sat up, hands ready to fend off his attacker, but she had already moved to the bed next to him.

"Come on, David, wake up," Emma said, leaning over David and subjecting him to the same treatment as she had Killian. "Killian's already awake. You have to come see."

"No he’s not." Killian rubbed at his eyes and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn't be all high and scratchy. “See what?”

"It had better be a dead body," David muttered. "I don't see what else would be worth waking us up in the middle of the night."

"Bloody hell, David." Killian swung his legs out of bed, groping for his robe as the chill air hit his skin.

"I saw my parents," Emma whispered.

She stepped into a shaft of moonlight and Killian realized that is wasn't darkness cloaking her body, it was the cloak. The hood was thrown back, so they could still see her face floating in midair like some spectre. Nearly Headless Nick would be quite miffed if he could see her now.

"Like in a dream?" David asked.

Emma shook her head. "No. Hurry, you have to see."

David rolled out of bed without further protest and Emma held a corner of the cloak out to each of them. To Killian's surprise, they all fit, it was tight, but as long as they kept their steps small enough to keep their feet inside the cloak, they were completely covered.

They wandered the corridors as the hour grew later, Emma muttering to herself the whole time, backtracking at points, growling in frustration at others. David tried to convince her that they should all go back to bed.

"No, this is it," she said, pointing to a suit of armor.

After checking the corridor, she whipped the cloak off of them and slipped inside the room. With a shrug, Killian followed.

The room was empty except for a tall mirror leaned up against the back wall. High as the ceiling with a gold frame and an inscription carved across the top in a language Killian never heard of before.

Emma stood in front of it, her fingers touching the glass, looking like she wished she could step into it.

"Do you see them?" She spoke low, as you might in a church.

"See who?" David asked. "I just see you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You two don't see anything?"

Killian shook his head.

Emma grabbed his sleeve, pulling him in front of the mirror instead. "There, look."

He obeyed and found that his wasn’t the only reflection in the mirror. He recognized Liam, with that sincere, affable smile. And his mother, looking like he'd never see her, with her hair combed and her eyes bright—shining with happiness as she stares up at someone Killian doesn't remember.

But he knows who it has to be.

It's clear that he and Liam inherited their father's eyes and dark hair. He smiled a close-lipped smile at Killian, full of regret and lost promises. Killian touched his shoulder, fingers on the exact spot where his father's hand rests in his reflection. The other hand hid in the shadows between Killian and Liam, joined to a shadow leading to his mother.

The woman standing next to his father, with her arm slung around his father's shoulders, stumped him. She wore bright red lipstick and big grin. The kind of grin that made you think doing something reckless was a good idea. Her hair was dark like his father's. Killian's eyes darted between the two of them, picking out the similarities. The arch of the brow. The shape of the eyes. He suddenly wanted to write home to Liam and ask if their father had a sister. And what happened to her.

The thing that surprised him the least was Emma, standing right next to him. He wasn’t surprised that she fit.

"Well, what do you see?" David asked.

"It's my family."

"Let David have a turn," Emma insisted.

"I just saw my family. At dinner." Despite his protests, David let Emma drag him in front of the mirror. His eyes widened.

"See?"

David gaped.

"Well?" Emma bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Well, it's not my family," David replied. He touched his chest. "I'm head boy, like Phil. And I've got the House Cup and—and the Quidditch Cup and I'm Quidditch captain..." His voice trailed off. "Does this mirror show the future?"

"It can't," Emma said, kicking at the ground. "My family all died a long time ago."

"Oh, right."

She spun on him suddenly. "What did you see Killian?"

"My family. My mum, dad, everyone. We were together."

A noise in the hallway made them all start and Mrs. Norris poked her mangy head around the door. Killian's heart dropped to his feet, but the cat glared at them briefly and disappeared back in the hallway with no sign of her owner.

"Let's get back," Killian whispered, "before she fetches Filch."

Emma and David nodded and they all ducked back under the cloak.

"Emma," Killian said once they were back in the room.

"Yeah?"

"You were there, too," he said softly. "With my family. You were there, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

She sighed. "That sounds nice."

"Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell Liam some of what you told me? About how things are for you?"

The bed springs creaked, her blankets rustled. "What? Why?"

Killian's face felt very hot. "I just thought—I thought maybe you could spend the summer with us. So you don't have to go back to those awful people."

He waited so long for her to speak, he thought she'd fallen back to sleep.

"You wouldn't mind?" she asked in a feather light voice.

"No."

"That sounds nice, too."

When he woke the next morning, Killian got up straight away and dashed a note off to Liam. His brother knew that he and Emma were friends. Killian had mentioned her often enough in his previous letters, but this was the first time he talked about her in any detail. He hoped Liam didn't tease him for spending a whole letter on a girl.

Emma was distracted in the morning. She didn't want to play wizard chess with David or Killian, she shrugged away any mention of Nicholas Flamel. Killian knew she was thinking about the mirror.

"You're going again tonight?" David hissed.

Emma didn't say anything.

"Don't," he continued. "You're going to get caught. Think of the trouble you'll get into if someone catches you just sneaking out of the boy's dormitory...not to mention..."

"Why?"

David's face scrunched up in thought. "I—actually, I don't know..." He glanced at Killian who felt as lost as David looked.

Emma rolled her eyes. "No one can catch me if I'm wearing the cloak."

Despite Killian and David's protests, Emma went again that night, slipping out of bed and disappearing between one moon beam and another. Killian thought about going after her, but decided against it. It would only be worse if the two of them were caught. He waited, giving up on sleep within minutes.

Emma returned an hour later. "I won't go again."

"Good." And he rolled over and went to sleep.

In the morning, she folded up the cloak and carried it back to her room.

[hyannah]

Anon Archives vol. 1

I really value communication with you guys, but I also don’t want to clog everyone’s dashboard. To fix this I’m going to be compiling anon messages into archives unless I feel they they should be answered separately. To receive a quick response, feel free to message me off anon so I can reply privately :) *smooches*

I think my lineart tool is just the default brush with max density and 10% min size. Here’s the settings for my two most used brushes :).

It’s a universe set entirely apart from our world and history - think of it more as a dark fairytale. In terms of aesthetics, though, I’d place it around 1880s-1900s. 

Not all that different from the way a lot of artists use them! Just clipping masks with the texture layer set to “overlay” and opacity between 15-25 depending on the scale of the canvas. I’m very picky about my colours so all my textures are b&w to not mess with my hues.

“Stop, sto-” Wolfe manages to choke out around the blood coating the inside of his mouth, finally gaining control over his broken body as Ghasper’s influence retreats back into his bloodstream. Coward, he growls inwardly, and receives a mocking chuckle from the hound that reverberates from the very core of his being. Hunter towers tall and unmoving over him, eyes glazed magenta with Mallory arching proudly over his shoulder like a silent guardian. His usually full and luscious lips are contorted into a vicious snarl, sweat-drenched garb clinging to his sculpted thighs. Thick, toned, manly thi - [UNKNOWN FORCES VIOLENTLY WRENCH MY KEYBOARD FROM MY HANDS AND I’M FORCEFULLY ESCORTED FROM MY BLOG] 

Thank you very much! When I was 15 I studied a 3-year course at WCS and graduated in 2015 with a degree in graphic design. I articulated straight on to 2nd year at University of the West of Scotland where I studied computer animation. It focused mostly on 3D. It’s not a specialised art school or anything but it doesn’t have to be - remember that if you plan to study art. I plan to go back to get my honours degree after my gap year! I graduate with my regular diploma in November I think.

That’s okay, anon! Believe me, just having people think of my characters as cosplay-able (what) makes me so happy. Thank you!

Thank you so much! I really appreciate you taking the time to check out my stuff. I hope I can continue to please you in the future :’) I’m totally not worthy of those sweet words u///u.

Thank you for your suggestion! I’ve seen a few webcomics do something similar, now that you mention it. I’m not so sure how I feel about cross-platforming my comic just yet, since I like the idea of a “central hub” of sorts...at least for the first few chapters. Tumblr does offer a lot of customizability (that’s not a real word Heather) but I think I’ll stick to Tapas or Webtoons for the moment! I really value your insight though, thank you.

Thank you very, very much! Oh man, I’m not really sure I’m the person you want to be taking any solid advice from, but I’ll give it a go. I consider myself way more of an illustrator than an animator, so I’ll give you drawing advice.

Be open to all kinds of art. Even if you live and breathe cartoons and character design, you’ll be surprised by how much you’ll learn just from taking the time to observe and appreciate things outside your own interests. I’m a dyed in the wool character illustrator and digital artist, but I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent marvelling at H.R Giger and Ilya Repin’s work. You don’t have to become a fine arts connoisseur by any means, but it helps to be open minded.

If you’re at the awkward in-between stages of your art - where you can draw with relative confidence but you’re struggling to find your individuality - try making influence maps. These helped me so much when I was 14 and going through my first “style crisis” where I hated everything I drew. This was because I was ignorant to my own interests. What do I love about my favourite artists? What gets my blood pumping? Why is it that I love vibrant colour pallets, cartoons and expressive eyes, but also marvel at the gritty eldritch atmosphere of Zdzisław Beksiński’s hyper detailed nightmare paintings? Is that even normal? It is. Variety is great as an artist and knowing what you as an individual like and dislike is invaluable.

When you draw, try and minimise the amount of times you take your hand off the page. If you’re prone to “flicking” your pen a lot, it can make your lines look inconsistent. By training your hands to make confident strokes, you’ll get cleaner drawings and learn to work faster.

