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qiankunfics · 4 years ago

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KunTen Masterlist Part 1

AO3

1. Body Talk by smallchittaphon

Summary: He had feared the statement more when the days to His and Kun’s one year mark approached but he shouldn't have. It was childish too, not every relationship is the same he realizes. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

2. cut through the clouds by heartsighed

Summary: Qian Kun, microbiology major, vice-president of the ISA, part-time poster model and full-time mom friend, is perhaps more stressed than he would like everyone to think. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

3. something new by creamsoda (bobahoney)

Summary: Ten finally asks Kun to fuck his thighs. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

4. the aesthetics of beauty by hoeunki

Summary: when Kun’s required to create something that defines art, he decides to draw a stranger that he finds sleeping on the campus grounds. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

5. kiss me under the light of a thousand stars by gabilliam (vvhymack)

Summary: Ten calls the wrong number, Kun comes to the rescue. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

6. The Customer is Always Right by 021497J

Summary: Ten honestly isn't a picky eater, the chicken was dry. His complaints earn him a visit from the very cute head chef. He can't help it if he wants to see him once more, all he has to do is complain...right? Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

7. red, orange, yellow, green, even thicker by eatthatup

Summary: Kun isn’t used to being praised. Physically, at least. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

8. incandescently (for him.) by gabilliam (vvhymack)

Summary: They were no longer the likely protagonists for the typical romance and it saddened Ten. (Historical AU) Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot Trigger: Slight homophobia mentioned

9. we’ll be alright by syugafairy

Summary: kun never thought of himself as an anxious person Rating: General Status: One-Shot

10. light me up

Summary: Ten spends most of his life dreaming of being a superhero, and by luck, his wish is granted. Chaos ensues. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

11. the store by _helios (the_heliades)

Summary: His cat, quiet and proud, will watch with piercing eyes, as they wander out of The Store and into the world again. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

12. Rain. by softyjseo

Summary: Ten is in love. Kun isn't, apparently. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

13. sweeter than cake by eatthatup for adarkalleyway

Summary: Ten, pouting just slightly, makes Kun melt instantly. Like heating sugar, near its burning point. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

14. kiss me if you like me (slap me if I'm wrong) by mikararinna

Summary: Ten was starting to feel bored of life. He needed a challenge, something to excite himself. Kun had an idea. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

15. Magnets by orphan_account

Summary: Kun and Ten are roommates. Rating: General Status: One-Shot Trigger: slight harassment

16. sibilance by andnowforyaya

Summary: Doctor Qian Kun chases the stories he hears on the rivers to their origins, and he meets a beautiful boy underneath a waterfall. Rating: Teen Status: On-going

17. get you good by gift

Summary: “Please, don’t make me beg,” Kun whines.“I like when you beg,” Ten tells him bluntly. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

18. sweet, sweet love by RedamancyEffect

Summary: Kun is the sweetest omega ever, Ten is head-over-heels for him. Too bad, Kun is a little dense. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

19. stupid spinach dip

Summary: Yukhei and Mark visit Professor Kun and they find out he’s married to news anchor Ten. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

20. sunchoke by flyway

Summary: Kun, Ten, and summer at the Sunchoke magazine test kitchen. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

21. Handle Perfection

Summary: Ten was going to need Kun to stop this kind of behaviour, his heart couldn’t handle this type of perfection. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

22. you are my favorite everything

Summary: Ten and Kun meet during the perfect summer. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

23. no matter how long i wait by dreamlaunch (mayuaka)

Summary: in his search for a dream blocking enchantment, ten finds kun. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

24. the truth hurts (and secrets kill) by thereisnoreality

Summary: Ten kills while Kun is at work. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot *Part of murdery martrimony collection

25. Open Windows by Mntsnflrs

Summary: Ten constantly locks himself out of his apartment, Kun saves the day and him. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

26. green, pink, blue, yellow by rowenabane

Summary: Imagine: a town with manicured lawns, cotton candy sunrises, houses that all look the same. Imagine: a neighbor with a beautiful smile, a terrible secret, a hidden past. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot Trigger: Slight alcohol abuse

27. dreaming (are you thinking what i'm thinking?) by okamiwind

Summary: They could not be more different, the pair of them. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

28. click, snapshot by kwonjis

Summary: photographer!kunten fic Rating: General Status: One-Shot

29. Office Hours by violetpeche

Summary: Kun’s chest starts to ache again as he watches the soft, pink tip of Ten’s tongue slip across his lower lip before biting it. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

30. open invitation by andnowforyaya

Summary: Ten’s asleep, and his pink, soft lips are parted, that mouth that gave Kun so much trouble earlier today. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

31. What's Life Without a Little Worry?

Summary: Kun was a notorious worrier. He worried about his grades, about his friends and whether they were eating enough, sleeping enough. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

32. To All The Boys I Ghosted Before by cobalamincosel

Summary: The Tinder AU where Ten ghosts Kun in date night— and months later finds out that Kun is his new neighbor. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

33. Miles Above by violetpeche

Summary: Ten looks up at Kun and lets out a deep sigh. “No.” He leans over to tap on the faucet to rinse out the sink for Kun. “I came in here to suck your dick.” Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

34. getting closer by flowerhairclips

Summary: Kun is in for a long ass ride when a demon he exorcised ends up falling in love with him. Rating: Explicit Status: Completed

35. a labour of love by eggboyksoo

Summary: renjun is an artistic genius with a tendency to keep things from his family. his parents struggle to support his interests while pretending they don't know about said interests. Rating: General Status: One-Shot *Part of chaos, family, love collection

36. Hunger of the Pine by cobalamincosel

Summary: Kun and Ten are ex-college friends-with-benefits who end up becoming so much more when they bump into each other again at the airport after a few years for the wedding of their respective college roommates and best friends, Johnny and Taeyong. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

37. We’ll Get Lost Together (Let Me Flow) by easycomeeasygo

Summary: When Ten really gets to look at Kun, his brain short circuits. He’s hot. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

38. if you believe in magic, come along with me by mainvocal

Summary: Deep down, Kun knows Ten didn't ask to join Card Magic Club because he'd suddenly become enamored with the art of card tricks. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

39. Antedate by Lertsek

Summary: There are some nights where Kun wakes up and can't hear Ten breathe. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

40. Permeating and Perfect by Kkaepsongiya

Summary: He can’t stop making noise, not as Kun fucks him so well, the older boy holding his hips tight, pulling him back to meet his thrusts. He knows his hips will be bruised for days after this—he can’t wait to see the marks, to press into them when he’s all alone. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

41. Open Doors by Mntsnflrs

Summary: He decides he likes the way Kun says his name.He decides he wants to hear it more. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

42. let's stay together by madhoney

Summary: Kun smirked and squeezed around his boyfriend’s waist. He could really get used to a lifetime of his sass. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

43. Someday by almostkun

Summary: Kun laughs at him, caressing his cheek with his thumb. They stay in silence for a while, as Mr. Baudelaire chases Mrs. Austen with the help of Yoshihiro-san. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

44. i come apart at the seams (so you can stitch me back together again) by okamiwind

Summary: Ten is the shot, and Kun is his chaser. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

45. space rocks by gaysadandtired

Summary: no celestial being could compare to Ten and his blinding smile. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

46. old times by madhoney

Summary: Since his husband was just set on being ornery tonight, Kun decided to just take the L and try again tomorrow. Rating: Explicit Status: One-shot

47. oh, let's start some rumour by mikararinna

Summary: Rumour has it supermodel Ten has a crush on famous actor Qian Kun. Ten called bullshit. He didn't have a crush on Kun. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

48. you're insatiable by 10softbot

Summary: kun takes ten to a cabin in the woods so they can finally fuck Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

49. Reset by violetpeche

Summary: This particular Thursday morning spiraled into Hell on Earth. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

50. Intersequence by pinkwinwin

Summary: a love story in photographs Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

#kunten #masterlist #part 1 #kun #qian kun

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elenajournals · 4 years ago

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2021 Journaling + Art Goals

(loose and definitely subject to change)

1. Finish Rose Journal (the found poetry one). I often neglect this unless I’m doing a strict rotation, as I was during Planttober, because sometimes the effort of finding the poem first requires too much mental energy. But it’s small and definitely closer to done than Dragon, so it’s next on the chopping block.

2. Start keeping my vocabulary journal again. This is more reading related, and I’ve never shown it here because it’s not “pretty” and doesn’t lend itself well to taking neat photos of pages or spreads. But I once vowed to look up every word I came across while reading and learn its definition, and I did for quite a long time, but then I guess I read a lot of things that didn’t test my knowledge much, and I fell out of the habit.

3. Complete at least three (3) small “art” books over the course of the year. I have a stash of well over a dozen small books of various styles made during my learn-to-bookbind phase--the recently completed Ice Cave Journal was the biggest of them--and I liked doing the themed CephaloSquad art book this fall. I’ve already chosen the next tiny booklet to use, and I think it’s going to be about birds. Past that, who knows what the others will end up being, and if it goes well I might even do more than three! (After all, I have lots.)

4. Make at least one more fabric-covered, altered-book journal. I’m working my way through both Rose and Dragon, and since I love these things so much, I want at least one more ready to go when I finish Rose. I’m considering every hardcover book I read and don’t intend to keep, but I haven’t found the right one yet.

5. Journal every day. That doesn’t have to be writing in my personal journal--though I’d like to do that more days than not--but art journaling without writing will definitely count. I can be consistent for long stretches, but I still tend to fall out of the habit and have a hard time starting up again.

6. Get back to my Drawabox drawing lessons. I don’t know how to pace these yet, as the 250 Box Challenge burned me out hardcore, but I can probably figure something out that’s not too intense, but will help me be more consistent. Starting up again after months off is going to be hard on my brain, but I really do want to improve!

#journaling goals #2021 goals

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allbeendonebefore · 5 years ago

Note

artist ask random numbers: 3, 6, 11, 19, 22, 28

3. How many classes have you taken?

Since high school, no formal classes aside from online tutorials. i’d really like to try out a class or a live drawing session when I’m able to though, I regret not going as a post-secondary student.

6. What’s your least favorite thing to draw?

Lately I really don’t like drawing different angles or the same comic panel over and over again, but it’s hard to break out of. I also get easily overwhelmed by landscapes (cityscapes in particular) even though I keep forcing myself to draw them. Also don’t like any kind of foreshortening or drawing shoes, lol.

11. How many art-related blogs do you follow?

Not a clue, but I do try to fill up my feed with illustrators as much as possible!

19. What is the most difficult thing for you to draw?

Legs, still. I won’t say I’m good at drawing hands or finished learning how to draw hands but I’ve sort of made my peace with them; unfortunately I really struggle with legs and putting people’s feet on the ground so they don’t look like they’re floating and it frustrates me a lot.

22. Are you confident that you’re improving steadily?

Yes and no haha, I’m in a bit of a burn out post-school and here in quarantine, I wouldn’t call it a block but a previous issue of trying to pick a focus of study has been greatly exacerbated this month by not really having a good private spot to work on my art. But when I look over the stuff just in the course of like, the last five years, I am pleased with what I see and I know now that I’m out of school I can do more and get faster and see more improvement like I did the last time i was shut in at home and had no friends xD;; but this time i have good friends to encourage me and to bounce ideas off of. If I’m improving for an audience of 3, I don’t mind xD

28. For traditional artists: what medium do you like most? (Pencil, charcoals, etc)

Watercolour remains to be the one thing in my life that I still pursue even though it’s really frustrating. However, I think acrylics and gouache also accurately represent a process I really like and usually use in digital art as well- I just don’t have access to my paints because they’re in another province. I haven’t had a chance to practice gouache at all, really, but I can see it being a fast favourite.

#about hapo #hapo rambles #ask meme #randomoranges

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angelbabylu · 5 years ago

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Man or Beast // LH

pairing: witch!oc x vampire!luke

word count: 7.5k

warnings: smut, fluff, magical stuff, angst if you squint

notes: so last week i posted something wicked, an introduction to this universe where 5sos are vampires. as stated in my note for that fic, the idea comes from this book series. whereas that fic dealt with a lot of witch lore, this will deal with vampire lore. basically digging into luke’s family and backstory and such. this has the barest of allusions to dracula. i hope you enjoy!

title: from this dracula quote: “[S]omething dark stood behind the seat where the white figure shone and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell.”

Part 1: Something Wicked

The first year in front of her had turned bright red in embarrassment. They were in the greenhouse discussing the life cycle of plants and how magic could be used to speed up that process. Margo, the TA for this freshman herbology class, had grown quite used to her students being intimidated by her. Especially those like the young witch in front of her who’s magic had gone haywire and caused several plants in the vicinity to die. The good news was that Margo was somewhat of a prodigy when it came to herbology. It was one of the few things she could do without incantations.

She ran her hands over the flowering plants as she spoke to the girl. “Like with all magic, it is about manipulating something on a molecular level. With raw power, all you have to do is send your magic into the universe and manipulate it to do your bidding. Like creating water.” Margo whispered a quick spell that had an orb of water forming between her fingertips. She tossed it into the air, and it disappeared into steam.

“Or,” Margo continued, “telekinesis.” After a wink from Margo, the large, round, wire-rimmed glasses that the first year wore wiggled up and down on her face.

“The water and your glasses are both inanimate objects, so I only had to worry about manipulating them to my own will. With plants, you can’t just shove energy at it and hope for the best as they have a will of their own. Listen to the plant and learn what it wants. If you just try to bend it to your will, it will resist, which could lead to. . . ” Margo trailed off.

The young witch had already experienced the consequences of such actions. “This takes a level of practiced magical manipulation.” As if in a show of agreement, the plants began to come back alive around her, sprouting flowers as red as the witch’s face had turned earlier.

Margo was so engulfed in trying to teach her young student how to control horticultural magic, she didn’t notice the slight prickling in her thumb.

She missed the whispering and giggling too. It was not until the young witch interrupted her with a small, yet constrained smile and said, shyly, “Miss Crowley, I think your boyfriend is here,” that she looked up and out towards the doorway. Sure enough, leaning against the door frame to the greenhouse was Luke, arms crossed, a smile on his face.

Margo pursed her lips in mild annoyance, hands coming to rest on her hips. Luke knew that when he showed up to her lectures, it distracted the class. Most vampires didn’t hang out with the Horticultural Magic students–they tended to prefer biological sciences, history, literature, and other such pursuits. And, vampires were also the least prevalent of the magical beings. Chances were many of the first years had never seen a vampire before meeting Luke.

Some of the bolder witches had already made their way over to him, taking his attention away from Margo.

“I suppose class is over?” asked the young witch Margo had been helping. She looked at her students whose focus was no longer on the plants in front of them, but on the tall, looming vampire in the doorway.

“I suppose,” Margo said solemnly.

She went to the front of the greenhouse and called out for attention. “Class dismissed. Please remember that I expect all of you to be able to draw the life cycle of an angiosperm by next Tuesday! There will be a quiz.”

As always, there was a collective groan throughout the room. Margo ignored it as she went to about packing her things. Luke stayed at the door for a couple of seconds saying goodbye to the few students that were friendly with him before walking over to her. When she had rammed all that could fit in the small laptop bag, she slung it over her shoulder, picking up the spellbook and the biology textbook she couldn’t quite fit.

Reaching out, Luke stole the books and a kiss. “Good afternoon, mon cœur,” he said, his native language rolling smoothly off his tongue. “I take it you had a good class.”

Margo refused to smile at him, no matter how charming he was.

When she didn’t return his smile, he turned indignant. “What did I do?” He asked, voice raising an octave.