If you’re a sensitive person then art can be a surprisingly difficult hobby to maintain, as you’ll find your emotions bleed out into anything you create. This is great for naturally driven people who can channel their frustration and insecurity into bettering themselves, but some people are fragile. That’s okay. There’s no shame in feeling overwhelmed. It’s alright to put the pen down and take a break for a while. Just promise me you’ll pick it back up again.

Gesture drawing is great for learning anatomy. Instead of getting caught up in having proportions/details perfect, try to instead focus on the pose in its most basic form. Capturing the momentum and direction of the body can give your drawings a more fluid look and reduce rigid characters.

Well, that’s just a bunch of really weird and vague tips but I hope it helps. It’s a broad topic to cover...if you need anything more specific then I’ll help as best I can :)

I think people need to tone down their virtue signalling and let people enjoy themselves. This is why people are too afraid to have fun anymore, and why merciless cringe culture is going to haunt young kids into adulthood. Animation memes will fall out of popularity like every fad in existence has done before it and you’ll get your wish.

[zebulonzt]

First Night in Greece

Sunshine: *I couldn't believe it, we were standing right there in front of the bar, I had felt you pull me to you. Before I could even ask what you wanted, or where we could go I felt the world drop away from me. Both hands clutched at your shirt, eyes closed, and my legs felt like they were about to give out from under me. Even after I felt like I was back on solid ground again I didn't open my eyes just yet. I at some point had bitten the inside of my cheek, and I tasted blood from it. Taking a rather deep breath, the first thing to hit my senses was the smell. It was all masculine, all Z. Straightening up I relaxed my jaw, he was at least here with me….wherever here was. That at least helped me out, and I realized he must have done what he showed me earlier. Curiosity finally got the best of me and I opened my eyes, raising my head my eyes found his face. I could see he was waiting to see what exactly I would do. Without hesitating I raised up, brushed my lips against his before whispering.* Where are we?

Sunshine: *It took just a few heartbeats for what was said to click. Greece, he brought me to Greece...his home. I was speechless for the first time in a very long while. I took the fact of him bringing me here as a good sign. He fulfilled my wish of wanting to travel, but I always figured it would be somewhere inside Louisiana still. Clothes? Oh yes I only had what I was currently wearing.* You can take me back, just like that? *As I spoke the word ‘that’ I snapped my fingers. Shocked still at the fact I had managed to come across someone who wasn't even normal for me. I couldn't help but smile for the first time since we made the disastrous choice of going to see my father.* You want me to stay here, with you? *Why did I have to sound like a hopeful child? It wasn't what I intended, but it couldn't be fixed now. Pulling Zebulon back to me I gave him another kiss, this one with a little more force behind it. After a moment I turned away from him to see what exactly was behind me. My mind working in figuring out how long I'd stay, but it got pushed aside the moment I saw the balcony.*

Zebulon: *She surprised me that she wasn't freaking out at the fact I've brought her to the other side of the world. Nodding and smiling as she asked about me taking her back basically the same way I brought her here.* Yes I can, it's the way I travel all the time. *I didn't elaborate anymore than I needed to, I was going to let it sink in on its own with her. I didn't want to overwhelm her with information all at once about me. Giving an even wider smile as she asked me if I wanted her to stay here. Of course I did and it was odd that I did because I liked being alone but for some odd reason spending the last couple of days with her, I couldn't see myself spending anytime away from her.* Yes I do and as I said earlier, I can take you back anytime you want. *Waiting for her reaction to that, she surprised me when she leaned in giving me a much more intense kiss and I wrapped my arms around her returning the kiss with just as much force. It was almost like I couldn't get enough of her. I almost didn't let her go when she pulled away but I couldn't help letting an odd grin appear as she took notice of the balcony and it was one of my favorite spots to relax after a long night out.*

Sunshine: *Briefly forgetting that I was not alone I walked towards the door that separated me from the balcony. Getting the door open and stepping outside. The air felt great in my skin, and I could smell the salt of the water that was further than I could see. But close enough to be able to catch its scent. It was beautiful and already I could feel the urge to sketch the scenery that was here before me. For now that would have to wait. I ended up turning a full circle while looking up at the sky, it shouldn't be any different than that of my own back home but it was. It looked so much clearer and oddly enough bluer. Nah that couldn't be it, but wow, now this was amazing. My attention was pulled back to the figure that was still inside.* Zebulon, this is absolutely amazing.. it is no wonder you live in this city.

Zebulon: *Watching as she went outside to the balcony out back, grinning as I watched her take in the scenery. I let her check it out without my interrupting her as she did so, the quietness of the spot and the everything about it was relaxing. As soon as I heard her, I walked out to join her on the balcony.* This is where I spend most of my time at night while I'm here. It's amazingly quiet and helps me think things through and I've been living here for a long time. *Looking out towards the ocean as I moved behind you, I wrapped my arms around your waist. I never thought I'd be sharing this place with anyone and yet here I was standing with my arms around her enjoying the fact.*

Sunshine: *I had turned back towards the skyline, this was just too much. I felt his presence before I felt his arms go around me and I couldn’t help but lean back to him. This shouldn’t be happening, this crazy instant attraction to a man I really barely knew. But it was there, and getting to be very strong. * Thank you, I know you like to keep to yourself. But bringing me here, just wow. You just fulfilled my dream to travel. *Turning my head I raised up to kiss his cheek. Still amazed that everything that has happened since I first met him. He has gone from a very distant and non touching individual to someone who initiated the contact and brought someone into his home. The fact I was standing here on the balcony was more than enough to show what twenty-four hours has done to him.*

Zebulon: *Smiling at her words and knowing this was definitely not something I would normally do, she was right. I do like my space but she kept pulling me to her and I couldn't walk away as I've had before with other females before. There was something different about her and I knew it* Welcome Sunshine and you're someone I don't mind sharing this with. I'm glad you like it, I've called this home for a very long time. *Enjoying the fact she was kissing my cheek and enjoying all of this here with her* We can go back anytime and I won't hold it against you. Just remember I can't stay in your city long. I shouldn't have gone back but I'm glad I did.

Sunshine: I am glad you came back too. I was wondering if I would see you again. I'm not concerned about my things right now but later we can worry about them. You are certainly a unique male Zebulon. *I turned in his arms so I could face him again. My hand came up to caress his cheek before resting there. I was still trying to figure out this instant attraction I had to the guy but right now it didn't matter. It could be figured out later. And for now I would enjoy whatever time he gave me with him. Leaning against him I ran my nose along his neck before whispering in his ear.* I think I am going to like it here.

Zebulon: *Smiling as I heard her words about liking it here. I was never drawn to any other female before and wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. I knew the possibilities of some idiotic God or other being trying to use her against me was there. Pushing those thoughts to the side as I look down into her eyes and was going to enjoy this with her* You can say that again, I've been around far longer than most beings here. What would you like to do first?

Sunshine: *My first initial response almost flew right out of my mouth, which would have been to say ‘You’ because well let's face it I wasn't going to be celibate as long as I was around him. After feeling my cheeks turn pink I moved to shrug a shoulder.* I am content with staying indoors tonight and getting familiar with your home so I'm not getting lost walking around. Maybe tomorrow if we are up to it you can show me what's outside the walls of your home. We aren't too far from the water are we? *Pulling away I grabbed his hand and moved to a couch we could both sit on.* I have to ask though, no sudden surprises I need to expect right?

Zebulon: *Seeing the pink on her cheeks had me giving her a smile, I ignored that she blushed and moved to the couch and sitting on it before I even responded to everything she said* We can stay indoors and as for the water, it's just down the trail off my back porch. Not a long walk down it, I usually go swimming during my downtime. *Tilting my head slightly as I watched her sit down next to me, trying to figure out what she was expecting to be here other than me* I'm the only one that stays here and no one else dares to set foot in it unless they are given permission to.

Sunshine: I would need a suit, but I'd enjoy getting into the water. *I relaxed myself into your side, listening as you answered all my questions. Knowing I wouldn't be waking up in the morning with anyone around other than you caused me to relax.* That's good to know then, it'll be different having it be quiet. *I rested my head on his shoulder my own eyes drifting closed. I hadn't realized the fact that the meeting with my father had worn me out the way it did. I didn't want to go to sleep, I wanted to enjoy this more and explore more of the house.* This place is an artist's dream, I could sit out on your balcony all day and sketch. But first how about you show me the rest of your house? I feel like I could fall asleep and I want to see this place first. Possibly a shower too.

Zebulon: It’s really quiet compared to where you live. It’s why i like living here and away from everyone's thoughts. *Nodding as I listened to her talk about sitting on the balcony, putting my arm around her shoulders as she rested her head against me* I’ve got a couple chairs and a table out on the balcony. Just let me know when you are ready for the tour, the house isn't the biggest but it's a bit bigger than your place. *Looking down at you with a chuckle* Unless you’d rather go to sleep right now. *Removing my arm from her shoulder as I got up holding my hand out to her, knowing she was wanting to take that tour before going to sleep*

Sunshine: *I had started getting comfortable with your arm around me the way you had it. Listening to your voice it alone could so almost put me to sleep. Forcing my eyes back open as you stood I placed my hand in yours.* Tour and shower first, then I'll be happy to sleep. *I used you to stand, pulling on your hand as I did such. Still managing to give you a smile before saying.* Lead the way Z, I'll be right behind you. *I felt myself waking up just a bit, if nothing else just to see the rest of this place. I tried to not assume but hoped that he and I would at least sleep in the same bed tonight.*

Zebulon: You already seen the kitchen and back patio on your way to the living room. *Once on your feet, I lead you toward the stairs pointing towards the front entrance and hallway to the lower bathroom* Front door and the bathroom is the door to the right under the stairs and closet closer to the door. *Leading you up the stairs, down the hallway. We walked past two spare rooms. Pointing them out and the bathroom up here. Letting your hand go as we entered my room* This is my room, closet is there, bathroom, self explanatory and there is a closet in there for towels and such. It isn't that big of a place. Tomorrow I'll take you down towards the beach if you want?

Sunshine: It isn't that big?! Z you know this is huge compared to my place. It's amazing and yes, tomorrow beach. *The size of the place not that big but still after the size of my apartment to me it was. I slid out of my sandals, moving to pick them up and put them by the door. Just to get them out of the way. My gaze returning to you, and I took a step closer. Bringing a hand up to place it on your chest, but giving you the opportunity to step back if you wanted.* Now about that shower, you care to join me? *Smiling up to you I waited for your answer. Yes, or no it wouldn't matter. I was here, in Greece, with a guy I barely knew. He was surely out of a dream with how well he actually paid attention to me and what I said. So he could flash or whatever it was called halfway around the world. As well who knew what else he was capable of, but I had this want and need to be around him.*

Zebulon: It’s bigger than your place is, yes but I've seen what others have but this works for me. Beach it is for tomorrow. *As soon as her hand was on my chest, I wanted to step back but the urge to pull her against was even more. I couldn't understand the fact she intrigued me enough to have her in my home. Smiling as I pushed the thoughts coming with that one, I gave her a nod and smile* I'll join you in the shower. *I pulled my shirt up off over my head, she took my flashing here in stride but I wasn't about to shock with anymore of my powers for now. I'd show her eventually. So I stepped around her to go turn the water on, letting it get hot as I kicked my shoes off and undid my pants. Watching as I waited for her to get undressed as well*

Sunshine: *I seriously expected him to back away as it took him a moment to answer me. But instead he was agreeing and even taking his shirt off. That was a distraction all unto itself. He seriously had a form I would love to just stare at and wondered if I could get him to sit still long enough to let me sketch him. It wasn't until I heard the water running in the bathroom did I move. My skirt was easy to take off it fell around my ankles the moment the tie was undone. My shirt came off after a few tugs and a brief curse as I had managed to trip and hit the wall. Mumbling I picked up my skirt and tossed it and my shirt somewhere I hoped I wouldn't be tripping over later. Moving into the bathroom wondering if he had finished removing his pants in there, or if possibly I could finish that bit myself. I stopped in my tracks there just inside the bathroom, in garments that would be considered barely there as I found his gaze on me again. The look was a dead giveaway as to what was running through his mind and my body only too happily enjoyed the way he looked me over.* Is the water ready?

Zebulon: *Biting back a laugh as I heard her tripping and hitting the wall. Dropping my pants as she walked into the bathroom in only her underwear, if that's what you could call what she was wearing. Licking my lip with a smile as I slowly looked her over, she had to know what I was thinking. It was going to make this shower a lot more fun with her in it.* It is and you will need to remove those if you don't want them ripped off of you.

Sunshine: Ripped off huh? *I chuckled and stepped closer to him the heat from the water already noticeable and mixed with the heat I could feel coming from Z. I brought a hand up and toyed with the strap to my bra smiling as I let the elastic snap back onto my skin. I recognized the look he had and my body was already anticipating what his touch would do. It was a clear giveaway that tonight there would be little to no sleeping.* I think I'll leave that bit of fun for you to take care of Zebulon. I believe you'll enjoy it far more than if I were to take my time slowly removing them. *Oh yeah I was pushing him, toying with what the possibility of his actions may be.*

Zebulon: *Without second thought I reached over, ripping her underwear off, then letting my hands go up and unhooking her bra with my powers as I pulled it off. Tossing it to the side and backing her up towards the shower as I tilted my head with a smile. Using a hand to open the shower door then lifting her up over the lip of the shower before closing the door behind us. The water hitting my back as I leaned in nipping lightly at her neck as my hands ran down and back to cup her ass and lifted her up against the wall*

Sunshine: *I gasped out loud as I heard the material of my underwear ripping away, only to do such again as my bra came undone when I knew that your hands weren’t there just yet. But the thought ran from my mind as you moved us into the shower and the steam surrounded us. I dropped my head back as I felt your teeth on my skin and the tile against my back. I managed to wrap my legs around your waist, keeping you right there until you decided to pull away. This was incredible and I was getting hooked on the feelings you kept giving me. I let my fingers run through your hair and moved my hips against yours.*

Zebulon: *Growling as you moved against my hips and moving my hands from your ass going slowly up your sides. Tilting my head to give you a quick kiss as I shifted you enough and had you placed right over my cock. Smiling at your reactions to what I was doing and I wasn't about to stop. Sucking in your lip before releasing it, then moving my mouth down to your neck giving it a small nip as I shifted my hips enough so the tip of myself entered you with a growl*

Sunshine: *I was getting lost in sensations, my mind a complete mess and we hadn’t even had sex again yet. Each nip, kiss, and shift of your body against mine pushed my desire higher. I let my head tilt back and slightly to the side, you seemed to really enjoy taking my skin between your teeth there and I surely wasn’t planning to stop you. Not when it was making me want you more than the previous night. My hands gripped your shoulders and the nails dug in as I whimpered as you just barely were inside me. Clenching those muscles, trying to get you to move, wanting you completely inside me. Filling me as the only way you have been able to do.* Z please *I paused as I had shifted my hips trying to get you to move. Instead you had stayed put and I succeeded in tormenting myself. The steam had surrounded us and effectively blocking out the rest of the room. The image of us doing this on clouds flashed through my mind because of it and I moaned. Just from what that image could mean and right now to me it meant that we were going to be in for a very long night.*

Zebulon: *Hearing your plea and feeling your nails digging into my skin and I wasn't about to continue tormenting us both. I thrust my hips forward and filled you completely before I started moving my hips at a quick pace. Also noticing you tilting your head more to the side, I smiled against your neck before letting my teeth drag across your skin before I bit down on a spot. I was enjoying this moment with you more than I have any other time with anyone else. It was like I couldn't get enough of you, I was hooked and addicted completely with you. I knew you said you were tired but I wanted to spend the night making love to you here in the shower, in the room on the bed, I even wanted to take you on the porch. With those thoughts alone, I picked up my pace even more. Taking you harder and faster than the last time we had sex in your apartment*

Sunshine: *I was seriously grateful for the fact that the wall was there behind me, supporting and keeping me upright. Because once I felt you inside me and you began your pace, not even my nails would have been able to hold me upright. The fact that you kept biting one of my more tender spots of my neck was not lost on me, it kept sending sharp electric currents through me. This was driving me, I wanted to return a few of those nips you had been doing but I would wait. I didn't want to risk you stopping what you were doing. Your hips moving faster than I thought possible was bringing me to my release and I could already tell it would be different, possibly stronger than the ones from before.*

Zebulon: *Holding you up against the wall, I continued thrusting my hips against yours at my pace, feeling myself getting closer to my own release as you clenched down around me. Growling out at the immense pleasure building up inside me and the tingling sensation that was going up my back. Tilting my head to the other of your neck as I held my own release off longer.* Come for me Sunshine. *Whispering against your neck before I scraped my teeth along your neck until I was just below your jaw and nipping it*

Sunshine: *I cried out as your teeth tugged against my skin, my grip on you letting up as I could not hold back what my body was feeling. My head falling back hitting the wall as my hips met yours one last time. Your name leaving my lips as I almost screamed. A strong current ran through me starting from where we were joined and ran up my spine. My whole body tensed when my release hit, eyes closing as it happened.*

Zebulon: *Smiling as you said my name and continued moving and let myself finally hit my own release as I held us both up as my breathing was ragged and my head rested on the wall behind you* Showering will be fun if we do this every time. *Chuckling low and waiting for you to attempt to stand on your own before I reached back for the wash cloth and the soap to start lathering it up. Once I got the it ready, I started washing your body for you. Purposely taking my time and enjoying the sounds you made as I did*

Sunshine: *I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to walk, much less stand after that. My feet found the tub again and I hesitated letting go of your shoulders until I knew I wouldn't fall at your feet.* Everytime? *My mind was still coming back to earth, well as much as it usually is, as you said that and I couldn't imagine passing up enjoying the shower like this again. Especially when I felt a cloth touch my skin. I had to open my eyes then, checking to make sure I wasn't imagining it. You were actually washing me and not hurriedly either.* For a guy who keeps to himself, you know how to go about spoiling a girl. Just remember you are next after you are done. *I grinned with how I planned to enjoy washing you. I jumped and gasped a few times. When the cloth came into contact with some very sensitive areas. I wouldn't even be surprised if there were some teeth marks in some places either.*

Zebulon: Maybe, depends on if you’d be up to it. *Passing the washcloth over your body and seeing some of the bite marks I've left on you. I couldn't help the smile that appeared and the way you hesitated at putting your feet down. Hearing your statement.* I may keep to myself a lot but I'm not completely oblivious to what a female likes and how to keep them happy, *Reaching up to move the shower head to start rinsing you off* I can’t wait to see what you plan on doing, *Putting the wash cloth up and running my hands over your body, purposely moving it over the spots that I knew were sensitive on you. Making sure that you were rinsed off completely.*

Sunshine: *I groaned softly and let my head fall back into the the shower wall as I felt the water more directly on my skin. The sensitivity still there and your hands only continued it to be so. I knew there was no more suds on me, but wasn't about to stop you from the touching you seemed to enjoy as much as I was.* I think you'll enjoy it quite a bit Zebulon. *Cracking open an eye I reached for the cloth. Your hands were still roaming over me and I wouldn't stop you as I moved. Getting the cloth full of suds I brought it up to your shoulders. Starting there I leaned close and placed several kisses along the skin before I even ran the cloth over the area. Moving up to your neck I nipped just under your ear on one side and pulled away as I washed the skin. Slowly lowering myself to my knees the cloth trailed over your chest as I nipped each hip bone.* You are a very attractive male Zebulon.