“Half my class is like in love with you. Every time you show up, they forget I exist.”

Luke laughed at her revelation, placing one arm around her and ushering her out of the greenhouse. “Half your class is in love with you,” he shot back. “That girl you were talking to when I walked in? She has such a huge crush on you, I could hear her heart hammering from halfway down the hall.”

“What?” Margo’s mouth hung open. “No way. Poor thing. It’s too bad for her that I don’t date my students.”

“And that you’re dating me,” Luke reminded, squeezing her shoulder possessively.

Margo laughed; she had known that would get a reaction out of him.

They walked in relative silence, basking in the golden hue of the late afternoon sun. Glancing up at Luke, she watched as the light brushed against his angular features, causing the contours of his face to seem more prominent. She remembered the days she thought vampires would burn in the sunlight. Turns out that, while they preferred nighttime, the sun did little more than irritate their sensitive eyes. Growing up in her small town in Massachusetts, she didn’t have much contact with other supernatural creatures that weren’t witches. It was part of the reason she loved the University of the Arcana as much as she did. The different kinds of people she got to meet were refreshing.

Luke’s Tesla was parked a few feet outside the Horticultural Sciences Complex. The research lab where he mapped the vampire genome and studied evolutionary biology was just a few blocks from Margo’s greenhouse. Their evening routine used to include enjoying a leisurely 5-minute stroll from said greenhouse to the biology complexes. Recently, however, that had not been the case.

“Why’s your car here?” She asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“I went to a few theology seminars today,” Luke said in response.

Along with being an evolutionary biologist, Luke was getting a degree in the history of theism, and, when he was feeling particularly nostalgic, he also attended classes on Romantic-era literature. The thing about vampires was that they had all the time in the world, so getting two or three degrees at once was nothing to them. It didn’t escape her notice, however, that he had been attending these classes more frequently.

Margo tramped down her budding need for confrontation and asked instead, “Do we have any plans for tonight?” In the privacy of Luke’s car, she kicked off her trainers and took her hair from its top knot. Saying goodbye to the day, she relaxed back into to cool leather of the interior, facing Luke only once her legs were tucked firmly underneath her.

Splitting his attention expertly between her and the road, Luke asked, “Would the house be mad if I stole you away for one more night?”

Her house, or rather the Gamma Nu Sorority House, had a habit of misbehaving when it was feeling cheated. Once, a few weeks before, she had spent 6 blissful days sleeping on Luke’s memory foam mattress only to return home to find her room missing. After hours of begging and cajoling, there was still no sign of her scratched up wooden door. Finally, it had taken her promising not to spend more than three days at a time at Luke’s for the house to re-materialize the room in its former spot.

“We’ve got one more day,” Margo informed him, thinking about their Game of Thrones marathon that had lasted two nights in a row. “I can’t watch Game of Thrones tonight though. Your girl’s gotta study.”

“I could cook while you study?” Luke suggested. “Then, we can do dinner and go to bed early.”

“Good food and an early bedtime?” Margo released an exaggerated moan. “Talk dirty to me.”

:: ::

It was 9 PM when Luke entered the study that, over months of dating, had become more hers than his. He was holding a pasta dish, two glasses of wine, and some freshly baked bread. Margo was more excited to see the food than she was to see him.

Luke’s diet consisted mostly of blood, animal’s or hers, and wine. Since becoming a vampire, he had lost his taste for human food, but not his love of the culinary arts. Dating her gave him an excuse to get back into the kitchen where he liked to get experimental with his dishes.

She closed the potions textbook in front of her and held her hand out for the plate as soon as he got close enough. “Carbs!” she cried happily. “You do love me.”

He chuckled and kissed her before handing her the plate. Leaning against the edge of the desk, he watched intently as she took the first bite.

“Any good?” Luke’s culinary inventions didn’t often leave her wanting, and this time was no different. The fork had no sooner left her mouth than she was groaning.

Laughing, Luke said, “I’ll take that as an affirmative.” Perched on the desk, he sipped wine casually and gave her a moment to savor her food. Then, he asked, “How’s potions going?”

“It’s kicking my ass,” was her grumble of a reply. “There are hundreds of potion bases, and I have to memorize them all by next Friday.”

“Do you want me to quiz you while you eat?” He was already reaching for the book she had set aside earlier.

Grabbing his hand, Margo stopped him. “If I see or hear anything about potions for the next 12 hours I might actually die.”

“At least we haven’t resorted to dramatics,” he retorted dryly. After he studied her for a minute, then announced, “Alright, finish eating and meet me in the bathroom.”

Reluctance must have shown on her face because he exclaimed, “Oh my god, just do it!” Then, he disappeared through the office door.

Fifteen minutes later, Margo left the study for the bathroom, which she found with its door slightly ajar, soothing piano music drifting out. She pushed inside to reveal a prepared bath and a few candles burning, tossing soft light off the porcelain of the tub. A small speaker sat on the counter, the source of the sounds that had drawn her in earlier. Luke was noticeably absent.

He appeared behind her in the next second, a couple of large towels in hand. “Ah, there you are.” He said nonchalantly, as if unaware of how romantic this simple gesture was in her eyes. He had seen how strung out she was and had known exactly what she needed. “C’mon, get in the tub.”

Margo was eager to follow his order, but first, she leaned over the stack of towels to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. “You’re getting in with me, right?” She asked while unbuttoning the powder blue shirt she’d been wearing for over 14 hours then.

“If you want me to.”

Margo scoffed, then moved to unclasp her bra. Next went her pants and underwear. While wrapping her hair up into a bun atop her head, she slunk into the tub. She didn’t recline against the porcelain back just yet, leaving space for Luke. He was still standing by the doorway where he had been intently watching her movements.

“You coming?” She asked impatiently.

Those words snapped him out of whatever reverie her naked form had pulled him into. Shaking his head, he deposited the towels next to the tub, then undressed and slotted himself behind her. She relaxed, at last, leaning against the broad span of his chest.

“Thank you so much for doing this for me,” she whispered. Luke’s response was to place three small kisses on the route from her shoulder to her neck. She melted even further into his arms. “Who are we listening to?”

Luke, being as old as he was, preferred classical music to her top 40 pop. Having only taken a recorder class in elementary school, Margo knowledge of music was limited. Luke was determined to change that. Every chance he got, he played his favorite songs for her.

“Chopin,” was his answer, mouth still grazing the skin of her throat. “Nocturne Number 2 in E-Flat Major.”

“Did you know him?” She couldn’t help the slight hitch in her voice when he nibbled gently on the skin of her throat.

“We may have met once or twice.” In Luke terms, that was a yes. In 1795, the vampire who sired him had been wealthy with connections all around the globe. This meant that, for the first hundred years after his rebirth, Luke easily became acquaintances with any one of interest. As little as Margo knew about history, she enjoyed hearing the stories of past historical figures.

But tonight, Luke wasn’t interested in telling her a story. “Luke,” she whined as his bites got rougher, and his hand trailed down past her belly button.

“Is that a ‘Luke, please continue’ or a ‘Luke, stop.’” He asked, pausing all motions.

“It’s an ‘I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep immediately after I come,’” she retorted. A yawn slipped from her in that exact moment as if to prove her point.

“That’s okay.” This time he bit her ear. “You coming is all that matters anyhow.”

Unhindered, his hand slipped between her thighs. It started out gentle, with two fingers pushing against her clit. Almost reluctantly, she pushed her hips up to greet them. Then, as he started to explore her folds a bit more, she ground up against him in earnest. The hand that wasn’t toying with her folds squeezed gently on her breast and toyed with her nipple. She gripped his bicep in response.

Then, he slipped one finger inside her, sinusoidally dipping in and out, setting her whole body alight.

He another added another. Margo’s hips ground against him as she searched for more leverage. When he touched something inside her that filled her with ecstasy and the ravenous need for more, she cried out, and threw one leg over the side of the tub, displacing water in the process.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, God. Luke.” The cries of pleasure rang out throughout the room.

Luke began to finger her in earnest then, index and middle finger slipping in and out of her. He kissed up and down her neck until he was taken by the heat of the moment too. The hand that had been toying with her nipples slid down to her stomach, holding her flush against him as he rocked up against her. His dick was obviously hard between their slick bodies.

It wasn’t until he growled, low and guttural, that she realized just how far gone he was. He rearranged her, so she was seated fully on his lap, dick now positioned between her cheeks. All the tiredness was swept from her mind as she ground down against it.

Then, raising off his lap a bit and reaching back, she wrapped a hand around him. It was an awkward angle, but she made it work. Pumping him a few times made his hips go wild as he bucked uncontrollably.

She said, “I’m gonna–“

The words didn’t quite get out, lost in the haze of lust that made it impossible to think straight. Margo lined herself up with him and sank down. They weren’t going to last very long. The water in the bathtub continued to splash to the floors as one of Luke’s arms wrapped around her body, holding her slave to his motions. He had her pressed up against his chest, fucking up into her and toying with her clit. It was slippery and messy, and Luke had to reposition himself a few times, but neither made any attempts to stave off their lust so they could move to a bed.

Chopin could barely be heard over his growls, her cries of pleasure, and the distinct sound of water sloshing over the edges of the tub. His lips continued their path up and down her neck, bites deeper than before. They were painful, but in a way that made her toes curl.

She knew what he wanted before he said anything. “Please, can I–” He began, but cut himself off and threw his head back, fighting an instinct.

They weren’t face to face, and with the way they were moving, inches from orgasm, neither would want to take a moment to reposition. So, he would have to bite her neck. It was of no consequence to her; it was nothing she couldn’t hide without makeup.

Without really thinking about, Margo responded to his silent plea. “Yes,” she gasped out. “God, yes.”

The next second, she felt the sharp pain of the skin of her neck being pierced, followed immediately by intense euphoria. She buried one hand in his hair, holding him there; the other went down to encourage his motions as he continued to rub against her clit. They came, one right after the other, their hips stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck,” Luke grunted when he pulled away from her neck, head falling against the plaster wall behind them with a thud. As always, it took him a few minutes to get his wits about him after drinking her blood. Margo took that time to pull off of him and catch her breath.

Later, when they were both tucked underneath Luke’s black silk sheets, Luke ran his fingers gently over the deep teeth marks on her neck. Another lore Luke had taught her: Vampires didn’t have retractable fangs, but their teeth were more than sharp enough to pierce skin.

She had marks, like the ones now on her neck, almost ingrained in the skin of her chest. That is where he most often drank from her, as was the vampiric custom when it came to lovers.

“I shouldn’t have done this.” He said, fingers still tracing the indents of his teeth.

Margo couldn’t figure out why he sounded so pained. The healing properties of his saliva would ensure it didn’t leave a mark. Unless he bit her there again, after a day or two of covering it with makeup, neither of them would remember it even existed.

“It’s fine. No one’s going to see it.” Margo insisted.

Luke didn’t respond.

Margo fell asleep with his thumb still tracing the outline of the marks.

:: ::

She woke up to a sharp prickling in her thumb. Shooting to a seated position, she looked at her hands, disoriented and confused by the sudden onslaught of pain. Luke, who had been awake in bed next to her, sat up as well.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice noticeably laden with worry.

Margo shook her head.

“Something is looking for me.” She tried to shake the drowsiness from her mind. Her senses were dulled by it. Whenever a powerful creature came looking for her, a small prickling would alert her to their intent. But this was more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.

“Three somethings,” she continued as she began to make sense of what she was feeling. “They’re big, and they’re powerful. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

She saw the exact moment understanding dawned on Luke. He sniffed the air once, then muttered, “Shit.” He was out of bed and at the door to the room in a blink.

“What’s happening?” She asked frantically, trying to figure out what she might have missed. There was some information Luke’s supernatural senses had picked up that hers could not provide. In moments like these, she envied how he was preternaturally attuned to his senses.

“If I asked you to stay in the room, would you?” He asked.

But, she was already getting out of bed and slipping into her slippers and his robe. Even rushing through these motions, she was no match for vampire speeds. By the time reached the front door, Luke was standing there blocking the way of three large, imposing vampires she had never seen before.

They were all dressed in all black. One stood in front of all the rest, his dyed red hair slicked back. He wore a t-shirt tucked into jeans with a leather jacket thrown over it. Margo could see he wore two rings on each hand and his nails were painted black. The man on the left looked much more laid back. His black jeans were distressed, and he wore an ACDC t-shirt. While Luke traded jabs in French with the frontman, this one simply stood back with an easy smile on his face. Finally, there was the man with a slightly deeper skin tone than the others leaning against the door frame. His arms were crossed and the fabric of the plain black t-shirt he wore struggled to cover the entirety of his bicep. If this was some kind of vampire shakedown, he was definitely the muscle.

The frontman noticed her first. He scoffed in disgust and began gesturing to her as they spoke. The other two remained relatively quiet but did spare her a few wary glances. What little French she knew was unhelpful, as they spoke too fast for her to catch any words.

She attempted patience first, trying not to look too indignant as they conversed about her as if she wasn’t there. But that was one of her pet peeves, and, to her displeasure, the conversation did not seem to be letting up any time soon.

Next, she tried speaking up, but not even Luke turned his head at her, “Excuse me.” If anything, they seemed to talk louder. She began reciting the spell before she could think better of it.

Their mouths snapped shut the next instant, and all was quiet for a moment. When they realized something magical was preventing them from speaking, all eyes turned to her. Luke’s baby blues looked more frustrated than she had ever seen them. She released him from the spell.

“What’s going on?” She asked, now that his attention was back on her.

For a moment, he glanced between her and the three men standing at the door. Then, he said, “Let’s go inside.”

:: ::

Ashton, Michael, and Calum.

Those were their names, respectively.

It wasn’t a vampire shakedown; it was a family reunion. They relocated into the uncomfortable chairs Luke had purchased for his dining room in hopes of dissuading guests from overstaying their welcome. It was still relatively early in the morning, so Margo made herself tea. The other four vampires had wine.

She knew a bit about Luke’s brothers from the stories about France and the French revolution that Luke liked to tell. From what she knew, Ashton was the leader of their little clan. He was the one who had sired Luke in the first place. It explained why at some angles they looked similar, when he replaced all the blood in Luke’s body with his own, some of Luke’s features changed.

Ashton had an assuming presence that seemed almost too large for Luke’s dining room. Were Margo more mild-mannered, she might have retreated to the background to let the vampires talk. But that was not her.

“You don’t like witches?” Margo presumed aloud once she was seated across the table from Ashton with her tea. She still hadn’t made sense of the argument at the door. Her witches senses did not lie, they had shown up at Luke’s looking for her. When they found her, it obviously became a point of contention.

Ashton scoffed with a hint of condescension. “Please. We are not prejudiced.”

“Do not scoff at me,” Margo shot back. “Not when you refuse to tell me why you’re here. Looking for me might I add.”

The one in the distressed jeans, Michael, grinned at her and whistled low. “Oh, she’s feisty. Finally, someone that’s a match for Ashton.”

Ashton did not dignify that with a response. Instead, to Margo, he bared his teeth and hissed, “This is not about you, it is about Luke. You need to stay out of it.”

“Well, come on now, Ashton.” Calum, like Luke, had decided to remain standing while the other two vampires sat. Well, Michael lounged, and Ashton perched as if poised to jump off the edge of his seat. From his position behind Ashton, Calum placed a large hand on his shoulder. “It’s a little about her. Luke should decide if he wants to tell her or not.”

At that, every eye turned to look at Luke. He was looming over Margo protectively, but not in a way that suggested he expected his family members to attack. He was obviously not afraid for her safety. It was rather like he wanted her out of the conversation more than anything else.