Zebulon: *My hands still moving over your body as you started with the washcloth and moving it over my shoulders. I slowed my movements as you nipped just under my ear. I dropped my hands from your body as you lowered yourself to your knees, I watched as you nipped my hip bone and knew hiding the fact I was getting hard with you kneeling in front of me. I wanted to see what you were going to do while down there. I saw the washcloth in your hand but my mind went elsewhere. I barely heard your words and smiled down at you* Sunshine you're beautiful and I’m lucky you saw me for me. *Letting my hand run down your cheek*

Sunshine: *I couldn't help the small smile that formed on my lips are your words. This was crazy and extraordinary as well as incredible. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to the inside of your hand before my hands moved along your legs. Wanting to finish this shower before the water got cold. I knew you were hard, it was more than obvious as it was just a few inches from my face. Temptation won out as I parted my lips and flicked my tongue over your tip. All thoughts of sleep replaced by my need to enjoy everything you and I could do together. Without any other abstract thoughts I moved and parting my lips further taking at first your tip then as much of you as I could.*

Zebulon: Fuck me….*Said with a low growl as my head dropped back against the shower wall, my hips bucked towards you. My hands clenched into fists as the pleasure racked my body at what you were doing. Any thoughts of taking you to the bed and making sure you got some sleep had fled my mind as you took me deep into your mouth. A low groan escaped my lips as I opened one of my hands and placed it on your head.*

Sunshine: *I wasn't sure if I had expected you to have me stop or if you were going to let me continue as you placed you hand on my head. My tongue flat under you as I continued, eyes closed as I listened to each sound you continued to make. But the growling is what always got me. Pulling back to where it was just your tip between my lips tongue teasingly flicking over it. Hands on your hips nails slightly digging into the skin as I took your length again. Groaning softly when I felt you hitting the back of my throat.*

Zebulon: *Moving my hand to the back of your head, letting my fingers entangled in your hair and lightly run against your scalp. Looking down at you as you continued with your movements. Sucking in a breath as you pulled back for to you tease my tip before taking me completely in your mouth again. I felt myself hitting the back of your throat and I couldn't help but groan as I felt the vibrations as you groaned against my cock. I felt myself getting close to my release but I wasn't ready for it to happen. So I bit down on my bottom lip as you continued with your teasing, my hips involuntarily bucked forward again.*

Sunshine: *Washing your body was long forgotten my hands sliding along your thighs as I continued my movements, purposefully teasing you each time I pulled back. Tongue flicking over your tip before going back down wanting to see you lose even a small bit of control that you had but at the same time I was ready to move us over to your bed. Pulling back I released you and stood reaching behind me to turn the water off giving you a smile.* How about we take this to the bed?

Zebulon: *My back arching at your movements, my hand releasing your head and hair just before I was about to fist that hand full of hair and pulled your head back. You just kept on teasing and I couldn't help the growl that escaped at your continuous teasing. As soon as I heard you pulled away I almost let a whimper out but I heard your words and nodded in agreement as I smiled and took your hand. I didn't even bother with opening the shower door and used my powers to get us back into the bedroom by the bed* Sounds good to me. *Backing her up to the bed with a wicked smile on my face, knowing what was going to take place now that we were taking this to where we had more room*

Sunshine: *I blinked several times as the very warm air that surrounded us in the shower was replaced by the air that felt so much cooler in the bedroom, not even letting the fact you had moved us again in your own way. The bed was against my calves and my eyes stayed on you. The smile made my heart pound and my body reacted in all good ways. I knew that without a doubt this male was going to be apart of my life, I just didn't know how or why. My hands trailed up your sides before I raised up to kiss you. Positive that tonight was going to be burned not just in my mind come morning.*

#FirstNightInGreece

[anavoliselenu]

Complete me chapter 1

Fear yanks me from a deep sleep, and I sit bolt upright in a room shrouded with gray, the muted green light from a digital alarm clock announcing that it is just after midnight. My breath comes in gasps, and my eyes are wide but unseeing. The last remnant of an already forgotten nightmare brushes against me like the tattered hem of a specter’s cloak, powerful enough to fill me with terror, and yet so insubstantial that it evaporates like mist when I try to grasp it.

I do not know what frightened me. I only know that I am alone, and that I am scared.

Alone?

I turn swiftly in bed, shifting my body as I reach out to my right. But even before my fingers brush the cool, expensive sheets, I know that he is not there.

I may have fallen asleep in Justin’s arms, but once again, I have awakened alone.

At least now I know the source of the nightmare. It is the same fear I have faced every day and every night for weeks. The fear I try to hide beneath a plastic smile as I sit beside Justin day in and day out as his attorneys go over his defense in meticulous detail. As they explain the procedural ins-and-outs of a murder trial under German law. As they practically beg him to shine a light into the dark corners of his childhood because they know, as I do, that those secrets are his salvation.

But Justin remains stubbornly mute, and I am left huddled against this pervasive fear that I will lose him. That he will be taken from me.

And not just fear. I’m also fighting the damnable, overwhelming, panic-inducing knowledge that there isn’t a goddamn thing in the world I can do. Nothing except wait and watch and hope.

But I do not like waiting, and I have never put my faith in hope. It is a cousin of fate, and both are too mercurial for my taste. What I crave is action, but the only one who can act is Justin, and he has steadfastly refused.

And that, I think, is the worst cut of all. Because while I understand the reason for his silence, I can’t quell the selfish spark of anger. Because at the core of it all, it’s not just himself that Justin is sacrificing. It’s me. Hell, it’s us.

We are running out of time. His trial will begin only a few hours from now, and unless he changes his mind about his defense, it is very likely that I will lose this man.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to remain at bay. I can push the fear back, but my anger is like a living thing, and I am afraid that it will explode no matter how hard I try to quell it. For that matter, I’m afraid that suppressing it will make the ultimate explosion all the more brutal.

When the indictment came through, Justin had tried to push me away, believing that he was protecting me. But he’d been wrong—and I’d flown all the way to Germany to tell him so. I’ve been here for over three weeks now, and there has not been a day when I have regretted coming, and I do not doubt that what he said when I arrived on his doorstep is true—he loves me.

But that knowledge doesn’t soothe the sense of foreboding that has been rising within me. A trepidation that is especially potent at night when I wake alone and know that he has turned to solitude and Scotch when I want him in my arms. He loves me, yes. But at the same time I’m afraid that he is pushing me away again. Not in big steps, but in little ones.

Well, screw that.

I peel myself away from the cool comfort of our bed and stand up. I’m naked, and I bend to retrieve the white, lush robe provided by the Hotel Kempinski. Justin brushed it back off my shoulders after our shower last night, and I left it where it fell, a soft pile of cotton beside the bed.

The sash is a different story, and I have to dig in the rumpled sheets to find it. Sex with Justin is always intense, but as the trial comes closer, it has been wilder, more potent, as if by controlling me Justin can control the outcome.

Idly, I rub my wrists. They bear no marks, but that is only because Justin is careful. I can’t say the same about my ass, which still tingles from the feel of his palm against my skin. I like it—both this lingering sting and the knowledge that he needs my submission as much as I need to give myself to him.

I find the sash shoved down near the foot of the bed. Last night, it had bound my wrists behind my back. Now, I tie it around my waist and tug it tight, relishing the luxurious comfort after waking so violently. The room itself is equally soothing, every detail done to perfection. Every piece of wood polished, every tiny knickknack and artistic addition thoughtfully arranged. Right now, however, I am oblivious to the room’s charms. I only want to find Justin.

The bedroom connects to an oversized dressing area and a stunning bathroom. I check briefly in both, though I do not expect to find him, then continue through to the living area. The space is large and also well-appointed with comfortable seating and a round worktable that is now covered with sheaths of papers and folders representing both the business that Justin continues to run despite the world collapsing around our ears, and the various legal documents that his attorney, Charles Maynard, has ordered Justin to study.

I let the robe drop where I stand and pull on the stunning trompe l’oeil patterned sheath that Justin cavalierly tossed over the arm of a chair after peeling it off me last night. We’ve spent a few hours escaping reality by shopping on Munich’s famous Maximilianstrasse, and I have acquired so many shoes and dresses I could open my own boutique.

I run my fingers through my hair as I cross the room to the phone by the bar. I force myself not to go into the bathroom to primp and freshen the makeup that has surely rubbed off. It’s more challenging than it sounds; the mantra that a lady doesn’t go out unfinished has been beaten into my head since birth. But with Justin at my side I have thumbed my nose at many of the tribulations of my youth, and right now I am more concerned with finding him than with applying fresh lipstick.

I pick up the receiver and dial zero. Almost immediately there is an accented voice on the other end. “Good evening, Ms. Fairchild.”

“He’s in the bar?” I do not need to explain who “he” is.

“He is. Shall I have a phone brought to his table?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll come down.”

“Sehr gut. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you.” I’m about to hang up when I realize there is something. “Wait!” I catch him before he clicks off, then inveigle his help with my plan to distract Justin from his demons.

Despite the age of the building and the elegance of the interior, the hotel boasts a modern ambiance, and I have come to feel at home within these walls. I wait impatiently for the elevator, and then even more impatiently once I’m in the car. The descent seems to take forever, and when the doors finally open to reveal the opulent lobby, I aim myself straight for the Old English style bar.

Despite the late hour on a Sunday, the Jahreszeiten Bar is bustling. A woman stands by the piano softly singing to the gathered crowd. I barely pay her any heed. I don’t expect to find Justin among the listeners.

Instead, I wander through the wood and red leather interior, shaking off the help of a waiter who wants to seat me. I pause for a moment, standing idly beside a blond woman about my age who is sipping champagne and laughing with a man who might be her father, but I’m betting is not.

I turn slowly, taking in the room around me. Justin is not with the group at the piano, nor is he sitting at the bar. And he does not occupy any of the red leather chairs that are evenly spaced around the tables.

I’m starting to worry that perhaps he was leaving as I was coming. Then I take a step to the left and realize that what I thought was a solid wall is actually an optical illusion created by a pillar. Now I can see the rest of the room, including the flames leaping in the fireplace set into the opposite wall. There is a small love seat and two chairs surrounding the hearth. And, yes, there is Justin.

I immediately exhale, my relief so intense I almost use the blonde’s shoulder to steady myself. Justin is seated in one of the chairs, his back to the room as he faces the flames. His shoulders are broad and straight, and more than capable of bearing the weight of the world upon them. I wish, however, that they didn’t have to.

I move toward him, the sound of my approach muffled by both the thick carpet and the din of conversation. I pause a few feet behind him, already feeling the familiar pull I experience whenever I am near Justin. The singer is now crooning “Since I Fell For You,” her voice cutting sharp and clear across the room. Her voice is so mournful that I’m afraid it is going to unleash a flood of tears along with all of the stress of the last few weeks.

No. I’m here to comfort Justin, not the other way around, and I continue toward him with renewed resolve. When I finally reach him, I press my hand to his shoulder and bend down, my lips brushing his ear. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?”

I hear rather than see his answering smile. “That depends on who’s asking.” He doesn’t turn to face me, but he lifts his arm so that his hand is held up in a silent invitation. I close my hand in his, and he guides me gently around the chair until I am standing in front of him. I know every line of this man’s face. Every angle, every curve. I know his lips, his expressions. I can close my own eyes and picture his, dark with desire, bright with laughter. I have only to look at his midnight-colored hair to imagine the soft, thick locks between my fingers. There is nothing about him that is not intimately familiar to me, and yet every glance at him hits me like a shock, reverberating through me with enough power to knock me to my knees.

Empirically, he is gorgeous. But it is not simply his looks that overwhelm. It is the whole package. The power, the confidence, the bone-deep sensuality that he couldn’t shake even if he tried.

“Justin,” I whisper, because I can’t wait any longer to feel his name against my lips.

That wide, spectacular mouth curves into a slow smile. He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. His thighs are firm and athletic, and I settle there eagerly, but I don’t lean against him. I want to sit back enough that I can see his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I know what his answer will be, and yet I hold my breath, praying that I am wrong.

“No,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

I smile as if his words are sweetly romantic, refusing to let him see how much they chill me. I need his touch, yes. But I need the man more.

I stroke his cheek. He hasn’t shaved since yesterday, and the stubble of his beard is rough against my palm. The shock of our connection rumbles through me, and my chest feels tight, my breath uneven. Will there ever come a time when I can be near him without yearning for him? Without craving the touch of his skin against my own?

It’s not even a sexual longing—not entirely, anyway. Instead, it’s a craving. As if my very survival depends on him. As if we are two halves of a whole and neither can survive without the other.

With Justin, I am happier than I have ever been. But at the same time, I’m more miserable, too. Because now I truly understand fear.

I force a smile, because the one thing I will not do is let Justin see how terrified I am of losing him. It doesn’t matter; Justin knows me too well.

“You’re scared,” he says, and the sadness that colors his voice is enough to melt me. “You’re the one person in all the world I cannot bear to hurt, and yet I’m the one who put fear in your eyes.”

“No,” I say. “I’m not scared at all.”

“Liar,” he says gently.

“You forget that I’ve seen you in action, Justin Stark. You’re a goddamn force of nature. They can’t possibly hold you. Maybe they don’t know it yet, but I do. You’re going to walk away from this. You’re going home a free man. There’s no other way that this can end.” I say the words because I need to believe them. But he is right. I am desperately afraid.

Justin, of course, sees through my bullshit. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You should be scared. This is the kind of case that has prosecutors salivating.”

“But you were only fourteen,” I say. “And you didn’t kill Merle Richter.” I still don’t understand why the court decided to try Justin as an adult. All I know is that it was a battle that Justin’s defense team lost.

His expression darkens. “Truth is a malleable thing, and once I walk into that courtroom, the truth is what the court says it is.”

“Then you need to make sure the judges know the real truth. Dammit, Justin, you didn’t kill him. But even if you had, there were mitigating circumstances.” Only recently had Justin told me what happened. He and Richter fought, and when Richter fell, Justin held back, refusing to step forward to help the coach who’d abused him for so many years.

“Oh, Selena.” He pulls me against him, his arm swooping around my waist and shifting me on his lap so quickly that I gasp. “You know I can’t do what you’re asking.”

“I’m not asking anything,” I say, but the words sound brittle, because of course I’m asking. Hell, I’m begging. Justin damn well knows it, too. And yet he is denying me.

Anger flares within me, but before it explodes, his mouth crushes against mine. The kiss is deep and raw and all-consuming, and warm desire blooms within me. It doesn’t erase my anger or my fear, but it does soothe it, and I shift closer to him, wishing I never had to leave the safety of his arms.

His body tightens beneath mine, the bulge of his erection under his jeans teasing my rear as I shift my weight and lean closer, deepening this kiss and wishing like hell we were in our suite instead of in a very public bar.

After a moment, I pull back, breathless. “I love you,” I say.

“I know,” he says, and though I wait for the reciprocal words to come, he doesn’t say them back to me.

My heart twists a little, and I force a smile. A pageant-quality All I Want Is World Peace kind of smile. The kind of smile I show the public, but not Justin.

I tell myself that he’s just tired, but I don’t believe it. Justin Stark does nothing without a purpose. And though it is impossible to truly get inside that head of his, I know him well enough to guess at his motivations, and I want to jump to my feet and scream at him. I want to beg him not to push me away. I want to shout that I get it; that he’s trying to protect me because he knows that he might lose the trial. That he might be ripped from me. But goddammit all, doesn’t he know that all he’s doing is hurting me?

I believe with all my heart that Justin loves me. What I fear is that love isn’t enough. Not when he’s determined to push me away in some misguided attempt to protect me.

So I don’t lash out. That’s not a fight I can win, but I can play the game my own way.

With renewed resolve, I kick the wattage up on my smile and slide off his lap, my hand extended to him. “You have to be in court at ten, Mr. Stark. I think you’d better come with me.”

He stands, his expression wary. “Are you going to tell me I have to get some sleep?”

“No.”

His gaze slides over me, and my body quivers in response as if he had physically touched me. “Good,” he says, and that one simple word not only conveys a world of promises but takes the edge off the chilly fear that has filled me.

I allow the corner of my mouth to quirk up into a hint of a smile. “Not that, either. Not yet, anyway.”

The confusion on his face brings a genuine smile to my lips, but he doesn’t have the chance to ask, as the concierge has approached. “Everything is ready, Ms. Fairchild.”

My smile broadens. “Thank you. Your timing is perfect.”

I take the hand of the very confused man that I love and lead him through the lobby, following the concierge to the front of the hotel. There, parked on the street beside a very giddy valet, is a cherry red Lamborghini.

Justin turns to look at me. “What’s this?”

“A rental. I thought you could use a little fun tonight, and the A9’s just a few miles away. Fast car. German autobahn. It seemed like a no-brainer to me.”

“Boys and their toys?”

I lower my voice so that the concierge can’t overhear. “Since we already have some interesting toys in the room, I thought you might enjoy a change of pace.” I lead him closer to where the valet stands by the open passenger door. “I understand she’s very responsive, and I know you’ll enjoy having all that power at your command.”

“Is she?” He looks me up and down, and this time the inspection is tinged with fire. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I like. Responsiveness. Power. Control.”

“I know,” I say, and then slide into the passenger seat, letting more than a little thigh show as I do.

An instant later, Justin is behind the wheel and he’s fired the powerful engine.

“Drive fast enough, and it’s almost like sex,” I tease. And then, because I can’t resist, I add, “At the very least, it makes for exceptional foreplay.”

“In that case, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, with a boyish grin that makes this all worthwhile, “I suggest you hold on tight.”

Chapter Two

Even at almost midnight on a Sunday, traffic seems to spill out over the narrow Munich streets. The Lamborghini’s engine revs and purrs, the power pent-up and antsy, as if it is as frustrated by its inability to break free and fly as I am by my inability to make things right for Justin.

I am nestled in the red-leather bucket seat, my body turned slightly to the left so that I can watch him. Despite the snarl of traffic that I would find exasperating, Justin is calm and in complete control. His right hand rests loosely on the gear stick, his fingers curved slightly. I draw a slow breath, imagining his touch against my bare knee. Since I’ve met Justin, I’ve done a lot of fantasizing. Honestly, I can’t say that I mind.

His left hand grips the steering wheel, and despite the shitstorm in which we now live, he looks relaxed and confident. From my perspective, I am looking at his profile—that sculpted jaw, his deep-set eyes, his glorious mouth now curved into just the hint of a smile.