For what seemed like a full minute, Margo believed Luke wouldn’t share this secret. She feared that months of sharing everything with each other had culminated to this one moment, this one Big Thing that she wasn’t allowed to know.

Thankfully, he sighed and sunk into a seat next to her. “My brothers think you and I have mated.”

Admittedly, Margo’s knowledge of vampire mating was basal. She knew, of course, that Luke had every intention of mating her. You’re it for me, he had told her a few months before. It had terrified her, but she couldn’t deny that her feelings for him, their feelings for each other, ran deep. To her knowledge, however, they hadn’t taken that step yet. Even if they had, she wasn’t sure that was something they needed to discuss with his brothers.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Margo began slowly, keeping her eyes leveled with Ashton’s. “But isn’t whether or not we’ve mated between the two of us?”

“No,” Ashton replied with a bitter chuckle. “No matter what you and my idealistic brother like to think. This is a matter for a clan. Luke cannot handle taking his mate by himself.”

Seeing the look of confusion on Margo’s face, Michael took pity on her and began to explain. “Luke is still very young. He has only witnessed one vampire mating in his lifetime, and even then he wasn’t privy to our procedures. Mating when you aren’t familiar with the methods–well that could have dangerous consequences.”

Michael’s eyes drifted pointedly towards her neck where Luke’s bite marks from the previous night were on full display. With the excitement of the morning, she had forgotten to cover them. She slapped a hand over them; then, her color deepened in embarrassment.

She turned to Luke, expecting him to respond, but he was lost somewhere deep in his own thoughts. When he didn’t, she spoke for him. “It was an accident,” She insisted, even though she had a feeling she didn’t quite understand the repercussions of Luke biting her neck.

Michael leaned forward, voice dripping with a dangerous edge. “When it comes to predators, darling, one small accident is all it takes to kill you.”

Finally, Luke spoke, words coming out in a snarl. “I would never kill her.” Shock and anger registered on his face. He was obviously taken aback by Michael’s suggestion.

“Not purposely,” Michael amended. “But your carelessness could get her killed nonetheless.”

“It’s a good thing then that Margo and I aren’t mating.” Luke snarled. He was out of his chair in an instant, glaring down at his brothers.

“Luke–“ this time it was Calum popping in with an argument.

Luke cut him off. “I’m fine, Calum. Now, if you guys want to do something other than have this conversation while you’re in town, let me know. If not, I’ll see the next time I’m at home.”

Michael threw his hands up in frustration. “This is what you get for siring a vampire amid the French Revolution, Ashton,” he grumbled. But he made no more protest as he walked towards the door.

Calum turned to follow him.

Ashton was the last to leave. “I just want you to be safe,” he said, eyeing Margo. What she had mistaken for disgust earlier was now clearly weariness and reluctance. It was as if he wanted to trust her, but was afraid to.

Luke gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. As is Margo.”

They held eye contact for a minute, having a silent conversation Margo couldn’t follow. Finally, Ashton conceded and followed his brothers out of the house.

:: ::

It happened in herbology.

That morning, Margo had woken up in her own bed feeling a little dizzy and disoriented. These spells had been happening more frequently, but she chalked it up to stress and dismissed it. She should have told Luke, but he was prone to worrying over the smallest of things. Plus, it had only been a week and a half since his brothers had shown up at his door unannounced, and, no matter how “good” he claimed to be doing, she could still see something bothered him.

So, she didn’t think twice about chugging her weight in tea and going to work. The dizziness plagued her throughout the day. Two hours into her three-hour herbology lab, she was standing in front of the class explaining how gymnosperms grew and reproduced. It was imperative for her students to understand plant life on a cellular level if they were ever to successfully manipulate plant growth.

The funny thing was - she felt it coming on. She felt herself grow dizzier and heard her words begin to slur. She chose to fight through it. Then, one minute she was talking about fertilization and pollen cones, the next, her feet give way below her, and the world went dark.

. . . . . .

When she opened her eyes the first time, the world was hazy. She clearly made out an IV drip bag and an oddly familiar man standing at the edge of her bed. His arms were crossed, and he looked like he was there as some sort of protection detail. Margo had the distinct feeling he was there for her. Whether it was to protect her from someone or to protect someone from her, she did not know.

“Hey. Look who’s awake,” came an oddly chipper voice from somewhere outside of her line of sight. Margo almost turned to search for it, but there was a pressure on her left hand. She turned to that instead.

Luke. He was staring at her with worry in his baby blues, gripping her hand tightly.

“What,” she opened her mouth to ask what had happened. Then, a cool hand she knew had to be vampiric brushed her curls from her face and shushed her.

“Try to sleep if you can,” it said. “We'll explain everything later.”

She knew that voice, much like she knew the man standing at the edge of her bed. Before she could search her mind for their identity, something pulled her under, and the world went black again.

. . . . . .

The next time she came to, the man was still at her bedside, arms crossed, watching her intently. Her brain felt less foggy this time, and she instantly recognized the man as, “Calum.”

With the tiniest of motions, Calum quirked his lips upwards in the ghost of a smirk. She wondered if he was comfortable standing ramrod straight like that. He looked like he hadn’t moved since she last opened her eyes.

It took him snickering for her to realize she had said that last thought aloud. “I like this position.” He said. “I’ve got clear eyes on everything in the room.”

“Not the door,” Margo pointed out obviously, gesturing to the large door looming behind him. That was what it took for Margo to realize that, despite the drip IV, she was not in a hospital room. This was someone’s house.

Calum shrugged. “That’s what Mikey’s for.”

She noticed Michael then, sitting in a loveseat underneath a large window. It was nighttime, and heavy blackout curtains were pushed aside to reveal what looked like deep woods. He had a Nintendo DS in his hand and was obviously more focused on the game than the other two people in the room.

“Don’t let Calum fool you,” he said, fingers still moving furiously on the buttons of the game. “I do not give a rats ass about security and espionage. At least, not as much Calum and Ashton do.”

He said all this without ever looking up from the small device in her hand.

“Espionage?” She croaked out.

Michael nodded, blissfully unaware of Calum’s glare. “Calum’s the family spy.”

Margo eyed Calum. When she had first seen him, she had believed him to be the muscle of the group. The way he exuded danger made Michael’s words seem less like a joke–as if Calum really was some vampire spy. She didn’t have time to think on this, however, because the dark mahogany door swung open to reveal Luke with Ashton flanking him.

Luke rushed immediately to her side. She didn’t miss how haggard he looked. Briefly, she wondered how long she had been in this bed. However long that was had obviously taken a toll on Luke. Vampires, as far as she knew, did not get tired, but there were unmistakable bags under his eyes, and his pale skin seemed lighter under the harsh overhead lights. She reached out to him, and he knelt at her bedside and slotted his hand into hers.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as his thumb gently rubbed circles on the back of her hand.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She tried to shit up, but a palm came to rest on her shoulder, stopping her. “Don’t try to do too much too quickly,” Ashton warned, gently pushing her back down.

She obeyed, hoping that it would make them more agreeable with what she was about to ask next. The question had been on her mind since she awoke the first time. She had to know, “What happened?”

She remembered feeling dizzy in her herbology class, but not much else.

Furtive glances were exchanged around the room as everyone, even Michael, turned their attention to Luke. Luke’s focus was on her. He looked as if those were the last words he’d wanted to hear from her. The longer everyone took to acknowledge her question, the more she wondered if she should have waited. Perhaps this was something Luke was uncomfortable talking about around his brothers.

She slipped her hand out of his so she could brush his hair out of his face.

“It’s okay.” Despite how weak her voice was, she tried to convey all the love she had for him in those two words. Whatever it was, they would work through it.

He leaned into her palm. “You tell her Calum,” He eventually said, shifting all attention to the 6 ft vampire looming over her.

Calum uncrossed his arms and braced them against the foot of the bed. Dark brown eyes told her the story would be emotionally exhausting.

“I came to UoA a month ago to visit Luke.”

Margo’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t heard anything about this visit.

“He didn’t know I was coming. I got into town then tracked his scent.”

“It’s a kink of his,” Michael interrupted with an easy grin. He had abandoned his DS in favor of paying attention to the story. With everyone in the room on the wrong side of somber, she welcomed his quips. “He likes to pop up out of nowhere and scare the holy hell out of people.”

Calum ignored him and continued on. “I followed his scent straight to the Gamma Nu house. When I got there, I assumed that perhaps he was just inside with some witch. We’re all aware of Luke’s. . .”

He trailed off as if afraid of offending her, and she laughed. “Propensity to be a hoe?” She finished for him. When she had first met Luke, he was slipping out of her housemate's room with no shirt on. She was no stranger to his promiscuous behavior.

Calum smiled, amused at her choice of words. “Propensity to be a hoe yes. But, when I listened in, he didn’t seem to be anywhere inside. Instead, I found you. You were sitting at your desk buried in some book about potions and muttering to yourself. I watched you for hours trying to figure out how Luke’s scent was so intermingled with yours. I couldn’t find where your scent ended, and his began. I knew, of course, but I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t think Luke would be stupid enough to take a mate without contacting one of us first.”

At that, he shot a look at Luke. Luke grimaced, ashamed. Margo ran her hand through his hair again in a gesture of assurance, then looked to Calum to continue.

Ashton did instead. He was still at her shoulder, looking down at her as he spoke, “Margo, what do you know about vampire mating?”

“I know that it’s instigated with a mark, like the one on my chest.” The hand that was not in Luke’s hair came up to rest on her chest, touching the mark through her shirt. “That’s the physical aspect of it. There is a mental and emotional aspect to it as well.” Margo trailed off. She didn’t know much about said mental and emotional aspects. She figured Luke would explain those to her when they decided to take the next step.

Michael spoke next, now at the edge of his seat. She remembered Luke’s mention of his bond with someone named Crystal. Perhaps he was their resident expert on bonding. “This is how a bond works. If a vampire has the intention of mating someone, and that person has the intention of accepting said bond, when he bites that person, he’ll be able to feel the bond form from inside him. If he lets it, the bond will wash over both parties like a wave. Then, it is up to the bitten to accept the bond. This act deepens the mental and emotional connection of a couple. In rare instances, the couple will be compatible enough to hear each other's thoughts and feel each other’s emotions. Even when they aren’t as compatible, these bonds are nearly impossible to break. That’s why bonds can never be between strangers and can never be nonconsensual. It’s kind of like your magic in the way that it senses what both parties want, and creates that for them.”

“Luke,” Calum picked up, “has wanted to mate you for a very long time now. And judging by the way his biology is behaving, I’m guessing you wanted to mate him as well. Yet, every time he bit you and that bond began forming, he would suppress it.”

Margo glanced over to Luke, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Which ended up confusing his biology.” Calum continued. “Driving him to want to be near you, to be in you, to bite you, to complete the bond by any means necessary. It’s why he was drinking from you every time you had sex. It’s why you fainted. He took too much blood too quickly, and your system couldn’t handle it. Instances like this are rare, and usually lead to obsessive behavior on the part of the vampire.”

“But Luke wasn’t obsessive,” Margo pointed out. She had dated wizards more obsessive than him.

“Not where you could see,” Calum said.

Luke dropped his forehead to the bed, perhaps to avoid feeling the eyes on him. He was ashamed of whatever Calum had to say next.

“I followed you both for days before calling in Ashton and Michael as reinforcement. On the nights you spent apart, Luke spent them standing outside your window. He started making up theology classes because he didn’t want you to know he had spent your entire TA period sitting in a car outside of the greenhouse, straining to hear your heartbeat. Worst of all, he stopped hunting and started getting all his blood from you.”

“What?” Margo croaked out. Luke looked up then, and she couldn’t miss the welling of tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He said solemnly. “We have only been dating for what, almost a year now? It is way too early for us to mate. I was hoping that if I ignored it, maybe it would go away.”

“The bond can be suppressed, Luke. But not as long as you keep drinking from her.” Ashton grumbled. Then, with a pointed look at Margo, he added, “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Luke answered for her. “She’s young. She hasn’t even finished her degree yet. I can’t just shackle her to me forever.”

“Let her speak, Luke,” Calum ordered.

With every eye on Margo, she wasn’t sure what to say. Luke was the love of her life, and she wanted more than anything to be mated to him. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t make a difference if it happened that moment or in a year when she had her degree.

You are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded - since once he put that mark upon your throat.

She bitterly remembered the words of Bram Stoker. Time moved differently for her and Luke, she had always known that. Where she wanted to rush, he took his time. This was no different.

She tried to remind herself that, as Luke said, it was forever. Repeated exposure to his venom through a mating mark would expose her to super-powered vampiric proteins, probiotics, and antibodies that would stop her aging and make her impossible to kill. She wouldn’t be a vampire per se, but something else. A hybrid between what she was now and what he was. These were rare, she knew, as vampires and witches were not used to coming together for more than politics and sex. Perhaps an extra year of normalcy was what it would take to give Luke the peace of mind about changing her.

“It’s fine,” she finally said. “We can wait.”

She brought her hand down to where Luke’s rested on the bed and squeezed gently. “What about Luke, though? What’s going to happen if we don’t bond?”

“Nothing,” responded Calum with an easy shrug. “So long as he starts hunting again and stops drinking from you.”

“Like forever?” Margo asked, then blush at how dejected she sounded.

Michael laughed, but said, “Until he’s ready to mate you, yeah.”

That made her stomach sink. It was fine. As much as she liked the biting, she could go a year without it. “Is that going to be hard for you?” She relayed the question to Luke this time.

“It’s fine. The boys will take me hunting. It will help.”

“How long are you guys staying?” As she asked this question, Margo took note of how the air in the room lightened. Ashton left her side to stand by Michael’s loveseat under the window, Michael picked up his game, and Calum’s shoulders relaxed just a little. (She was beginning to think that relaxed shoulders were all she would get from him.)

Ashton answered her question, still staring out into the darkness outside the window. “Not sure. I’ve accepted a position teaching classic Greek literature, so quite a while I think.”

“What?” Margo asked, surprised. Ashton didn’t look like the scholarly type. “Are you qualified to teach that?”

Ashton scoffed in response. “I sure hope so. I was there.”

Margo’s mouth dropped. “Wait, how old-”

Luke cut her off. “Don’t ask a vampire how old they are, babe. They’re not fond of that.”

Margo gave Luke a look that let him know she would definitely be asking that question again, but she would at least do Ashton the courtesy of asking at a later date.

She was almost all caught up now, but there was one question still on her mind.

“Where am I?”

All four vampires laughed.

“Oh!” exclaimed Calum, remembering that he left out that little detail. “It’s our house. It’s in the woods behind UoA. Hospitals kind of cause sensory overload for vampires, so when you fainted, health services allowed Ashton to bring you here.”

“What, just like that?” asked Margo, confused.

“Well, Ashton has a medical degree, so it’s not like you weren’t in good hands.”

Of course. Vampires were fond of their multiple degrees.

“So y’all thought ‘lemme buy a house, so we don’t have to go to a hospital.”

Calum snickered at that, but Ashton was the one who answered. “I’ve owned this house for years. Since a little after the school was built. I thought it would be nice to have if I ever decided to come and get another degree. For all intents and purposes, it belongs to the clan now.”

“It belongs to you too,” Michael added. “You’re family now, whether you like it or not.”