His unshaved jaw and finger-mussed hair combine with the low-interior light of the car to give him the look of a dangerous rebel. It’s true, I think. Justin is as rebellious as they come. He lives his life by nobody’s rules but his own. It is one of the qualities that I most love about him, which is why it makes it that much harder knowing that if he simply played the game like a good little defendant, everything could turn around.

We are standing still at an intersection, and now the light in front of us changes to green. He accelerates, then switches lanes so sharply I reach up to grab the handhold so that I don’t list to one side. He turns to look at me, and I see nothing but pure pleasure in his eyes. I meet his smile eagerly, and for that moment, there is nothing in the world that can harm us. There is only freedom and joy, and I wish that it could continue like this. That we could drive on and on and never stop, just the two of us soaring off into eternity.

I may be lost in the fantasy of getting lost, but Justin exists entirely in the moment. I can see the tenseness in his muscles, the power and the control as he puts the car through her paces, testing her limits as he lets the power of that incredible engine build and build before we hit the autobahn, where he will finally let her explode onto the open road.

I swallow and shift a little in the seat. I thought I’d been teasing when I’d said this drive would be like sex. Apparently, I was wrong.

“You’re smiling,” he says, without turning to look at me.

“I am,” I admit. “Because you’re happy.”

“I’m with you,” he replies. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“Keep talking,” I say. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I certainly hope so.” His voice is barely a murmur, but it is more than sufficient to make my body respond. My skin heats and beads of perspiration rise on the back of my neck at my hairline. My breasts feel heavy, as if I need the support of Justin’s hands upon them, and my now-hard nipples press enticingly against the silk of my sheath dress.

His comment may be simple and straightforward, but it holds a world of meaning. After all, he and I both know that there’s nowhere Justin can take me that I won’t be willing to go.

“We’re here,” Justin says, and I jump a little at the odd juxtaposition of his words to my thought. I gather myself, quickly realizing that he means that we’ve reached the A9. He accelerates onto the entrance ramp, the force pushing me back against the seat. I suck in air, invigorated by the speed and by the man beside me. “Do you have a plan?” he asks as he shifts gears.

I glance over and see that the speedometer is already approaching 175 kilometers per hour. “A plan?”

His brow quirks up with amusement. “This was your idea, remember? I thought you might have had something specific in mind.”

“No plan,” I admit as I toe off my shoes and put my feet up on the seat. “Nothing more than just cutting loose with you.”

“I like that plan,” he says. “And I know exactly where I want to get off.” He glances at me as he says the last, the deliciously devious gleam in his eyes so exaggerated that I can’t help but laugh.

“Perv,” I say.

“Only for you,” he retorts. I am hugging my knees, and he reaches over and traces his fingertip over the platinum and emerald ankle bracelet that was a gift from him, a physical reminder that I am his. As if I could ever forget.

His hand moves from the bracelet to the back of my thigh, the touch light and sensual. It’s nothing more than a simple caress, but my reaction to it is all sorts of complicated. Taut ribbons of heat shoot through me to pool between my legs, to tug at my nipples. How simple it is to fall into a pattern of touch and pleasure, of need and desire. It is as if I am in a constant state of starvation, and he is the sweetest ambrosia.

All too soon, though, the pressure is gone as he moves his hand to the radio, rolling through the stations until he settles on something with a heavy techno beat that fills the car. He shifts again and the engine hums as Justin weaves in and out of the minimal traffic. I settle back and let the rhythm pound through me as I watch this man who loves me. This man who I love, too. Who belongs entirely to me.

The thought comes unbidden, and I find myself frowning because it isn’t true. If he were truly my private property—mine, and mine alone—I could take him away from here. I could save him. I could make all of this legal horribleness go away.

But I can’t, and that inescapable truth creeps back under my skin, turning my previously light and giddy mood to something dark and foreboding.

I shift so that I am looking out of the passenger window at the line of trees passing in the night, odd shadows dancing across them, cast from the illumination of our headlights. I shiver, feeling unwound from such an ominous sight, as if we’re driving into a netherworld, but even that won’t save us from the desolate pull of reality.

I want to keep driving—I want to head east to where the sun will rise in five or so hours. I want to push this car to its limit and never stop. We’re in a bubble right now, safe from those dark grasping shadows. But the moment we stop . . . the moment we go back . . .

No. I draw a deep breath. I have to be strong. Not for me, but for Justin. “We should head back,” I say, but my voice is so low that I am certain he cannot hear me over the music that now fills the car. I reach for the radio and press the power button, throwing us into silence.

Justin glances at me, and I see the joy on his face shift to concern as his eyes meet mine. “What is it?”

“We should go back.” I try to speak up, but my voice is still unnaturally soft, as if my will is fighting me, silently begging me to urge him to run. “You need rest.” I force the words out, pitching my voice to sound natural. “Tomorrow’s going to put us both through the ringer.”

“All the more reason to keep going as long as we can.”

I swallow a throat full of tears. “Justin.”

I expect him to say soothing words. To reassure me that everything will be okay. Instead, he simply brushes my cheek, the gesture sending shock waves through me and once again making tears well in my eyes. I clench my hands into fists and fight against the crying jag that is about to explode out of me. I can’t lose it. Not now. Hell, not ever. If I lose Justin, I’ll cry then. And until I know one way or the other, I want to spend every second doing nothing but simply being with him.

I manage a smile that is almost genuine and turn to him.

“Soon.” He hits the accelerator, and the car speeds up.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace I want you to see.”

My expression must be more confused than I realize, because he laughs softly. “Don’t worry. We’re not running away.”

I grimace. I almost wish we were.

He keeps his left hand on the steering wheel, but he rests his right hand on my knee. The touch is more possessive than sexual, as if he simply needs to know that I am there. I lean my head back, torn between wanting to relish the feel of his fingers against my flesh, and the need to rail on him. To scream and yell. To beg and plead for him to fucking defend himself. Because Justin Stark is not a man who stands back and gets whipped. He is not a man who puts up with losing.

He is not a man who hurts the woman he loves.

And yet he is doing all of these things.

My thoughts, violent and dangerous, swirl inside me as the last of the city lights fade, leaving nothing but the forested acres that line the highway. The engine is smooth, remarkably quiet, and I am tired. Not simply because of the late hour, but because of everything that has been resting upon me. I close my eyes and relax, only to sit up again with a jolt seconds later when I realize the car is stopped, the engine turned off.

“What?” I feel groggy, my mind full of cobwebs. “What happened?”

“You had a nice nap,” Justin says.

A nap?

I frown. “How long?”

“Almost half an hour.”

That startles me to wakefulness, and I sit up and look around. We appear to be in the parking lot of a rustic restaurant with plenty of outdoor seating. It’s closed now, the empty picnic tables seeming eerie rather than welcoming. “Where are we?”

“Seehaus Kranzberger,” he says. I must look as confused as I feel, because he grins. “This used to be one of my favorite places near Munich. Alaine and Sofia and I used to come here once Alaine was old enough to drive. Later, I would come by myself. There are a lot of memories here,” he adds, an odd catch in his voice.

“But it’s closed,” I say stupidly.

“We didn’t come for the food,” he says. He gets out, then comes around the car and opens my door before I have a chance. He reaches a hand down to help me out, and I stand gratefully.

“Why did we come?”

“Walk with me.”

I study his face, unable to read his mood. He takes my hand and leads me down a narrow path that meanders through tall, leafy trees, their green leaves now black and gray in the moonlight. I cannot imagine where we are going, but then we turn, and I gasp. A lake is spread open in front of us, a wilderness surrounding it, the moonlight sparkling on the surface, and the giant orb of the moon itself reflected in such a way that it appears that we could dive in and capture it for ourselves. “It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Welcome to Kranzberger See. I used to spend hours here,” he says. “I would sit on the bank and listen to the water and the birds and the wind in the trees. I would close my eyes and get lost.” He has been looking at the lake, but now he turns to look at me. “I wanted to show you,” he says. What I hear is, “I’m sorry.”

I swallow and nod, feeling overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

He lifts our joined hands and gently kisses my palm. The gesture is soft and sweet and achingly romantic, and I can’t help but wish that we could stay here, lost in the dappled light, hidden away by the fantasy of being all alone in the world.

A tremor ripples through my body, and I turn away. I’ve fallen so fast for this man, and I am terrified of losing him. Terrified that whatever good we’ve discovered together despite our shitty pasts will be ripped away. I press my lips together to hold back an anguished scream, because that is all I want to do right now—scream and yell and cry until Justin does whatever he has to do to fix this and make all the horror go away.

But I don’t. Instead I stand firm like a rock, knowing that the slightest motion could set me off. I feel wild and volatile and dangerous. And right now, the last thing either of us needs is an explosion.

“Selena.” My name is soft upon his lips, and he lets go of my hand as he moves to stand behind me. His palms press down on my shoulders, the pressure warm and sweet. I feel the gentle touch of his lips upon the top of my head, and the soft squeeze of his fingers as he strokes my arms, bare in the sleeveless dress. “I pissed you off that first night at Evelyn’s, remember? I should have let you stay pissed. I should have walked away from you and never looked back.”

My mouth is dry, and my chest feels tight. I do not want to hear these words. I don’t want to believe that there is even some tiny part of him that would prefer to have never been with me, not even if that fantasy springs from a desire to protect me. “No,” I say. It’s the only word I can manage, and it sounds strangled and raw.

He turns me gently, then presses his palm to my cheek. “It rips me apart to see the fear in your eyes.”

His words are soft and gentle, but they hit me with as much force as a kick in the chest, and I respond in kind, surprising both of us when I lash out and slap him across the face.

“Stop it!” I shout, all of my self-control exploding out in a maelstrom of wild emotions. “Just fucking stop it! You think that’s a solution? Wishing that we’d never gotten together? Goddammit, Justin, I’m so in love with you it hurts, but you’re going to fucking coddle me? I don’t need you to soothe me, I need you to do something.” I smack him in the chest with both palms, then gasp when he grabs my wrists and holds me still, his hands painfully tight against my skin.

“Selena.” His voice isn’t soothing now. It’s raw and dangerous and I know that I’ve pushed him too far, but I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t push him far enough, because right then, all I want is to break him. To break through that goddamned stubbornness and somehow get through his head that the only way to save himself—to save us—is to put forward a defense.

“They’re going to put you away for life.” My voice is clipped and precise. “Christ, Justin, how can you not be scared shitless? I’m so scared I can barely get out of bed every day!”

He stares at me as if I’m speaking Greek. “Not afraid?” His words are heavy with barely contained fury. I don’t know if it’s directed at me or not, but it is strong enough that it makes him tremble. “Is that what you think?”

I take an involuntary step back, but he stops me, his hands clutching my arms, his fingers digging into my flesh and holding me firmly in place. “Is that really what you think? Jesus Christ, Selena, I’m terrified of being ripped away from you. Of not being able to touch you. To kiss you. To hear you laugh, to look at you. To be with you.”

I am so lost in his words that I do not realize that he has been easing me backward and now I am pressed up against a tree, the bark rough through the thin material of my dress. His hands slide possessively down my arms, then back up my torso to roughly cup my breasts. I gasp as desire, hot and demanding, cuts through me.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing my cheek. “I can handle anything except the thought of losing you.” His mouth burns against my ear. His hand slides down, then slowly up my thigh, taking the thin material of the skirt with him.

“Not scared?” he whispers as his palm cups my sex. I’m not wearing underwear, and he slips easily inside me. I bite my lower lip, grateful that he is there to hold me up because my entire body feels like liquid fire.

“I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life,” he says, and then his mouth closes over mine and his fingers inside me move slowly in time with the deepening rhythm of his kiss. For one beautiful, blissful moment I am lost in his kiss, in his arms. I’ve forgotten where we are and why we are here. There is only Justin and the sensual, comforting warmth of his body pressed against mine.

Then something snaps inside me, bursting past the desire and this desperate need that has my pulse pounding and my sex drawing tight around his fingers. I press my palms up hard against his chest and push him back again.

“How dare you be afraid. Goddammit, Justin, how dare you say that you’re afraid of losing me when you could make it all go away. You could make this be over. You could end it and we could go home.”

He’s staring at me, and there is infinite sadness in his eyes. “Oh, baby. If I could take away your fear, I would.”

“If you could?” I repeat. “You can, and you damn well know it, and I’m fucking pissed off that you won’t do anything about it.”

I’m screaming at him. I’m like a shrewish harpy and I hate it. Hate myself. But dammit, right now I hate Justin, too.

Tears stream down my face, and my legs seem to fall out from under me. I start to collapse and Justin catches me, easing me down to my knees. The irony isn’t lost on me; Justin will always be there to catch me. At least I thought he would. Now I don’t know, and for the first time, I feel alone in Justin’s arms.

“I’ve thought about it.” His voice is low and as serious as I’ve ever heard.

I freeze. I never knew that hope could feel so cold and lifeless, but it does. “Thought about what?” I ask cautiously.

He hesitates so long that I begin to think he’s not going to answer. When he speaks, the words come slowly. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says. “And now that I have you, I’m risking everything there is between us.”

Yes, I want to shout. Yes! I realize that I’m digging my fingernails into the soft, damp earth, and I force myself to relax as I try not to anticipate his next words. As I try not to get my hopes up.

“I’m not convinced that revealing what Richter did to me is the panacea you and Maynard and the rest of them think it is. But maybe I should try. If it means that the charges will go away, then maybe I should sacrifice the privacy that I’ve spent my whole life fighting to maintain.”

I hear the bitterness in his voice, and I want to reach for him and hold his hand tight in mine. I don’t, though. I stay absolutely, perfectly still.

“There is no shame in being a victim, right? So why should I care if the world knows the vile things he did to me? Why should it matter if the press writes about the dark nights in my dorm room. The debasing things he made me do. Things I haven’t even told you. Things that I wish I could forget.”

He meets my eyes, but I see only the hard lines and angles of his face. “If it means that I can walk to you as a free man, shouldn’t I want to shout that story from the rooftops? Shouldn’t I want it plastered everywhere? On television, on talk shows, on the front page of newspapers? Shouldn’t I want to make my personal hell fodder for the whole damn world?”

Something cool brushes my cheek, and I realize that I am crying.

“No,” I whisper, hating the truth even as I say it. But this is the heart of who Justin is. A man who lives by his own code, and it is that core of him that I fell in love with. “Not even for me,” I say. “Not even to stay out of prison.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and fresh tears spill out over my lashes.

The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek.

“You understand?”

“No,” I say, but I mean yes, and when I open my eyes I can see that he knows it. He moves closer to me, and my breath hitches. I hiccup a little, tasting tears as his mouth closes over mine. The kiss is soft at first, gentle and sweet. Then his hand cups the back of my head even as his other arm snakes around my waist and tugs me onto his lap.

I gasp with surprise at the movement, and he takes advantage, his mouth hardening, his tongue finding mine, his kiss becoming deeper and more demanding. I twine my fingers through his silky hair and lose myself in the sensual firmness of his mouth. In the wildness of this kiss. Our tongues meeting, our teeth clashing. My mouth will be bruised in the morning, but I cannot resist this kiss that is setting us both on fire.

I am breathing hard when he finally pulls away. My lips feel swollen and used and spectacular. I wonder if I’ve ever truly been kissed before, even by Justin. And right then, all I want is more.

I lean toward him in silent demand, but he catches me with a firm hand under my chin. I stay there, my position awkward, my eyes lifted to his.

“You are my everything, Selena. You have to know that. You have to believe it.”

“I do,” I whisper. I see the tremor run through his body, then the way his muscles tighten as he pulls me against him and holds me close. I melt into his arms, so in love with this man that it almost hurts.

“You are my everything,” he repeats. “But I can’t be true to you if I’m not true to myself.”

“I know,” I say, my lips against the cotton of his shirt. “I get it.” I tilt my head back and look up into his eyes. “That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

“Then let me try to make it better.” He eases me away from his body, then bends down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Is that where it hurts?”

I shake my head as tears tease my eyes and a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“No? Then how about here?” His lips brush my jawline, and I suck in a breath, undone by the sweetness of his touch.

“No,” I say, and my smile is no longer tremulous.

This time, his lips find the indentation at the base of my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, and feel my pulse beat wildly against his lips. “That’s not it, either,” I whisper.

“Tricky,” he says. “How can I kiss it and make it better if I can’t even find it?”

“Keep looking,” I say.

“I’ll never stop,” he promises. His lips drift down, pausing over my heart that is pounding in my chest. “Not here, surely,” he says, then moves on as I laugh, the sound cut off by a raw, sensual cry when his mouth closes suddenly over my breast.

“Justin!”

His arms around my back support me as he suckles me through the silky material of this insanely expensive dress. His teeth graze my sensitive nipple, and I arch back, lost in a desperate haze of pleasure.

“Here?” he murmurs, his lips never fully releasing me.

“Yes,” I say. “Oh, God, yes.”

“I’m not so sure,” he says when he takes his mouth off me. “I’d better keep looking.”

He shifts me gently off his lap and lays me down on the soft grass, his legs straddling my waist.

“Justin,” I murmur. “What are you—”

He hushes me with a finger, then leans over me, his mouth on my breast again. I groan with pleasure. “I told you,” he says. “I’m going to kiss it and make it better.”

ure�I�|

[ask-de-writer]

FORTRESS CANTERLOT!  (Part 1 of 3), An MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FORTRESS CANTERLOT!

Part 3 of the TRUE HISTORY OF EQUESTRIA!

by

De Writer  (Glen Ten-Eyck)

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

11936 words

Writing begun 03/29/14

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

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Prologue: This tale takes place about 3000 years in the past of the modern MLP canon. During this time, Celestia and Luna are still fillies, though close to grown physically. The events here recorded are the foundation of the modern legends of a time when unicorns regulated the heavens.

This story takes place roughly two hundred years after the events of FROM DARKNESS TO DAWN.

.

For more background information on the canon of this tale, please read:

De Writer and the Orb of the Ages

From Darkness to Dawn

De Writer’s Tale (a narrative poem)

The Coming of Tam O’Canter and Heather Bloom O’Red Hoof to Ponyville

Hearthwarming Eve / Starvation’s Night

De Writer canon (part 1)

De Writer canon (part 2)

PART 2 is HERE     PART 3 is HERE

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“Shove off!  Your kind ain't wanted here!” Snapped a burly unicorn.  The others at his back where whickering assent.  “Not wanted.  We got the locals paying us and you ain't horning in on our game!”

Celestia looked at the pale green unicorn as if he were an ugly but interesting bug.  “OUR KIND? What kind is that, exactly?  We are trying to leave.  You told us to halt.  Make up your mind, if you have one.”

Luna ignored them entirely.  She partly raised her right wing and scratched with a hind hoof at her wing root.

The old white bearded blue unicorn with them raised a lip on the left side and spat expressively on the ground between the two groups.

He chuckled mirthlessly and it seemed like he flickered in place several times.  Giving the pale green leader of the group a sideways look, he said quietly, “You can quit trying to delay us until your ponies are in position, SUNLORD.  Your assassins are unavoidably delayed.”  