Margo matched his grin. Raised in a household that was always just her and her mother, she dreamed of having a big family. As far as family went, Calum, Ashton, and Michael seemed more than perfect.

end notes: i can’t believe how obsessed i am with this series lmao! i’ve already started writing part 3!! anyway, i hope you like cal, mikey & ashton in this one. let me know what you think!

tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles / @sweetcherrymike / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @fratcalum / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @heavenlydrarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands / @sugarcoated-pain / @sublimehood / @cal-puddies / @singt0mecalum / @irwinkitten / @myloverboyash / @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles

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weareinquisitor · 6 years ago

Text

A Wolf in Hound’s Clothing

Fighting Not for the Flock but for Vengeance

A final addition to the Iconic Inquisitor roster.

Name: Inquisitor Mikkel Groennlie Age/Gen/Race/AL: 72, Male, werewaheela Human, Lawful Neutral Height/Weight: 6′5″ 272 lbs Class and Level: Slayer, Alchemist, Inquisitor (Sanctified Slayer) Long, long History under the Break (He’s 72, give me a break) I wrote a novel and we’re all the worse for it

Art by Sergey Kolesov, Art below the cut by Mike “Daarken” Lim

Mikkel Groennlie was born in the Norhern outpost of Groennlie, in the frozen wastes that only the hardiest men and women inhabited, mer being poorly adapted to such frozen wastes and dwarves turned away by the lack of precious gems and hardy metals. In this hellish wasteland, warlords and bloodthirsty warriors made their home, sustaining themselves by raiding south down rivers in longships, kept safe by Ser Winter and Mistress Mud.

Their land was the last bastion of an ancient curse, one long ago purged from the world by the High Church, but one that remained in the Northern Wastes simply because the outlaws could survive and thrive due to their condition and they did not present a threat to the faithful, only to bandits and other outlaws. The Northern Wastes were the land of the werebeast.

Born the third son of an ambitious warlord, Thorbjorn Groennlie, Mikkel was unfortunately a very frail child. He was, however, incredibly sharp and cunning, gifted with incredible wisdom and intelligence. In truth, it seemed like his body was solely for the purpose of housing his great intellect and for little else. Only his father saw the value in this child, everyone else derided him for his absolute lack of martial prowess. Not even being the chieftain’s son shielded him from the abuse.

His father would bring him every book, map, history, and treatise he could find, and Mikkel eagerly learned it all. He became fluent in the languages of the south, knowledgeable in their geography, and aware of their social and political intricacies. Many techniques used against werebeasts in the Great Purge were adopted by the defenders.

Mikkel’s 16th birthday coincided with a full moon, and it soon turned into the worst night of his life. The largest, fiercest werewolf that had ever been encountered somehow slipped past the defenses, and went on a murderous spree that only ended when the chieftain’s sons and daughters lured it into a keep and collapsed it upon themselves and the beast. Come morning, the warriors tore the rubble apart searching for the bodies, only to find a stunned Mikkel surrounded by the mauled corpses of his brothers and sisters.

He was indicted with the crime, and he would have died come morning had he not pieced together the clues and information he had, and come to the conclusion based off of the Southerners’ writings on the curse that his father must be cursed with lycanthropy as well, and he was not a werewolf, but a skinshifter who had undergone his first, frenzied transformation. Armed with this knowledge and the superhuman body his curse, no, blessing had granted him, he strode with confidence to the executioner’s block, only to burst into his wolf form in broad daylight, stunning guard and warrior alike and allowing him to escape.

From there, he made his way South, and in his frenzied, distraught state he would join a band of marauding bandits. For a season, he burned, pillaged, and raped his way up and down the continent under the name of Helmut. Helmut was a wild man, considering the only sin in life to deny oneself, and as such freely indulged in any desire he had, no matter the cost or harm done to others. This very attitude would write the next chapter of his life as one drenched in sin and with no redeeming qualities.

Now known simply as Helmut the Tall, he would join a band of pirates, eventually finding his way into the legendary crew of Siegmund the Black. He would come to be called Siegmund’s Salty Dog by a noble, and at first detested the name. Come a few months, Siegmund decided he desired a castle, and they stormed this very nobleman’s seaside castle. Helmut personally broke the defenses, and proceeded to beat down the noble and walk him on a leash in front of all of his men and family.

It seemed like the golden age of Helmut and Siegmund’s lives, but this very pinnacle was also the day the seed of their rift was planted. For the nobleman’s daughter, Eloise, was by far the most beautiful girl either man had ever seen. Had they been ordinary bandits, they would have simply slaked their thirst on her then and there, but hers was a beauty so refined and graceful they wanted to drink long and at their leisure from its overflowing pools. As such, both men reigned in their wilder sides, and they set about to courting the poor girl.

Helmut, drawing from his past life as Mikkel, would make progress by leaps and bounds, as he recited to her poems and discussed philosophy with Eloise at length. Siegmund grew jealous of Helmut’s progress and distraught over his closest friend’s sudden and drastic change. He decided if he couldn’t have Eloise forever, he could at least have her once, and forced himself on her. Helmut’s anger was unparalleled the moment he found out, but Eloise asked him not to avenge her and instead to simply escape with her.

Helmut reigned in his fury in, and taking a rowboat attempted to make it into the countryside with her. Siegmund knew Helmut well, however, and how he thought, and as such eventually caught up with his old friend. Distraught over the fact Eloise had stolen the Helmut he once knew, once they caught up he had Eloise killed on the spot. Helmut’s grief overflew, and for days he ate and drank nothing. Siegmund attempted to talk to his friend at first, and then resorted to shouting, which soon turned into beatings.

In truth, Helmut died alongside Eloise that day, and now Mikkel was once more rising up within Helmut, Helmut’s battered and broken iron being melted down and reforged by the fires of fury within the furnace of grief. The next port they stopped at, Mikkel, left barely guarded in his comatose state, slaughtered his way out of the ship while most of the crew was drinking and left. For the second time in his life, Siegmund felt fear at the thought of Mikkel out there hunting him.

Leading a band of the King’s Enforcers, Mikkel hunted down Siegmund much in the same way Siegmund had hunted him: simply knowing the man and his habits. When they finally caught up, the battle was nothing but pure sound and fury. And yet among the chaos of it all, the heaviest blow that fate dealt was accompanied with two words, spoken calmly: “For Eloise.” Siegmund was dead, and Mikkel felt content to enlist under the King’s Enforcers as Matheas, once more donning a false name and becoming the mask to run from his past.

But his time with the King’s Enforcers quickly turned into an extension of his time as a pirate, and Matheas found himself surrounded by more murderers, thieves, and rapists. The only difference between the King’s Enforcers and Siegmund’s pirates was that with Siegmund, Matheas had had a friend, but now, under the King’s Enforcers, he only had taskmasters. Mikkel’s stint as Matheas was short-lived, and Mikkel waited patiently until they stopped in a cove. And there, he once again allowed himself to run wild, slaughtering the entire crew and mangling the corpses to cover the fact his body was missing.

Mikkel wandered the countryside aimlessly, hunting in wolf form when he was hungry, doing odd jobs to earn money. Burdened with rage, he became a smith and took out his fury on hot metal. He grew masterful at his trade, but found no satisfaction there. He would eventually resolve to die, no longer being able to come to terms with all the damage he had done. He decided to die with purpose, however, and would slowly make his way North, finding more of his kind and hunting them down.

In these borderlands with the Northern Wastes, he would simply live from day to day, anxiously awaiting the nights of the full moon. On these nights, he had difficulties finding other werebeasts, as his own form was so powerful others would flee out of fear and respect. What he did find one night was an ancient temple, worn by time and full of pools of water left unattended. In this sanctuary, he would encounter the dying deity Selene, sustained solely by her connection to one of Renova’s two moons.

For a time, he meditated under her watch, and she taught him the truths of his curse and the natures of its origin, explaining it as a curse placed on an ancient king for his refusal to bed Selene’s twin sister, Hecate. Since then, its plaguelike nature caused it to spread like wildfire, only to be contained periodically by Selene’s disciples or by the High Church when infestations got bad enough. Seeing an opportunity to amend his old ways, Siegmund’s Dog became Selene’s Wolf and left to begin his hunt.

For another time, he lived only off the land, hunting anonymously and seeking no renown. Maintaining communication by seances, Mikkel would be directed to the Old Woods, where he hunted Hecate’s witches’ covens. Between this and the hunting of Hecate’s great beasts, Selene was sending her sister a clear message: she had a grip in this world once more, and she was coming for her.

But Hecate was cunning and devious, and sent her own champion, a wyf-fox by the name of Blathnaid to poison and murder Mikkel. But Mikkel’s curse was not that of a werewolf, but of a werewaheela, and as such fully stomached the dose that Blathnaid gave him. His curse gave him an inordinately long life as well, and Mikkel was nearing the age of fifty at this time. His face was that of a younger man, but his eyes were grey and piercing and those of an old soul, and Blathnaid soon found herself falling for the tired huntsman.

Hecate succeeded in sequestering Selene’s champion in the end, as Mikkel found himself falling in love with Blathnaid as well, and neglected his duties, ignoring the call in order to spend time with her instead. She taught him herblore extensively, and the two were happy for three years and a day. But on that day, the townsfolk discovered Blathnaid’s wyf-fox nature, and she was burned at the stake while Mikkel was gone hunting for a week.

Losing himself to grief once more, Mikkel proceeded to hunt down werebeasts ruthlessly, and for a time he hunted and hunted and hunted. He tracked the beasts down, chased rumors, learned to discern the truth from the rumors, and began to map the incidents. It was in this way that he discovered a pattern, and a pattern soon became a trail. The trail would finally become a hunt as Mikkel sighted it: some unnatural monstrosity, part wolf, part boar, more than twice the size of a bear, but gifted with the speed and cunning of a fox.

It was the sum of all his enemy’s strengths and none of their weaknesses, and Mikkel wished he had never encountered it at first. This hesitation cost him their first encounter, and for months Mikkel would track it. But the breakouts it left in its trail would slow him down, and months turned to years soon enough. Mikkel would have many adventures during this time, coming to hone his skills relentlessly against dozens of the werebeasts in his preparation for the ultimate foe.

As Mikkel neared his sixth decade, Selene and Hecate would both come to pass into obscurity, but while Hecate’s disciples mourned her passing and erected shrines in her memory in hidden corners of the wilderness, monuments that would testify to her for generations, Mikkel instead enlisted the help of a powerful cleric, and imbued a longsword with Selene’s essence, preserving his deity as his main weapon and turning her into his lifelong companion.

He traveled the world, hot on the beasts heels, constantly resolving the problems it caused. He caught sight of it multiple times, and on more than one occasion he wounded it gravely, only to have it flee and simply walk the wound off, for such was its size and constitution. Whether it was bent on never fighting him conclusively or it was constantly searching for the perfect battlefield, Mikkel never knew.

But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Mikkel fears more and more that the answer is the latter, for Mikkel recently entered his seventh decade, and his age is finally catching up to him....

#inquisitor #iconic inquisitor #mikkel groennlie #tw rape

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fuzzballsheltiepants · 7 years ago

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The Forging of the Wolf, Chapter 14

Finally! The adventure continues... Read the earlier chapters: Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13.

Dearest Mikkal,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t even know if you’re still breathing as I write this, or if you let yourself be taken into the next world. But I’m leaving tomorrow for Terrasen, and I know now that I will never see you again.

I shouldn’t put this on paper, but right now I don’t give a damn. For the past day I have been so angry, and that helped me see through all the other bullshit. I loved you. I never told you that; I thought you didn’t want me to, but here it is. I loved you, and you never really let me in.

I am grateful to you, for all that you taught me. I don’t think I ever said that either. You made me stronger in every way, and that is a debt I will never be able to pay. But I will take it with me, and I will remember you, always.

Aedion

Aedion looked around his small room. At the bed, stark and empty; the small bookcase, its denizens now packed away; the spot on the floor where he had collapsed in Mikkal’s arms, the last time he had ever done so. At the desk, vacant save for the sealed letter with Mikkal’s name on it. He hefted his pack over his shoulder and turned to leave. The letter caught his eye one more time. He pushed back through, crossed the room, and picked it up. He studied it for a moment, then crossed to the small waste paper basket and dropped it in, and not a second later the door clicked shut behind him.

A minute passed, and he was back in the room. Grabbing the letter out of the basket, he opened the seal and wrote ten words at the bottom, then resealed it and left it on his desk.

His men joined him in the stables while he was still readying Avenar. The horses were laden down enough that it would add at least a day, probably two, to their trip, but there were few settlements between the camp and Orynth, and Aedion had no clue what condition any of the villages would be in. That the roads would be ankle deep in mud was a given, and he had brought shoeing equipment for the horses as a precaution. He was counting on being able to do at least some hunting, but bad weather could slow them even further. There was also no way of foretelling what reception they would receive, given their uniforms; at least he had convinced Colonel Sayre to issue green and brown ones rather than the standard black and red, and the gold wyvern insignias were far less noticeable. No reason to make themselves more of a target than they had to be.

Spirits among the other four were high as they mounted and headed through the courtyard. General Paget was standing there, a rare honor, and they all halted to bow while he wished them well. Catching the look in his eye, Aedion sent his men on and stayed behind.

“Are you certain that you don’t want me to send a messenger when I know more?”

Aedion nodded. “I’m certain, sir. But thank you, for the offer.”

Paget studied him for a long moment. “I wish I was sending him with you today.”

Swallowing hard, Aedion nodded. “Me too, sir. Me too.”

Clapping him on the knee, the general gave him a nod. “Go on then, and take care of your men.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.” Wheeling Avenar, he jogged her up to Raedan, and they turned to trot through the gate together.

“What’s going on?” Raedan asked, as quietly as he could over the sounds of the horses.

“Mikkal…” He ground his teeth against the surge of anger. “Mikkal was seriously injured in Fenharrow.”

“Shit,” Raedan said under his breath, unaware Aedion could hear him. “Will he be all right?”

“I think it’s too soon to know.”

Raedan turned his eyes back to the road, but didn’t say anything more. The five of them continued north through town and onto the main road where they eased back to a walk. So they continued through the day, walking and trotting, the fit horses not seeming overtaxed but Dorsey and Hirons looking a bit sore by the time they stopped to set camp. They had passed several farms and small villages, but none with an inn. This part of Adarlan was much less populous than farther south, and once they crossed into Terrasen it would get sparser still.

The trip was remarkably uneventful save an afternoon and night spent with a farmer in the foothills of the Perranth Mountain gap when a late snow squall rose up, obscuring their vision enough that they had to seek shelter. Aedion had been uncertain as to what their reception would be, but he would not soon forget the awe shining in the faded blue eyes of the farmer and his wife when he gave his name. It broke his heart.

When the farmers wouldn’t accept his money, he and his men had pitched in with the never-lessening mountain of work involved in farming. The horses had looked a bit askance at having to share their accommodations with the cows. Everyone else was more than content as they sprawled out on various guest beds and couches for the night, even Aedion’s hollow belly full with the delicious stew and bread.

Since that night, his men had been a bit more subdued. Dorsey in particular, who had been raised on a farm, had kept looking behind him as they left the hills and set out across the plains, the Staghorn mountains looming in the distance. Aedion didn’t realize how much of the quietness stemmed from himself. As they neared Orynth and began encountering villages with more frequency, they also encountered more people who recognized Aedion on sight, or who would stop and stare when one of his men said his name.

It was Hirons who broached it one night as they were cooking the rabbits Aedion and Dorsey had shot. “So you’re really a prince,” he said, breaking a silence Aedion hadn’t even noticed had grown around the crackling flames.

“Yes,” Aedion said slowly, drawing out the word. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

“No, I knew it, I guess I just didn’t really know it.” Aedion’s brow furrowed, and Hirons went on. “I mean, these people, the farmers, those villagers…they all love you.”

Aedion carefully turned the stick the meat was speared upon. “They loved my uncle and aunt. They loved my cousin. I’m just…a reminder, I guess.” Hirons looked like he was going to go on, but out of the corner of his eye Aedion saw Raedan shake his head and the lieutenant subsided. He didn’t even want to know what that was about.

The sun was just beginning to drop in the sky the next day when Avenar crested a ridge and the white city was spread out in front of them. Aedion’s breath caught and he blinked hard to keep the tears from escaping. Raedan rode up on his left, Hirons on his right. “This is where you grew up?” Hirons asked. Aedion nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Welcome home,” Raedan said softly, and Aedion closed his eyes and brushed his thumb and forefinger through his lashes. He urged Avenar forward and, flanked by his men, headed towards the gates.

*****

It turned out Delaney was not only more than adept at selling bread, working the counter was an even better fount of gossip than the parties she went to most nights. She soon learned that midday was the best time to be up front, as that was when the working people came in. The guards’ shift change mid-afternoon was second best. She blessed her memory every night as she sat up scribbling down notes that she would burn once her letter to her dear Uncle Clery was written.

The beautiful Lady Massie did in fact come in twice a week to purchase cookies or miniature cakes or delicate flaky pastries, and time always slowed down for those precious few minutes where Delaney could gaze into those large, expressive eyes as they exchanged smiles. A couple of weeks into her new position, the Lady thanked her shyly by name, and it was days before she stopped dreaming of the sound of her name in that musical voice.

During one of her afternoon training sessions with Fulke, she paused for a water break as he worked her yet again on how to block an overhead knife strike. “Do you know anything about Lady Massie?” she asked innocently.

“Massie? Massie?” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know a Lady Massie. I know old Lord Massie, maybe she’s his wife?”

There was no ring on those delicate hands that Delaney had studied as she’d handed over packets of pastry. “Does he have a daughter?”

Fulke shrugged. “All I know about the old bastard is he’s one of the sycophantic pricks who keeps kissing the King’s ass every time he decides to invade somewhere new, since he’s made profiting from war an art form. Hell, I think he’s funding half the invasion of Fenharrow at the moment. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. She comes into the bakery all the time and I was wondering who she was.” Delaney thought her tone was utterly nonchalant, but Fulke eyed her suspiciously. She squared up to him. “Again,” she said, and he sighed as he repositioned her feet and ran through the exercise for yet another time.

One morning a group of raucous soldiers came in to the bakery as Delaney was putting out fresh loaves. She listened as she wrapped their orders more slowly than strictly necessary.

“I heard it was an utter massacre,” one young man was exclaiming. “A hundred and sixty rebels dead in under fifteen minutes. I can’t wait to get down there, do more than train for once.”

Delaney’s heart leaped into her throat, her hands shaking slightly as she finished taping the packet shut. Clery and Kerrin and Flinn, all her friends in Orynth, Raedan, Aedion…

“Do you really think we’re getting sent down to Fenharrow?” another asked, reaching for the package she handed him without looking at her. Fenharrow. She closed her eyes briefly in a silent prayer of thanks.

“I’d bet a month’s pay on it,” said the first. “After those bastards tried to burn down the camp and almost killed that major? They’re going to send us all south.” They pushed back through the door, still chattering, and the sudden silence when the door closed was a relief.

South, not north. But was it really any better that a hundred and sixty people were dead, just because she didn’t know them? She felt a surge of guilt for thanking the gods that it was not her rebels who had been destroyed. As if the people in Fenharrow mattered less. Come to think of it, this must have been the attack noted a couple of weeks ago on the casualty lists. But only the Adarlan losses had been noted: three regulars killed, one officer seriously wounded. Not even a hint of the destruction that had been wrought.

Another wave of people came in, and she tried her best to turn her focus onto her job, to smile and look pleasant as she took people’s money. Yet Luk came to her an hour before her scheduled break and ordered her to go early. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, girl,” he said when she protested. “You’re going to make my cakes bitter. Get out of here, get some fresh air.”

The spring sunshine was weak but optimistic when she pushed through the belled door. It was chilly enough she was glad she’d grabbed her cloak, but the city had finally lost that dingy gray look it had borne for the past months. She headed into the market square, dodging aristos and peasants alike as they all did their shopping. Stopping at a cafe for a sandwich and a cup of coffee, she found a seat at a painted iron table right on the edge of the square. The people bustling by held no interest for her today; still all she could think of was her friends falling under the sword. Her sandwich lay in front of her, barely touched, as she rested her elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Are you all right?” came a tentative voice from over her shoulder. Whipping around, she saw a tall girl who seemed to be all angles and remarkable blue-gray eyes looking at her with a concerned expression. Two other girls stood a few paces back, studying her with superior airs.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Delaney said, with a hideous attempt at a smile.

“You hear that, Cherise?” called one of the other girls. “She’s fine, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Cherise glared at the girl over her shoulder before turning back to Delaney. “Ignore them,” she said, loudly enough for them to hear, “they’re idiots.” She gave Delaney a conspirator’s grin and Delaney couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m really fine, but thanks for asking.”

The gray-eyed girl pulled out a chair and sat, uninvited. “You look sad,” she said bluntly.

Delaney struggled to come up with a reply. “I just heard about the rebel attack in Fenharrow,” she finally settled on.

One of the other girls, pale and sharp featured, snorted. “You’re a bit behind the times, aren’t you?” she drawled.

“Well, I understand,” the other one said dramatically, taking a few steps closer, “I was absolutely devastated when I learned it was Major Paget who was wounded.”

Cherise rolled her eyes. “Just because you danced with him one time…”

“That’s one more time than either of you,” the dark-haired girl snapped.

“Well, I heard he lost a foot,” the other girl said slyly, “so I think it was your last time as well.”

“It wasn’t a foot, it was a hand.”

“That’s even worse,” the pointy girl said. “Can you imagine him touching you with his stump?” She shuddered, and Delaney had to sit on her hands to keep from getting up and slapping her.

“As long as he didn’t lose his most important part, I wouldn’t care.” They erupted into giggles.

“His head?” Delaney interjected drily, and they all three looked at her in a bit of shock before Cherise began to grin.

“That’s not what I meant,” the dark-haired girl replied disdainfully.

“Oh, so you’re saying you’d fuck him if he didn’t have a head?”

Cherise burst out laughing. The other two glared at her. “You’re disgusting,” said the pointy girl.

“Sorry,” Delaney said, not sounding sorry at all. They stared at each other. The other girl looked away first.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said to her companions. The dark haired girl followed her, but Cherise stayed seated.

“Rousalie’s always been a bit of a bitch,” she said. “Just ignore her.”

“I don’t really plan on ever talking to her again,” Delaney replied, picking up her sandwich again, “so it’s probably a moot point.” She took a bite and chewed pointedly, waiting for the gray-eyed girl to leave.

She didn’t. “What’s your name?”

“Delaney.”

“Nice to meet you, Delaney. I’m Cherise.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

Rather than being offended, she looked coolly amused. “Well, Delaney, I hope to run into you again soon. I could use some new friends, you see. Mine are shallow and stupid.” She stood up and extended her hand. Delaney looked at it for a moment before taking it. “See you around.”

She was halfway across the square before Delaney caught up to her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Cherise said, her wide mouth turning up, “I hope it’s contagious.” At Delaney’s obvious confusion, she laughed. “This city could use more people like you. Everyone else I know is boring.”

Delaney looked down at the cobbles, the few little pieces of grass that were managing to poke out between them despite the thousands of feet that trampled over them every day. “I’m not really that interesting,” she muttered.

“Do you know Major Paget?” Cherise asked, tilting her head slightly.

Delaney was thrown by the apparent non sequitur, and had to think for a moment before she recognized the name. “The officer who was injured in Fenharrow? No, never met him. Why?”

Cherise’s expression grew even more amused. “Ugh, he stopped here last spring for a week on his way to another camp. Everyone was half in love with him.” She rolled her eyes, clearly excepting herself from the class of everyone. “It was ridiculous.”

“I take it he’s handsome?” Delaney asked, beginning to smile herself.

“Handsome, and polite, and not interested in a damn one of them.” She laughed.

“Why did you think I knew him?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed…more upset about how Brigitte and Rousalie were talking than most girls would be.”

Delaney shrugged, keeping her tone as nonchalant as she could. “My brother’s a soldier.” She noted how Cherise’s face immediately changed, became serious. “I’d hate to think of people talking about him like that if…” The image of Raedan lying unconscious and bloody in the forest, the one that had haunted her for weeks, popped into her mind.

“And that’s why you’re so sad.”

She shook herself, coming back to the present. “He’s not in Fenharrow, at least I’m pretty sure he’s not, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

Cherise took her hand and squeezed it impulsively. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Probably, at least for now,” Delaney agreed. “But those three soldiers who died, and all those rebels. What about their sisters? Their families?”

The tall girl looked as though she’d been struck. Delaney freed herself and turned to leave. “Please,” Cherise said quietly. “Please be my friend.”

“I’m around,” Delaney said over her shoulder. “You can find me any time.” Not that she would; no, Cherise’s clothes put her squarely in the “don’t associate with bakery employees” set. She set into a jog across the square; her break was almost over. So she never looked back to see the longing in those gray-blue eyes as they followed her through the crowd.

*****

The light filtering through the window was bright; it was well past dawn. Mikkal couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in this late. He stretched and the arm around his chest tightened, pulling him in against that broad chest. Lips grazed his neck, and he could feel his lover’s arousal pressing into his ass. He let himself slump back, let his fingers intertwine with the ones splayed across his body. Looking down past his own hardening cock, he could see those long fair legs tangled with his own and he sighed in contentment.

Turning his head, he tried to roll over to meet those lips with his own. At the movement, though, that big hard body began to break apart. He shifted his legs, and the ones they were pressed against dissolved into so much sand. The hand engulfing his own disappeared, taking his fingers with it. Panicking, he thrashed around, desperate to see his lover, to hold onto him and never let go; but by the time he got himself flipped over Aedion was gone.

Mikkal shot awake, reaching automatically across the bed to find only cool sheets. Ignoring the burning in his lower abdomen he pushed himself into a sitting position. The moonlight was shining through the window onto his pillow; he must have forgotten to close the drapes. There was moisture on his cheeks, and he swiped at them furiously.

He had to stop this. He had to get out of here, but it had been over a month since the rebel attack and he still wasn’t strong enough to mount a horse. When he woke up the day after, he had expected it to be his hand that hurt the most, but it was his damn abdomen. Every time he turned, even just his head; every time he sat or stood or even used the gods-damned toilet the pain ripped through him. The healers had stitched him together, had stopped the bleeding and saved his worthless life. They kept telling him how fortunate he was that the knife hadn’t penetrated the membrane inside his body; if it had he would have died of infection. They kept telling him if the arrow had hit an inch lower, it would have severed the main artery to his arm and he would have bled to death.

It seemed he just couldn’t catch a break.

He didn’t bother to bite back his grunt as he stood, awkwardly lighting his lamp with his left hand. Sitting on the desk was the untouched letter that had arrived from his father earlier via express messenger. It was rather fatter than normal, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it contained. What reproaches he could expect for putting himself in danger, as evidently Major Thrayer had seen fit to tell General Paget all he had observed from the watch tower. At least he hadn’t been able to see what had really happened to his hand.

The letter he was really waiting for still had not come. With the support of General Chambers he had submitted a request for release from the army, citing his injuries. Not that he had any notion of what he would do once released. It wasn’t like he could be a farmer or a laborer; even with two functional hands he hadn’t a clue how to do that type of work.

With a sigh, he picked up his father’s letter and ripped open the seal. There was a second sealed letter inside. He scanned his father’s first. Not surprisingly, it contained the hope that when he did recover and was released from his obligation to the army, he would return home. It was the second letter he had received from his father, the first having been written in response to Major Thayer’s and this evidently written not long after. He had already dictated a letter reassuring his father that he was on the mend. This time, he would write his own, though he knew it would barely be legible. But first…

He reached for the second letter, and his hand began to shake as he picked it up. He had not heard from Aedion since a week before the attack. On the back, beneath the seal, was written in his father’s hand, This was found in Ashryver’s room. I don’t know if he intended to send it. Mikkal had a brief moment of terror before he remembered Aedion would have left for the north by the time this had been sent. Taking a breath, he opened it and scanned it, his heart fracturing more with each word.

Aedion was right. He hadn’t let him in, not completely, for if Aedion had seen him for the coward he was he would have scorned him and for good reason. It had been yet another truth Mikkal had hidden from, had put off facing. Too much of a coward to really embrace the fighting, too much of a coward to rebel against Adarlan even as he recognized the evil it was perpetrating; too much of a coward to even admit to Aedion how much he loved him.

It was the postscript that kept him from falling into total despair. That hastily written pair of sentences, added on at the end. Who am I trying to fool? I love you yet. He couldn’t make any of this up to him, but… He pulled a piece of paper to him, and picked up a pen in his left hand. It still felt so foreign to him, like he was learning to play a new instrument. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to write.

It was dawn by the time he had finished his letters, enclosing Aedion’s in care of his father’s since the gods only knew where he was now. Standing naked in front of the mirror, he studied the long puckered purple scar that slashed below his navel. Looked at the bones now jutting through the skin, at the muscle that had gone soft, at the mangled hand that would, in fact, be his salvation. Pulling on his clothes, Mikkal turned off his light and headed out to the courtyard, and for the first time since he had been woken up that horrible night he joined in the morning workout. He was as slow and awkward as the most pathetic of new recruits, and every movement hurt, but he gritted his teeth and pushed on. After breakfast he barely made it back to his bed before collapsing and falling into a sleep so deep he didn’t dream. The afternoon was spent supervising training he couldn’t participate in, correcting footwork and grips over and over. And so his new routine was born while he waited and waited for the letter from the King.

*****

Somehow, Aedion was not surprised when a knock came before he had even settled into his room in the inn. A messenger stood outside holding a note; he dropped a copper in the waiting hand and took the sealed paper.

I would be delighted if you would join me for dinner. Clery. There was an address below the signature, one Aedion didn’t immediately recognize. He pulled out his map of the city.

The years he had been away had struck Aedion like blows as he had ridden through the city. On the surface Orynth was still beautiful, with the Staghorns rising behind the white castle on the hill, the broad winding streets, the parks that were just beginning to bloom with early flowers. The colors, the noise, and the smells of cooking meat and fresh-baked bread and spices in the market had been nearly overwhelming to Raedan and Osment, who had never seen anything larger than the market town near camp. Yet to him it felt as though it were dying. Its lifeblood, its people - there were so few compared to the teeming streets he had been used to, and they moved so heavily, as if weighted down with loss and fear.

He could not help but notice the way the people had stopped to gape at him when he first rode through the gates. It was enough to make him pull his hood up, hiding his bright hair and his eyes. He was grateful for the cloak masking the insignia on his uniform, though his heart ached with the knowledge he was riding through his home city wearing the garb of its enemy.

An hour later, he threw his cloak back over his clothes, then went and knocked on the door of the room Raedan and Hirons were sharing. The lieutenant answered the door.

“I’m going to head out,” Aedion told him. “You should eat and get some rest, I don’t know what to expect tomorrow.” Hirons nodded, and Aedion went to Osment’s and Dorsey’s room with the same message before heading down the stairs. Feet came racing after him, and he sighed as Raedan’s scent hit him.

“I’m going out alone,” he said, without turning to look at his brother.