His horn glowed briefly and a small pile of weapons and camouflage cloaks floated out of the woods to their right and landed in front of the group's leader.  The knives snapped down into the ground point first, driven into the earth all the way to the crossgards.  The crossgards were so close to his hooves that the metal of them clicked against the Sunlord's solid hooves.

Celestia turned her head to look at the blue unicorn and said, “Well done, father.  Did you have to hurt them?”

Luna stopped her scratching to say, “Knowing father, no.  They are not injured.”  She bared her teeth in a grin and added, “Embarrassed, yes.  Probably very embarrassed.”

Striking an obviously fake innocent pose, De Writer said, “Who, me?  Why would I want to embarrass somepony?  Surely the simple fact that they were trying to murder us where we stand is no provocation for such an extreme measure!”

Then he stopped pretending.  In a stern voice he demanded, “Sunlord, or whatever you want to call yourself, YOU get out of our way or I shall have to get unpleasant.”

He started forward with such assurance that the green unicorn backed up a few steps.  Realizing what it must look like to his followers, he stopped and tossed his head impressively as he prepared a huge aura of green magic about his horn.  Releasing the blast, they all watched horror-struck as it enveloped the old blue unicorn.  The very ground where he had been standing smoked from the force of it.  There was no visible trace of his target left.

Just behind the Sunlord a quiet voice said flatly, “You missed.”

As the Sunlord started to look around, he was hit solidly in the rump by a powerful double hoof buck.  He pitched forward face first into the smoking dirt.  The unbelieving green unicorn had to blow earth out of his nostrils before completing his look behind him.

With a twisted lip sneer, the old unicorn's blue magic flared almost gently.  The so-called Sunlord's front legs sank into the turf, all the way up to his barrel.  The soil firmed up around them, a pale blue fleeing away from the affected dirt.

Another flare of blue, again, not seeming to be strong at all, lifted his hind quarters up by the tail. He was set down, hind legs sinking in into the turf up to the hocks.

“There.  Now you have all the dignity that a confidence artist deserves.  We will be on our way!” Stepping close, the old unicorn bent his head down to be on a level with the struggling “Sunlord.”  He added, with a meaningful snap of spark-like blue to the rump, “Unless you WANT me to hang around. Being a teacher of of fractious foals has taught me LOTS of other fun tricks!”

The “Sunlord” demanded, “At least have the decency to use those crazy wings of theirs to fly away!  Don't let our followers see those flank marks!  Those ain't painted on!  Besides, those fillies are an obscenity!  They are deformed!  Their horns are too long!  They got wings!  Their legs, everything about them is wrong!”

Celestia and Luna both gave the entrapped “Sunlord” a look of disapproval.  Gracefully, they stepped close.  Celestia tilted her head disdainfully.  “I will have to tell mother Skyglow, the Titan of Life Creation, that her work is a deformed obscenity.  We have the absolute authority of the Sunlord on it.

“That aside, you mentioned horning in on your game?  With a title like Sunlord, I am guessing that you ponies noticed that the heavens were fixing themselves.  You decided to use it to convince the locals that they had to pay you to keep the heavens in order?  Quite a scam.  What have you done, set yourselves up as some sort of priests?  Got a Temple?

“This could be fun.”

Even buried up to his barrel, rump upraised, Sunlord tried to gather his magic again.  A sharp snap of blue magic, just under his tail, spoiled his concentration.

De Writer reminded Celestia and Luna, “Come, my daughters, we have wasted enough time with this oaf and his followers.”

They nodded agreement and trotted away down the grassy, stone wall lined lane after their foster father.  Going deeper into the lands of the “Sunlord.”

Behind them there was a considerable commotion as his followers tried to free the Sunlord from the ground.

Luna commented, “I never saw that trick with the dirt going soft before.  Did you ever have to use it in the school, father?”

Looking back over his shoulder, De Writer replied, “Nope.  The foals that I was teaching were better behaved than that fool.”

Luna smiled at that.  “Even Reacher, when you stuck him to the roof beam by the hooves for a while was better than that Sunlord?  That is funny.”  Suddenly, she started to cry.  “He was in Evanescence.  He died trying to protect his family.  I could not save any of them.”

Celestia's large white wing gently enfolded her black as midnight sister.  Gentle many hued magic added its comforting touch.  Blue magic joined it.

De Writer said gently, “We all tried to save them.  The invaders were too many and the attacks too well planned.  Even those that we did not care for, like Reacher, we tried to spare.  We all failed too many times.  We did the best that we could.

“You cannot do better than your best.  It was not your fault that Reacher or his family died.”

Sniffling some, Luna replied, “I know that.  I keep hoping that if I tell myself that often enough, I will believe it, someday.”

Softly, Celestia agreed, “We all hope that.  As fast as father can be, he was not fast enough either.  We all lost so many.  The only consolation that I have is that we did save as many as we did.”

Behind them, a twig cracked.  Two Alicorns and an old blue unicorn whirled about in combat readiness, magics gathered at their horns.

Unnecessary.  It was a young, though grown, brown unicorn.  He had a flank mark of a pair of scales balanced across a sword's edge.  He said carefully, “I am called Justice.  I can hear the difference between truth and lies.  That is my talent.

“When you said that your mother was the Titan of Life Creation, you were telling the truth.”  He hung his head and said, “I followed the Sunlord because, though he is a liar, he was bringing something of order to the land.

“We desperately need some kind of order.  Since we came here, a lot has gone wrong.  Our leaders told lies about the rich, empty land.  Hungry bellies wanted to believe them.  

“Some of us have found the remains of dead ponies out in the brush and forests.  Others found strange jewelry and tools in the burned places that we were told were beacon fires.

Justice looked at them beseechingly.  “What I just heard confirmed the worst suspicions that any of us had.  Our leaders and their warriors took this land by sudden war.  We had no hoof in that.  I would follow you, if you will allow it.”

Justice abased himself before Celestia.

She regarded him carefully for a moment and asked gently, “Won't this break your oaths to the Sunlord?”

Justice replied with assurance, “No.  I would not take any oath of service to a liar.  I only followed him because he seemed to be bringing some order to this whole area.  The warrior pegassi are at odds with him and the other unicorns.  The earth ponies are being blamed for the crop failure this year but it isn't really their fault.

“We were all told that the big meadows of crop grasses and grains were natural and would just spring up on their own again.  When they didn't, somepony came up with the idea that Wendigoes, whatever they are, were ruining the crop.  They still blame the earth ponies for not protecting the crops better.

“I am afraid that it will break up into violence again, like it did where we came from.”

Celestia nodded her head and then turned to Luna and De Writer.  “Sister, Father, shall we take this pony, Justice, to our service?”

De Writer considered thoughtfully.  He took out the Orb of the Ages and muttered softly, “The future is forbidden.”  The Orb began its ghostly, pale green glow.  Scenes came and went within it so swiftly as to be almost invisible.  De Writer put the Orb away.

Turning to Celestia, he bowed in a courtly way and said, “This good pony speaks the truth.  If he says that he will be loyal in his service and do whatso we ask of him, then, yes.  We should take Justice to our service.”

Luna cast a pale web of midnight blue magic, set with pale stars in it.  The web settled over Justice.  He did not flinch.  Instead, he smiled.

Luna nodded too.  “I cast a dream web over him.  He had no nightmare, but did have a good dream of his hopes for the future.”  Standing proud, she raised her horn high and spread her impressive midnight blue wings.  “I say yes, Sister of the Sun.  Let us take this unicorn named so well, this Justice, to our service.”

Celestia raised up onto her hind legs, spreading her wings, her horn so high that it seemed to pierce the sky itself and said, “Justice, you have honorably sought out our service.  We, Celestia, Luna, and De Writer, Chronicler of the World About Us, are agreed.  Arise, and be, of your own will, Justice Truth Keeper.  The first of our followers.”

Justice rose from his posture of abasement and said, “If you will hear me, it would be wise to hie thee from this place.  The Sunlord, though not yet free, has sworn that you shall be hunted down and destroyed by his army of unicorns.”

Seeming to be utterly calm, Luna replied, “It will not be the first time that we have been hunted, nor do I expect it to be the last.”

Celestia looked over her shoulder at Justice and smiled angelically.  “If they are going to pursue us with an army, it would by only courteous to make it easy for them to find us.

“Good Justice, I shall carry you in my magic.  Dear sister, would you please fly father for us?”

The two young Alicorns took to the air in a thunder of hard driven wing strokes.  Both their foster father, De Writer, and their new follower, Justice, rose into the air along with them riding in safe cocoons of magic.

Celestia swooped gracefully to a landing on the steps of the Temple of the Sky, in a village called Morgan's Howe.  It was only a few miles from where they started.

As Celestia struck an impressive pose, Luna called out, in a voice just short of a bellow, “Citizens of Morgan's Howe!  Subjects of the false Sunlord and his henchmen!  Hear us!  He is pursuing us with an army. Join Him!

“You will see for yourselves the falsity of his empty words!”

They flew off before any could stop them.  They repeated the performance at every village that they passed near as they approached the mountain where we had rested on the way to the Sunrise Isles (for that adventure, read From Darkness to Dawn).

Worry in his voice and face, Justice asked, “Are you not raising a great army against you?  Will this not make it simple for the Sunlord to find you?”

It was Luna, her mane streaming like a dark flag in the wind of their flight, who answered.  “Father has not said much but he is wise. He taught us the the best way to win a battle is to not have to fight at all.  He also taught us that if you must fight, choose both the enemy and the battlefield.  We are doing all of those things.  You will see.”

//////// TO BE CONTINUED ////////