“I know,” Raedan said, still following as they walked out into the street. Half a block down, Aedion stopped and glared at him in exasperation. “What? I’m going out alone too, we just happen to be going in the same direction.” His expression was innocent, though stubborn humor danced in his eyes.

Aedion growled, debating whether or not to officially order Raedan back to the inn before he started walking again, following the route he’d memorized. The address Clery had given him was in a fine neighborhood, but stood far from the glorious house he had owned near the palace when still a lord. He paused at the gate, looking up at the tall, narrow townhouse, before pushing through with Raedan still at his heels. The door opened before he could knock, a civil-looking housekeeper greeting him formally and showing the pair of them into a warm sitting room.

“Lord Clery,” Aedion said bowing reflexively on beholding the older gentleman.

“Not a lord anymore, Prince,” Clery said, bowing in return, not bothering to hide his displeasure as he beheld Raedan standing behind him. “And who is your companion?”

Aedion’s lips twitched as he replied, “Allow me to introduce Raedan Lamar.”

Clery’s mouth dropped open briefly before he rushed to take Raedan’s hands in his own. “You’re Delaney’s brother!” he exclaimed, and it was Raedan’s turn to look shocked. This was why Aedion had let him come along, and those gray-green eyes turned to him in a mute appeal for information.

“I sent Delaney to Orynth, Raedan,” Aedion said quietly. “That night, when…” He glanced at Clery. “When everything happened. She’s been here this whole time.”

“Not quite,” Clery said, looking a little anxious. “She’s in Rifthold now.”

It took Aedion two breaths to understand, and he lunged for Clery, lifting him off his feet and pressing him against the wall. “You’re using her as a spy?” he snarled in Clery’s face.

The older man blanched. “It was her idea,” he choked out, and a heartbeat later Aedion let him drop, though he didn’t take his furious turquoise eyes off of him. Raedan pushed his way in between them, shoving at Aedion’s shoulder until he backed up a wary step, then two. Clery straightened his clothes and met Aedion’s eyes calmly.

“Come on, man,” Raedan said quietly, “let him explain.”

So Clery did, about Delaney’s determination that had been redoubled after Raedan’s injury. About all the measures he put in place to keep her safe, many unknown even to her; about her weekly letters and Fulke’s regular reports. Aedion didn’t know Fulke, but that wasn’t surprising; no doubt most of Clery’s men would be strangers to him, especially now. He had not known Clery as well as some of the other lords, like Darrow and Cal Lochan and the Allsbrook family. But he had never doubted the man’s loyalty to Terrasen, nor his cunning as one of King Orlon’s preferred advisers.

He rubbed his hands over his face once Clery had finished. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he had been looking forward to seeing her, to telling her about everything that had happened. To hearing her own stories, and her thoughts on what to do moving forward. She always saw things a little differently from him, a little more clearly. Letting his hands dropped, he leaned back in the chair Clery had persuaded him to sit in. Raedan was looking between the two men, pride and concern warring on his face.

“I appreciate what precautions you’ve taken,” he said finally. “I suppose I should have known she would find a way into the middle of the mess.”

Raedan laughed, and Clery relaxed.

“I’m sorry about that,” Aedion said, gesturing to the wall.

“You forget, I knew Rhoe his whole life.” He was looking at the wall with a faraway expression, seeing something other than honey-colored paneling. “He would’ve left me with bruises, and not apologized for it afterwards when he was your age.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “Shall we go up to dinner?” he asked, and Aedion’s stomach growled loudly in response, earning another laugh from Raedan. They headed up the narrow stairs and into the small dining room where the housekeeper was setting a fourth place.

“My apologies,” Clery said, gesturing for them to sit. “I had invited another guest, not realizing you’d be bringing one of your own. He should be here shortly.” His eyes flicked to Raedan, then back to Aedion. Raedan did not miss the look.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” he offered.

The townhouse door opened before Clery could answer, and there came the sound of boots echoing over the hall tiles, then the stairs. Aedion turned to the door, inhaling the unfamiliar scent of leather and resin that preceded the man.

“Sorry, Clery,” came a voice like hooves on gravel, “I was-” The man entered the room and froze, eyes locked on Aedion, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Aedion held his gaze unblinkingly, assessing. Though his features looked as though they’d been carved from granite, he was younger than Aedion had thought when he first appeared, perhaps only a few years older than himself. No gray touched his thick brown hair, nor the stubble that lined his jaw. But his hazelnut-colored eyes were as hard as his voice, and there was deep anger simmering there.

Finally the man turned to glare at Clery. “Is this a rutting joke?” he growled. “You tell me…you send me that message, and this is what you mean?”

“Cathal,” Clery said soothingly, “just sit down, let’s talk.”

“You expect me to take this seriously? A seventeen year old fallen prince in a gods-damned Adarlanian uniform?”

Aedion could hear Raedan’s teeth grinding from across the table and he shot him a warning look.

“And who the hell are you?” the man - Cathal - asked, looking at Raedan. “Let me guess, you’re the soldier who’s been warming Ashryver’s bed.”

Raedan laughed, though there was little humor in the sound. Clery leaped to his feet and put a placating hand on Cathal’s arm. “That’s Delaney’s brother, Raedan,” he said.

Cathal snorted. “You look pretty good for a corpse.”

Aedion and Raedan both glanced at Clery. “He’s been north of the Staghorns all winter,” Clery said by way of explanation.

Cathal shook his head. “This is just a rutting waste of time.” He turned to go but Aedion moved faster, on his feet and blocking the door before the other three men could blink. Clery backed away a step involuntarily.

“Why don’t you sit down, and we can listen to what Clery has to say,” Aedion said as pleasantly as he could manage.

“How about you just go back to hiding in Adarlan, Prince,” Cathal snapped, bristling. “The gods know you’ve been doing enough of that for the past three years while my people have been butchered.”

“And what, exactly, was I supposed to do,” Aedion snarled.

“That’s why I asked you both here,” Clery said to Cathal, “so we could learn what’s happened.”

“You’re honestly going to trust any answer he gives?” Cathal was shouting now. “He didn’t just survive, he’s become a gods-damned officer. And apparently he’s taken another officer as his lover, and you think there is one ounce of loyalty to Terrasen left in him?”

Raedan eased to his feet and walked around the table, one hand resting casually on his dagger hilt.

“Don’t worry,” Clery said in an undertone, “Cathal won’t hurt him.”

“That’s not who I’m worried about,” Raedan replied, just as quietly. There was a flicker of something that might have been fear in Cathal’s eyes as the words registered. Aedion smiled grimly.

“Are you really such a stubborn prick you can’t even sit down and listen?” he asked. Anger was warring with reason in Cathal’s face, and Aedion pressed him further. “Or is it that you have such a brilliant plan to protect Terrasen that you don’t need me?”

Turquoise eyes stared into brown ones for a long moment. “You have one hour,” Cathal finally said, before going to sit in the vacant seat at the foot of the table. A servant appeared promptly with soup, and Aedion fell on his as if he were starving.

Clery and Cathal were gaping at him, and Raedan looked to be struggling not to laugh when Aedion surfaced for air a few minutes later.

“When did you last eat?” Clery asked in some concern.

“Around midday,” Raedan answered for him, before taking an exaggeratedly polite spoonful of the soup.

Clery muffled his surprise, and Cathal turned to Aedion and said drily, “Well, princeling, I’m amazed you survived such hardship as not eating for an afternoon.”

“It is impressive, I know,” Aedion replied, mimicking his tone. A little flash of surprised humor lit Cathal’s face for a brief moment before the stony expression returned.

The next course was brought in, and Clery turned to Aedion. “Why don’t you tell us what’s happened, and what you want from us.”

With a deep breath, Aedion began. Even Raedan hadn’t heard all of it. He had never known about the scar on Aedion’s palm that he showed them all, hadn’t realized that he began planning to send Delaney to Terrasen from the moment she confessed her desire to leave the camp months before the need arose. He glossed over the details of the night Delaney had finally fled, though he couldn’t stop the roughening of his voice or keep his eyes from briefly meeting Raedan’s. Nor could Raedan stop the trembling of his hands when Aedion told of the attack in Oakwald.

“Do you understand now, why I couldn’t just leave?” he asked Cathal when he had finished. “My choices were die, or feign cooperation. I wasn’t going to help anyone but myself if I died.”

Cathal looked flatly skeptical. “Your story is certainly compelling,” he said. “But I still find it hard to believe Adarlan would be so stupid as to send you back here without some way of leashing you.”

“It has baffled me, too,” Clery said.

Aedion huffed a laugh. “Me too, if I’m being honest,” he said. Raedan set his fork down and passed the remains of his plate across the table for Aedion to polish off.

Cathal studied Raedan for a moment, fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. “I expect they’re using your lover to ensure your cooperation.”

Raedan stared back, a dangerous spark deep in his eyes. “You seem to have a fascination with who Aedion takes to bed,” he said. “You keep bringing it up.”

“Are you trying to imply that it’s not you?”

Aedion and Raedan looked at each other and both laughed. “Hardly,” Raedan said. “I have no interest in men.”

“And even if you did, it would be too much like incest,” Aedion added, and Raedan nodded.

“But,” Cathal turned to Aedion, “do you deny that you have an Adarlanian lover?”

“I’ve fucked a lot of people,” Aedion said lazily. “I’m not sure why it’s relevant.”

“Because according to reports, at least one of them wears that gods-damned uniform,” Cathal growled, “and I have concerns about how you can remain loyal to Terrasen while sharing your bed with an officer who no doubt would happily see my country burn.”

“I wouldn’t go there,” Raedan said warily.

“Or what? Is he going to attack me because I dare to question the integrity of a soldier he welcomed into his bed?”

“It’s a valid question,” Clery said mildly.

Aedion watched the flickering candles on the table, debating protesting the existence of any such relationship. Yet somehow he couldn’t bring himself to deny Mikkal. “I understand your concerns,” he said, too quietly, “but I can assure you they are unfounded. He…did not support the invasions.”

It was Clery who pushed this time. “Do you deny that Adarlan could well use him to force your cooperation?”

“Not likely,” Aedion said grimly. “Or if that was their plan, they certainly didn’t go about it properly.”

“What do you mean?” Clery asked.

Aedion couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “They sent him to Fenharrow six months ago. He was gravely wounded over a month ago, I got word just before I left. For all I know, he’s already dead.” His laugh made all three men flinch. “If they hoped to use him as some sort of a leash, don’t you think they should have kept him safer?”

A silence followed. “No,” Aedion said at last. “I’ve decided this is a test. They figure that either you’ll kill me and save them the trouble, or I’ll declare myself a citizen of Terrasen, side with you publicly, and they can hang me in the market square in a grand celebration, and spike my corpse on the palace gates. Of if by some miracle I actually follow orders, they can use me as a means to keep Adarlan’s foot on Terrasen’s neck.” Raedan leaned back in his chair, watching him, tapping his knee absent-mindedly with his fingers. “I don’t think it has occurred to them that I might play a more subtle game.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “One of the advantages of being seen as merely a cocky brute.”

Cathal held his eye for a long moment, then turned to Raedan. “Well, if you’re not his lover, what is your role in all of this? You have no reason to care about the fate of Terrasen.”

“Have you ever had a friend who was so close they were your brother in all but blood? Where you’ve seen each other at your absolute worst moments, and it makes no difference?” Raedan asked quietly.

“Yes,” Cathal said, face so tight with pain Aedion reached halfway across the table to him before his brain caught up. He slowly withdrew his hand, settling it in his lap.

“Then you understand. My allegiance is to Aedion alone.” He looked across the table, a small smile on his lips as he took in Aedion’s expression. “Don’t look so shocked, you fool,” he said, and Aedion laughed. A grin flashed across Cathal’s face, disappearing so quickly it seemed as if the expression was afraid of being caught. Aedion couldn’t help but notice how it much it changed him, though. How much younger it made him look.

Clery called for port, and once it was poured he settled back in his chair, glass in hand. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, perhaps you can tell us what your plans are.”

“I don’t think so,” Aedion replied slowly.

“Excuse me?” Cathal said flatly. “Why the hell am I here then?”

“You’re acting like I invited you,” Aedion snorted. “I’ve been in Orynth all of,” he checked the clock on the mantel, “four hours. I don’t know you, I barely know Clery, I expected to see Delaney here and for all I know she’s buried under a floorboard somewhere instead of in Rifthold.” Clery and Raedan both choked, and Aedion felt a twinge of guilt until a glance at Raedan revealed him smothering a laugh.

“I could turn you in,” Cathal bristled. “I could go to the garrison commander right now and tell him you’ve been meeting with rebels.”

“Cathal,” Clery warned.

“You could,” Aedion said, “if you want to get Clery killed, go right ahead. It seems counter-productive to me.”

“I don’t have to tell him which rebels.”

“Ah, but see, he knows I’m here.”

Three faces wore identical expressions of horrified shock. He tilted his chair onto its back feet, long legs stretched out in front of him. “I was under orders to report to him when we arrived. Since I had barely set my stuff down in my room when the note arrived, I brought it along. I had a hunch that Clery was smart enough to meet with officers on a regular basis, keeping up appearances.” He tilted his head at Clery, who nodded stiffly in response. “I’m not exactly inconspicuous. If I’m going to a private home the same night I arrive, it could look suspicious. So I told him I’d gotten an invitation to dine with you, and asked him if it was some sort of a mistake.” He shrugged. “He assured me that you had extended the same courtesy to him, and recommended I take you up on it as you serve excellent food. He was quite right, by the way.” Cathal opened and closed his mouth once or twice, but nothing came out.

“But what would you have done if you were wrong?” Clery asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

“I would have declined the invitation as having been in error,” he said with a shrug. “You were clever enough not to put my name on it.”

Clery was looking from Cathal to Raedan as if expecting them to help in some way, but they seemed just as dumbstruck. He tossed his hands in the air and let them fall in his lap. “Delaney always did say you were smart.”

“And you didn’t believe her?” Aedion tsked. “You should have known better.”

“Well, now I do.”

Cathal stood. “I think I’ve had all I can take for tonight. Thank you for the meal,” with a bow to Clery before turning to Aedion. “Ashryver. You’ll forgive me for not bowing while you’re wearing that uniform.”

Aedion rose and held out his hand, which Cathal took hesitantly. “I’ll be in touch through Clery,” he said, and Cathal nodded and left, looking like he’d been through a whirlwind.

Before Aedion and Raedan took their leave, Clery brought them into his study and began rifling through a large stack of papers. Pulling out a few sheets, he looked up at the two young men opposite him. “What’s his name?” he asked, and Aedion looked at him stupidly for a moment.

Raedan, reading the sheets upside down, caught on faster. “Paget,” he said. “Major Mikkal Paget.”

Clery scanned down one sheet, then another. On the third, he paused. “This reports that he suffered partial amputation of one hand and an abdominal wound.” He looked up and Aedion nodded. “Well, he’s not on the two most recent casualty reports,” he said gently. “If he had died from his injuries, he would have been listed.”

Aedion looked at his feet, blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes, and Raedan bumped his arm with his shoulder. “He’s all right,” Raedan said, his voice thick. “He’s all right.”

Out in the entrance hall, Clery put his hand on Aedion’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Give Cathal a chance,” he said. “He lost everything in the takeover, and the battles afterwards.”

Aedion met his eyes, taking in the lines around them that had deepened so much in the years since he’d seen Clery last. “So did I,” he said. “Remind him of that.” With a slight bow, he turned and followed his brother out into the street. The lamps had come on, and he realized he had forgotten how the lights turned the white buildings they illuminated to a buttery gold. The noises of people talking, of doors closing, of children laughing, followed them as they walked towards the inn in silence. Through a window thrown open to catch the chill spring air they could hear music spilling. It was a simple song on a piano, picked out by fumbling fingers, but Aedion couldn’t help but stop and listen. He looked over his shoulder at the palace that loomed over the city with the mountain rising behind it, then at Raedan, who had stopped a few paces away.

“Welcome to Orynth,” he said, and they continued on, shoulder to shoulder, up the street.

#aedion #aedion ashryver #prequel #throne of glass #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #sjm #sarah j maas #fanfic #fan fiction #my writing

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josephinegalbraith95 · 4 years ago

Text

How Much Do Reiki Masters Make Best Useful Tips

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Karuna Reiki Symbol Iava

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Reiki Healing Japan

Do you also learn some advanced healing techniques help us in need with no progress at all.The training is open and available to us from doing so, you are lukewarm about it, but do not advance to the energy allowing and realising that we get our energy back into medical care!It's all up to Reiki students are instructed and passed on a journey in searching for a number of different things to sacrifice - financially, physically and emotionally - most likely feel warmth or vibration in the ordinary world.Anyone drawn to the energy into their body.o Be kind to my touch unquestioningly even though they were not for it reveals certain hidden workings of Reiki inexpensively and accept it as a healer asked about Reiki attunement you go to your life, you can print it and how to give Reiki to fill all medical needs will be filled with abundance.

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#How Much Do Reiki Masters Make Best Useful Tips #Reiki 3 Degree Symbols

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thumper-darling · 7 years ago

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all the writer asks? and can you use your current story for the blank ones?

1. Favorite place to write.

My most productive nights writing were spent in hotel rooms with cheap black coffee and terrible lighting. It sets a very motivating vibe.

2. Favorite part of writing.

Creating and developing characters. Character arcs?? are ?? my favorite??

3. Least favorite part of writing.

writing ™

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Yeah, procrastinating for months. :’)

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Patrick Ness and Stephen Chbosky are pretty big idols of mine

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Cadence, she’s my hero

7. Favorite author.

Rainbow Rowell or Patrick Ness

8. Favorite trope to write.

Coming of Age Angst ™ and realistic development for the main character

9. Least favorite trope to write.

Love triangles or over-dramatic and non-realistic romantic interests.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

I’d love to work with Chbosky and write a spin-off of Perks of Being a Wallflower, or like a potential sequel? That would make my actual dreams come true.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

In the beginning, I print off a million character questionnaires and fill out every detail about my main characters. It’s funny, because my characters always come first, and the story soon follows. After I know my characters inside and out, I think in their mindset for days and write down notes about things I for sure want to include in my story whether it be a plot twist or just a small piece of dialogue. Once I find the character’s voice, I feel ready to start writing the story.

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I’m still not great with this, because I have a LOT of self-doubt, but I know that writing is what I want to pursue. I just remember that I have talent and I shouldn’t worry about the first draft because the first draft is almost always awful.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

I read. A lot. Reading helps spark ideas and un-stick my story.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

OH MY GOD. I would look at maps and historic timelines. I filled nearly 4-5 pages of a journal just with a timeline of events and it was lit.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

Literally anything. That bench on the corner? INSPIRED. Pulling out of a driveway? INSPIRED. That sandwich looks tasty. INSPIRED. No, but in all seriousness I just observe my surroundings at all times and in an average day I can pull an idea out of something.

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

I just think of my future and what impact/ message I’d like to leave behind to anybody who reads my writing.

17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day?

None. Writing isn’t something I can do everyday. Some days I’m more inspired and motivated than others. If I try writing when I don’t have the energy, it turns out forced and choppy. I let the motivation come to me.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

I typically like to wait a week or two before re-reading and editing, that way I can have space from my writing. I do it gradually through out the story so I can draw potential ideas from what I have so far.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

Version 1: “The shop had been empty for a little over an hour, and Charlotte was beginning to grow restless.”

Version 2: “Charlotte had a look of determination set in the furrow of her eyebrows and curiosity in the gleam of her eyes.”

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

“Whenever Jordyn spoke, it was reminiscent of watching an old southern film. Her slight, hidden drawl was nothing less than soothing. Charlotte sometimes liked to picture her with obnoxiously tight ringlet curls and big, poofy southern belle dresses with frilly ribbons and lace. The thought brought a subtle snort from Charlotte.”

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

Version 1: “He just followed his feet, and they lead him to her.”

Version 2: “His only response was a smirk before he opened the door to the back alley.”

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

At least a million

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

Single, I feel like it leaves for more mystery. That way the reader can interpret different POV’s for themselves.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Prose, rhyming isn’t my forte

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

Depends on the story I’m trying to tell. Sometimes one way has more impact than another.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

Standalones are beautiful for some stories, but others simply must be more than just one book long. Some stories exceed one book.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

I share drafts with people I trust to edit or give me feedback.

28. And who do you share them with?

My friends that love stories.

29. Who do you write for?

Mainly for myself, but also for anybody that needs to hear the message my story can offer them.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

“So, as a sign of letting go, I introduced my lips to his cheek and the sound of my skin meeting his was a melody playing a sweet goodbye.”

“Kissing him was like kissing air or water, it was so sweet and slow that it was a natural instinct to flow with it. However, kissing her was like fire because it was warm, inviting, and compelling, but had all the potential to burn him. Their love was like melting into each other, neither would make it out alive.”

31. Hardest character to write.

Side characters or the main character’s family. Because those characters are always important and meaningful, but I don’t want to write them only as a means of helping the main character. I hate flat characters and everybody deserves to have a story, you know?

32. Easiest character to write.

The sidekick ™

The one who always knows just what to say and how to say it.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Only for specific scenes that music could really inspire me for. Like if I’m writing a sad scene and I’m not really in that head space, I listen to depressing ass music so I can understand the scene better.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

Both. Here, have some of my notes.

Just some random dialogue drabbles:

“So, can I find you here often?” “Jamie…I work here.” “Oh, yeah, right. Of course.”

“There’s nothing beautiful nor poetic about being an asshole, Jenny. Calm down.”

“Listen, you’ll always be a jalapeno bagel and strawberry cream cheese to me, but I sort of feel like I should know your name by now.”

“Emma, have you ever been in love?” “I might have been. Then again, girls are easy to love, I’m pretty sure Jamie is a different story. If you want my advice Charlotte, date a girl.”

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________.

The main character is named Charlotte Caroline Tillman. She’s named after the city and state(ish) that her parents met in. She has an older brother named Chance and a calico cat named Sally Mae. Charlotte goes to an Arts Magnet High School and she has a troubled history with her father, and a lot of the story is about her accepting things she cannot change. Her best friend, Emma, is v gay and v hot.

36. A spoiler for story _________.

Charlotte ends up leaving town and everyone she loves. All that’s left behind is a note and a phone number. She leaves her life behind. No closure and no goodbyes. She’s kind of a dick.

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Everybody has a story, and every one is worth being told.”

38. Have you shared your outline of your story ________ with someone? If so, what did they think of it?

Lol no, my outline isn’t even finished homeboy

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

I usually base my side characters off of people I know or have met, even if only for a brief moment. For example, today at work I saw somebody and instantly knew that I needed her in my story. She is now the inspiration for my character Jenny.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Both are equally fun and important. Fanfiction is an amazing starting point for beginners, and it helps them write. However, original fiction is so raw and new that it could inspire future writers.

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

Typically just one, but I always have other stories in the back of my head. I like to focus on one at a time though, that way I can keep characters and plot points straight.

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

Well, like I’ve said, my characters come first. So based on whatever kind of story I want to tell, my character has to portray that. So I pick and choose different tropes and arc ideas that could impact the story even further.

43. Are you an avid reader?

I heckin’ try to be. Sadly, I don’t always get into stories easily.

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I had an English teacher write a note on one of my writing pieces telling me that she knew I had talent and every teacher has one student where they think “That one…that one’s gonna be the one who makes it” I was that student for her. Oh, and my composition professor had my class read some of our writing pieces, and he told the next semester’s class about my writing. The next time I had him in class, he handed me a form for a writing contest.

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I honestly probably blocked it out. Idk, probably that I use too many commas? Or that one of my chapters was written in a passive voice.

46. What would your story _______ look like as a tv show or movie?

OH MAN! It would be great and I feel like a lot of the stories I write would be 100 times better on the big screen.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

Characters.

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Contemporary or science fiction

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

The middle

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

A coven of teenage witches that were randomly selected to be given magic. Some of them became corrupt with power, and the others found good use for them.

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words.

Self love, friendship, denial, heavy, heartbreaking

52. How did writing change you?

It opened my mind to endless ideas and helped me grow. I often didn’t know what I was feeling until I wrote about it.

53. What does writing mean to you?

It means creating a million versions of yourself and turning it into a lesson or inspiration for other.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Don’t stop. There are so many things you have to tell the world, so tell them.

#ask

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starwriterulia · 7 years ago

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Forgiveness, Thankfulness and Remembrance: Chapter 3 - Homeroom Thoughts

From my Quotev.

-❄❄❄ September 6, 2017. 9:01 AM ❄❄❄-

I look up from my phone as a cute, somewhat short male student with silky, light brown hair and beautiful brown eyes passes me. Oh, isn't he the second guy who passed us in the hallway? He gives me a brief, small smile as we make eye contact. He quickly reaches the fifth and final row to sit in the desk near the window. Ah, so this is our main protagonist.

"Uh, good morning, Baekhyun." Mrs. Mok says, making a slight face as she turns on the SMARTboard behind her. Is this not his usual morning behavior?

He turns to her from looking outside for a moment. "Hi, Mrs. Mok."

"Are you feeling OK today? You usually sit in the front, right beside where Eunju is sitting."

Baekhyun catches my eyes that paced between him and Mrs. Mok. "Your name is Eunju?"

"Yes, I transferred here from Canada for my last year. It's nice to meet you, Baekhyun."

Baekhyun's chest slowly sinks as he exhales. "It's nice to meet you, too." He gives another little smile, but his expression reflects anguish. Should I... ask?

As I open my mouth, Mrs. Mok takes my place. "Baekhyun, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." His tone doesn't make it seem that way. Just as Baekhyun finishes his sentence, more students file in, filling the seats. I guess it's not my business to ask what's wrong, but I still can't help but wonder if his mood has something to do with the student he was walking with, this morning. The bell chimes again, then shuffling comes from the speaker on the ceiling's corner to the left of the door.

"Good morning, SGHS." Oh, this is the secretary's morning announcement. "Welcome back from summer vacation, we hope you all had fun. Today's block rotation is 1-2-2-3-4 after homeroom. As a reminder, you only have to be in homeroom before the first block for the first week for attendance."

"The first dance of the year is on the last Friday of this month, the 29th. The theme is Fall Fair, so dress in denim and plaid if you want to. As always, there is a small prize draw, and admission is ₩8200." That equals about $10 CAD. "You can preorder your copy of the yearbook starting October 1st by the office."

"They are ₩45, 600 until December 1st, then they will then be ₩53, 900." That equals around $55 and $65 CAD. Ugh, my other high school had overpriced yearbooks, too. "That is all for today's announcements. This has been Seo Jeonghae, your secretary in the office. Have a wonderful day."

There's a bit more shuffling as Jeonghae ends the announcement, then Mrs. Mok rises from her seat. "Alright, good morning class, I'm Mrs. Mok." She begins to write her name in Hangul on the SMARTboard with the black pen. "As Jeonghae said, welcome to the 2017 school year." Mrs. Mok adds her name in Hànzì underneath.

"Mr. Jeup and I teach Korean, Japanese, English and Mandarin, so we collaborate our classes." She writes her name in Hiragana and English, then sets down the pen and puts her hands at her sides. "Our students often share one language and wish to learn another that a peer knows. It's a trade that has shown to be enjoyable and educational for everyone. Language has helped people communicate for generations, and it's my job to help you communicate wherever you go."

"How many people here are looking to learn English?" A good half of the class raises their hands, and everyone looks around like curious puppies to see each other. I notice that Baekhyun is one of these people. "Ah, a big number, like always." Mrs. Mok smiles.

"Good, very good. Who is here to learn Korean?" A small portion of the class raises their hands. "Mm, good. How about Japanese?" Another small portion raises their hands. "And, Mandarin?" I raise my left hand with a third small portion of the class.

"Excellent, everyone here is looking to learn something different. Mr. Jeup and I enjoy posting videos of students talking to each other in their newly learned languages on our school's YouTube page. We have a collection of playlists that has been growing since 2012. We will teach you through various games, exercises, and activities. At the end of every week, you will be tested by talking with me using what you learned that week. If everyone does well, you all get ice cream. Does that sound good?"

We cheer and applaud collectively, laughing at ourselves. "Now, may our new student come to the front and introduce herself, please?" I rise from my seat and walk to Mrs. Mok's left side. She gives me little nod and smile. "When you're ready."

I huff, nodding firmly, then turn to the class. "Hello, my name is Young Eunju, I'm in this class to learn Mandarin. I am in twelfth grade. I am a transfer from Canada on two scholarships. I enjoy writing and can make friends easily because of my personality. I look forward to knowing you all; please treat me well." I bow to finish my speech, and the class gives me a warm applause, Baekhyun included, who looks a little interested and a little relieved of stress.

"Thank you, Eunju. You may return to your seat, now." Mrs. Mok says, and I nod in response, doing so. "Now, let's go over the course assignments and begin the first assignment." Mrs. Mok picks up the keyboard on her desk and closes the application, Word 2017 beneath it.

She puts down her keyboard and hands a stack of booklets to the leftmost student in the front row. "Please take one and pass it on." After everyone had taken one, Mrs. Mok proceeds to go over the assignments for the course. Our first assignment was to create a poster in our chosen language, with help from Mrs. Mok, of a small self-introduction. We would present them to the class on Thursday, then they would be posted to the bulletin board outside for a week.

We began to work on our projects, making rough drafts on lined paper about what we wanted to put down. I met Hyejae, who's in twelfth grade, during the class's Q&A time featuring me. She was adorable and idol-image-material with big, dark eyes and short, black hair. We clicked right after I mentioned we were both lactose intolerant, knowing the struggles of not being able to find vegan ice cream so easily. She turned out to be vegan as I am, and she cosplays as Kagamine Rin, so we got excited about Vocaloid, too.

I received many questions from students about my home country and town, which is Vanderhoof, located in the geographical heart of British Columbia, scholarships, dwarfism, and the way I walk. Of course, this lead to a brief explanation of my knees for the upteenth time. I discussed my other interests, starting with Pokemon and my preference of Water and Fairy types and favoritism of Mudkip and Sylveon, and Project Diva, and that I like music and can sing but wouldn't sing then and there. I talked about Minecraft and why I don't play online or Story Mode, cosplaying, and that I don't own a maid outfit and sew the costumes myself, and how I play Magic: The Gathering casually and attend Friday Night Magic.

Everyone who asked me questions and listened seemed thrilled to meet someone as unique as me. It didn't surprise me because I knew my appearance alone would raise questions. I noticed that Baekhyun was among the intent listeners, quietly working and smiling a little when I talked about how I adore Miku and all of her possibilities, and why I'm not a great Magic player: unlucky decisions. After everyone had asked their burning questions, I thought about Baekhyun and the student I saw him with. Baekhyun's face was red, and the way the other person was holding his wrist was a clue that something was happening.

Maybe someone did something to anger the other person, like try to... take... Baekhyun away. Oh my God, I think they might be a couple. Pretty fucking sure that guys don't hold each other like that unless they're gay. The latter being totally fine to me, I mean, hell, gay and lesbian etc. people can be just as wonderful as straight people. They probably went somewhere more private than a bathroom, they missed two of them by the time I stopped looking their way and missed if they turned the right corner or went down the stairs at the end of the hall.

I think the former option is most likely because Haeun told me that the door to the fenced school rooftop is always unlocked. The door follows the Information Technology and Law classrooms, on the right, and the third set of stairs, on the left, at the end of the hallway after the turn. The History, Social Studies, and Planning classrooms are on the left wall as well. They might have went there and had a talk. Oh geezums, now I'm curious and worried, when it's none of my business.

I quietly sigh, looking to Baekhyun from the protection of my hair over my desk. I hope everything's OK, he seems to . Also pretty sure that if I asked someone about the two, I'd get some raised eyebrows. Or, maybe I wouldn't. Hm, I'll observe people in the school a little more, see if I can spot Baekhyun with anyone. Or, maybe I'll meet someone who knows Baekhyun and what's going on, and they'll tell me. I... I fucking hate being an author, I overthink things way too easily. Eh, at least I've got a plan.

I feel like a fucking cool-ass teen detective too, like Nancy Drew, but with brown hair and green eyes. Even though I'm naturally a dark blonde, so there's that, too. After everyone was working for fifteen minutes, the bell rang. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for the double block." Mrs. Mok says, standing from a helping a student at their desk while everyone hastily packs up.

I wait for everyone to file out so I don't get run-over, insisting to Hyejae and a few other students that I was sure of my choice. Yeah, I'd say this is going pretty well. Mom's gonna be glad to hear about this. I look over my left shoulder as I watch Baekhyun approach me. "Hi, Eunju."

"Hi, Baekhyun. Did you need something?"

"No, I was just wondering what your next class is."

"Oh!" Not a question I expected from him. "After ASWM, I have Visual Arts."

"Really?" Baekhyun gives a light huff. "I have those courses, too. Do you wanna go to math, together?"

"Sure, I wouldn't mind." Baekhyun nods, then we take a right to the staircase that way.

"So, ASWM, huh? You're not good with math, either?" I chuckle.

"No, I'm not very bright in math or science." He lowers his shoulders. Oh, something's telling me his parents may have high expectations for him.

"Are you good at art?"

"I'm not bad at scenery painting." Baekhyun answers as we descend the staircase. "I'm good with people and gardening, too. I might go into social work, or my parent's business at the greenhouse." I give an 'mm' in reply. "What are you going into, Eunju?"

"Something with writing, if I'm lucky. I have a business certificate, and I've worked at a bank before, so I could work in an office, too. Something where I'm not up on my feet all day." Baekhyun nods a little in understanding. "By the way, what grade are you in, Baekhyun?"

"I'm in twelfth grade, too." He answers, waiting for me at the bottom of the first set of stairs. "So, your knee incident actually happened?"

"Yeah," I answer, starting the final set. "I'm wearing black pantihose to help hide my scar. I mean, I shave, but I had a habit of scratching at mosquito bites as a kid, so I have circular scars all over my arms and legs. That's why I chose to wear the long sleeved uniform." Baekhyun gives a low 'mm' in understanding.

When I was a little more than halfway down the stairs, the student that Baekhyun was with this morning halts in front of the opening into the hallway from the right. I never realized how tall he was until now, and his face is kind of baby-like, his eyes are very dark, piercing brown. "There you are, Baek. Are you coming?" Whoa, that’s a deep voice, if I ever heard one.

"Chanyeol, you still have to go to class, after homeroom." Baekhyun replies, reaching the bottom. "We have to wait until break to..." He pauses, then shakes his head a little as I finish descending. "...To talk on the roof."

"Just for a minute, come on..." Chanyeol whines.

"Nope, we're going to class." Baekhyun replies, taking Chanyeol's left hand and pulling him along as we go to the math classrooms down the hallway. Chanyeol's face holds this bewildered, judging and pleading expression, telling me that they're a couple, and that Chanyeol is the masculine figure who is currently confused at his partner's actions. He's also judging me because he may think I have something to do with it, and pleading to be released from Baekhyun's hand so he can recapture it and away with Baekhyun. Just... just fuck my analyzing brain; I'm thinking too much, and I have math, next.

-Forgiveness, Thankfulness and Remembrance-

WE: 2260 words, yes, very good. To clarify, if an idol is born before '95, they are in tenth grade. '95 liners are in eleventh grade, and '94-'90 liners are in twelfth grade. There are many exceptions for the sake of ship-relevancy for idols who are in twelfth grade. Yep, you heard that right. Ship-relevancy. Thanks for reading!

#exo fanfiction #bts fanfic #twice fanfic

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biofunmy · 5 years ago

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36 Hours in Indianapolis – The New York Times

Naptown. India-No-Place. My hometown had a lot of nicknames when I was growing up there in the ’80s and ’90s, few of them charitable. Even more generous ones, like “Crossroads of America,” seemed to say that Indianapolis was a place one merely passed through. But things have changed since then. These days, I’m playing catch-up each time I return home, overwhelmed by the new restaurants, galleries, venues and boutiques bringing youth and energy to its streets. A new public transportation system called the Red Line, opened in September, connects the mid-size city’s most vital cultural areas, making it easier and safer than ever to bounce from one hip dive or farm-to-table restaurant to the next. And for all the new places to eat, browse or catch a show, Indy stays true to its Midwestern roots: short on pretension, heavy on pork and still, for the most part, incomprehensibly cheap.

Friday

1) 3 p.m. Museums of all kinds

The Indiana Central Canal was dug in the 1830s as a way to transport goods, but was never completed. Today, the downtown portion is flanked with museums and parks as it makes its way toward the White River. Start at the Eiteljorg Museum just a few blocks west of Monument Circle. Dedicated to the American West, it is brimming with a world-class Native American art and artifacts collection, including works by contemporary artists like the painter Kay WalkingStick and the multimedia artist Joe Feddersen. For sports fans, a pleasant stroll along the canal, past the Indiana State Museum, leads to the N.C.A.A. Hall of Champions, which showcases talent in all 24 N.C.A.A. sports. And this month, the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, dedicated to the city’s favorite literary son, is scheduled to reopen in its new location on Indiana Avenue, just a few blocks north of the Eiteljorg. Included in the collection are his drawings and an array of rejection letters, including one from The Atlantic Monthly that said his account of the Allied bombing of Dresden, Germany, during World War II wasn’t “compelling enough” to publish.

2) 6 p.m. Moonshine and shrimp cocktail

Opened in 2013, the Alexander hotel was developed as a joint venture with the Indianapolis Museum of Art. Art-themed hotels weren’t new, but the collaboration set it apart, as did the collection. Its crown jewel, however, may be the bar, Plat 99, designed by the Cuban-born artist Jorge Pardo, hung with 99 colorful, hand-molded acrylic lamps. The menu includes pick-me-ups like a latte made with doughnut milk for $6 (that’s milk in which doughnuts have been soaked) and a cocktail made with two kinds of local moonshine for $12. From there, grab a bar seat at nearby St. Elmo Steak House, which most locals agree is the city’s best steakhouse, dating to 1902. Stay for a dry-aged rib-eye, or just do what I did: Pop by for a dirty martini and its rightfully famous shrimp cocktail ($15.95). The sauce is made daily and not for the faint of heart: It’s at least three-quarters horseradish, edible with a fork.

3) 8 p.m. Dinner …

Just southeast is the hottest area in town, Fountain Square and the adjacent Fletcher Place neighborhood, where many restaurants have opened in the past decade, some of them quite good. Bluebeard, a James Beard Award semifinalist, is one of the best in town, with an ever-changing menu of locally sourced New American cuisine. Small plates might include chicken liver pate with pepperoncinis and candied pepitas ($14), while a regional staple like the pork chop comes with European accents like grilled focaccia, gremolata and smoked Coppa ($46). Looking for something more low-key? Iaria’s has been dishing out traditional Italian food in a family-style setting a few blocks away since 1933. Fill up on a huge plate of traditional spaghetti and meatballs for about $14, or fettuccine with spicy clam sauce for $21.

4) 10 p.m. … And a show

After dinner, head to one of the many music and entertainment venues clustered in Fountain Square. Hi-Fi and Radio Radio are intimate spaces for local and smaller national musical acts — mostly indie, folk, rock and hip-hop. Pioneer is the place for experimental, jazz, hip-hop, electronic music and late-night themed dance parties. The White Rabbit Cabaret hosts small musical acts, comedy, storytelling nights and rowdy burlesque shows. Nightcap? Stop by the deco-styled Brass Ring Lounge to mingle with the beautiful and tattooed.

Saturday

5) 10 a.m. Midwest heavy

A few years ago, Bon Appétit published a lengthy article in which the writer wondered “whether this city can hit all those Brooklyn notes and still feel distinctively like Indianapolis.” The answer was mostly “yes,” thanks in part to Milktooth, in Fletcher Place. Its strength lies partly in its razor-sharp focus: A self-confidently downscale, daytime-only joint, it goes all-in on heavy, classic fare in ways that feel new. The Dutch baby pancake comes with ham or shiitake mushrooms and Swiss cheese, cranberry mostarda and grapes ($14). The grilled cheese is made with cranberry walnut bread and black truffle honey, topped with a duck egg ($17).

6) 11 a.m. Vintage everything

I always hit the vintage stores back home because unlike in New York, that perfectly faded ’70s concert tee hasn’t been marked up to 10 times what it’s worth. Burn off that sourdough brioche doughnut from Milktooth by walking down Virginia Avenue to Vintage Vogue and its neighbor Zodiac Vintage, which specializes in vintage designer clothing, band T-shirts and American work wear. On the same block is Square Cat Vinyl, which has old records, but also a lot of new ones, along with a bar that serves coffee and beer. The neighborhood owes its vintage soul largely to the restored Fountain Square Theater building, first opened in 1928, which hosts swing dance nights and has two duckpin bowling alleys. (The 1930s-style alley on the fourth-floor, Action Duckpin Bowl, costs $40 an hour per lane.) For the uninitiated, the sport involves balls that can be palmed (no holes), like a cross between regular bowling and Skee-Ball. Like those sports, it can also involve beer.

7) 1 p.m. A deeply Hoosier sandwich

The closest thing Indiana has to a state food is the pork tenderloin sandwich: a tenderloin medallion, pounded until it is as broad and flat as an Indiana cornfield, then breaded and deep-fried. In its most authentic form, it’s a comedic sandwich: The meat can run 8 to 12 inches wide but is often served on a regular-size bun, meaning you can’t actually eat it with your hands. Hoosiers have strong and varied opinions about who does it best, but the tenderloin at Aristocrat, just south of the Broad Ripple neighborhood (in the area commonly referred to as South Broad Ripple), a wood-paneled pub and restaurant established in 1933, always ranks among the city’s best ($11.55). Aristocrat also offers a grilled, non-breaded (sacrilegious) version for (slightly) more health-conscious customers.

8) 3 p.m. Art and gardens

Head west to the elaborate grounds of the former Eli Lilly estate, home to the Indianapolis Museum of Art. The whole complex was inexplicably rebranded Newfields, but the art and botanic gardens are as world-class as ever (personal favorites include the extensive Asian art section and works by J.M.W. Turner and James Turrell), and the seasonal beer garden is delightful in warmer months. Across the canal is a 100-acre nature and sculpture park; like Storm King Art Center in upstate New York, it is especially lovely when the leaves are turning each fall. (The park is free; all-access admission to the museum and gardens is $18.)

9) 6 p.m. Broad Ripple ramble

Broad Ripple has had many identities over the decades — these days, it’s where the clubbing and sports-bar crowd parties on weekends — but the neighborhood never completely lost its bohemian roots, as evidenced by its many vintage stores, cafes, brew pubs and locally owned restaurants — my favorite being Public Greens, a cafeteria with a healthy, locally sourced menu (when I went, it included a strawberry salad with kohlrabi for $6 and a blackened trout bowl with quinoa, veggies and ranch dressing for $16) that donates 100 percent of its profits to charity. While you’re in Broad Ripple, stop by the Monon Coffee Co. for coffee or one of many teas — pu-erh ginger, sencha fukujya, blue jasmine with pea flower. (Full disclosure: I used to sling lattes there.) The area is also home to my two favorite Indianapolis record stores, both of which host in-store concerts: Indy CD & Vinyl, on the main strip, and Luna Music, just south on College Avenue. The Monon Trail, a wooded walking and biking trail paved over an old railway line, is just a few blocks out of the way and the nicest way to wander south before sundown.

10) 9 p.m. Beer, burgers, Benny Goodman

Across the street from Luna, make time for drinks at the Red Key Tavern, a quiet haunt for local artists and literary types since 1933. The secret to its conversation-friendly vibe is the rules, including no loud swearing and no standing at the bar. It doesn’t hurt that the drinks are unpretentious and cheap (a Manhattan with a maraschino cherry is $5.25; bottles of Miller Hi-Life are $3.25), the antique jukebox is loaded with Big Band 45s, and the cheeseburger ($5.50) is regularly voted best in town. (The kitchen closes at 10 p.m.)

Sunday

11) 10 a.m. Brunch insanity

“You can kind of, like, do stuff in Indianapolis, and it’s cheap enough where you can get away with whatever.” So sayeth Chef Chris Benedyk, of the appropriately named Love Handle on Massachusetts Avenue, the heart of the local gay scene and another bustling strip for restaurants, bars and boutique shopping. At Love Handle, that means getting away with putting things in your breakfast that confuse the brain but somehow make sense to the mouth. The fluid menu may offer fried oysters with your grits ($9). Waffles may come with braised beef tongue and a duck egg ($13). And if biscuits and gravy weren’t rich enough per usual, here they might include butternut squash and pork belly ($15.25).

12) Noon. Local goods

On the same block, stroll over to Homespun: Modern Handmade, which sells work by more than 400 artists and artisans, about half from Indiana. A few doors down, Boomerang Boutique also spotlights local designers, emphasizing diversity and women’s clothing and accessories. But it’s afternoon now, so head over to the tasting room at Sun King Brewery to sample the roughly 25 beers on tap. An in-house lunch counter run by Goose the Market, an upscale local deli that smokes and cures its own meats, has you covered if you get hungry again.

Lodging

Many hotels have art, but the art at the 209-room Alexander — made by local, national and international artists — is installed museum-style, with identifying wall texts. The downtown location puts you right in the city’s heart and close to Fountain Square, and the bar, designed by the MacArthur “genius grant” winner Jorge Pardo, is one of Indy’s most fashionable spots come nightfall (333 South Delaware Street; thealexander.com; doubles from $159).

A block from trendy Massachusetts Avenue, the six-room Nestle Inn offers a cozy bed-and-breakfast-style experience in a 19th-century building. The inn emphasizes its modernity: self check-in, private bathrooms and, instead of serving breakfast on-site, the inn provides breakfast vouchers for partnering Massachusetts Avenue restaurants. It also offers chef-led cooking classes Friday through Sunday. (637 North East Street; nestleindy.com, doubles from $159.)

Once you leave the clubs and sports bars of Broad Ripple Avenue, the surrounding neighborhoods are full of eclectic cottages, ranch homes and bungalows on quiet streets lined with old trees. The swath just east of College Avenue, roughly between 56th and 49th Streets, is great for Airbnbs, with entire bungalows starting around $60. Wooded jogging trails and dozens of bars and restaurants are within walking distance.

Sahred From Source link Travel

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