#but the way you draw their skulls matches the rest of your style very well

[free-fart-avenue]

Yoooo. Your artstyle us so cool! I love all the shadows (I use shadows a lot too) and how uniquely you did Color's fire.

Bitches love me. 🌈🌈🌈

Yeeeeehawwwww

I only enjoyed drawing killer.😤

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

Chapter 2

Poly!141 x reader

Summary: You wake to four strangers at the end of your bed.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes, mention of kidnap, mention of torture,

Note: Merry Christmas Everyone - I hope you all enjoy this chapter! 🎅🏻🎄

Masterlist -> Here

For the first time in a long time, you slept well. More than well actually, amazing.

Your body was supported at all points, neck raised slightly, head cushioned on a thick feather pillow. And the sheets were actual bedsheets. One matching set of dark grey linen sheets, adorning the king sized mattress.

A luxury compared to how you’ve slept in the last few months. You never could fall into a deep sleep. Knowing that at any point your captors would come back to your room, kicking you from your slumber and starting your torment once more. When you did try to sleep it was on the concrete floor. Curled in a ball, spread like a starfish, lying on your front. All positions that you’d tried and failed to have a restful night of sleep in.

It must have been the light that woke you, you think wistfully to yourself. A ghost of a smile graces your face at the sight. Light streaming in and hitting the bedspread. Particles of dust, dancing carelessly in the rays. Things were turning around.

You roll on to your back. Stretching your neck from side to side and groaning. Your eyes find the ceiling, a plain white rectangle above you. You take a moment or two to enjoy the silence of the morning, letting yourself wake up.

It’s when you turn to your other side to gaze out the other window, that your peace is disturbed. The window itself is fine, the glass is intact, with a thin frosting of snow on each pane. But the figure that leans beside it is not something you wanted to see, in the previously empty cabin.

A mix of a gasp and shout of surprise leaves your sore throat as you jump in place. Your body becoming rigid and tense with stress at the sight of the intruder. Now sitting more upright, you see that the stranger not alone. He stands with three other men, each more imposing than the last.

While the one by the window did frighten you, his boyish dimples and lean figure have nothing on how the Goliath by the dresser makes you feel. He stands tall, taller than the rest. His face covered by a skull painted balaclava. His grey eyes give nothing away as they stare blankly at you on the bed.

Between the two opposites, are another two men. One stood next to the nicest looking of the four, crossing his arms and trying to keep his face stoic. His hair is styled into a Mohawk and the sight reminds you of bad guys from old movies. His blue eyes stand out against his brutish appearance. Softening the fear that his very being brings you.

The only one left is the man who sits on a chair found in the room. His legs naturally spread a little due to the size of his thighs. His arms are crossed over his chest, causing the muscles in his forearms to bulge under his long sleeve shirt.

His face is blank, hiding what his true thoughts are and most likely what he truly feels. His face is adorned with a healthy amount of facial hear. The feature ages him and makes him look rugged. Your eyes draw to the thick line of hair that he harbours above his pink lips.

They say nothing. They just stare. The action unnerving you. Making you feel like some sort of zoo animal.

The sight of the four muscular and good-looking men put you on edge of course. But there’s something else. Urges that you’d never thought of before. Feelings were never part of the mission. You were determined to keep it that way.

“You sleep alright love?” The man sitting asks you. Him deciding to speak first and the fact that he others look towards him leads you to believe that he is the leader of the men. Despite the authority that they all seem to hold.

His voice is low and quiet. The sounds rumbling together at the low volume. The words are clear enough though, that you can make them out a few feet away on the bed.

You don’t respond, you can’t. What is he wanting you to say? Yes thank you, it was the best sleep of my life.

So you strengthen your resolve and stay silent. Slowly shifting your position so you’re sitting up more instead of lying down. You calm your breathing and focus your mind. You let your eyes glance over the men in the room again.

“Enjoy sleeping in a strangers sheets?” Again his voice is quiet, soft even. But his eyes tell a different story. His eyes that are squeezed into a glare, glower at you. When you meet his eyes it’s too intense. You feel as if you’re on trial for your life. Come to think of it you are.

You stand no chance against these men. In any capacity. If they wanted to kill you, they could. If they wanted to hurt you, they could. If they wanted to take you, they could.

The last thought resonates with you deeply. That’s when the a prick of fear starts to grow in the back of your head. You realised how lucky you were that Miasma had no interest in hurting you in any sort of sexual way. Despite there being many opportunities too, the guards found more enjoyment in kicking you around then fucking you.

“Not going to answer love? Fine.” The man stands from his chair. He moves to stand at the bottom of your bed, hands stretching out over the bed frame. His presence getting that much more suffocating. When he stands close you find no refuge from his gaze. You can’t look to the other men as much, only him. Only his cold, piercing eyes that tell you telling this man anything but the truth is a death sentence.

“What are you doing in our house?” His tone is sharper, harder. The softness found in the low rumble of his previous words is lost.

Your mind races through the cover story you had before infiltrating Miasma. The details around it are so fuzzy. It feels like you’ve got the right story but there are undecided parts.

What were you here for?

Start simple. If you start simple you can fill in the details later. Give yourself a chance to think.

“I got lost in the woods.” Good start, it’s vague enough. Now change your tone.

“I’d been walking for so long and I,” your voice cracks for good measure and you feel your eyes starting to water. You use the emotions from the last few hours to fuel your tears. You were scared. You were afraid. These were all real feelings, you just had to try and channel them. “I was just so cold and so desperate. This was the first place I’d seen in miles.”

For a moment you see his eyes soften. In a flash they’re back on your again. Hard and cold and unrelenting.

“What we’re you doing in the woods, in the middle of winter?” He asks you. Behind his imposing figure you see the one with the Mohawk shift in his stance, trying to get a better look of you.

Your story doesn’t have to just convince the man I front of you. It has to convince the other three in the room. The thought registers as you run through your cover story as quickly as you can.

“I’m a zoologist. I was out here studying brown bears before they went into hibernation. Then these men-” you pause your story, desperate to have a few tears running down your cheek before telling them the rest. You need to sell this or all you’re done, all you’ve survived, would be worth nothing now.

“Go on love, finish your story.” The soft tone has returned, no doubt that it was due to the sight of your tears running and sniffling nose.

“These men came in trucks,” your eye contact won’t be enough you realise, so you free your hands from your side and use them to talk. “It didn’t seem right so I abandoned my stuff and hid. They came looking round and they, they had guns. I snuck away quietly but they found me. They took me back to some sort of military base. Last night was when I managed to escape.”

It wasn’t far from the truth. At least now you’d have a way to explain the myriad of injuries that had been inflicted on you.

The man hums audibly. You aren’t sure if you’ve done enough to convince him. His face doesn’t give anything away.

“Why do yer have their clothes if yer were a captive?” A voice from behind the man calls out, thick with a Scottish accent.

The clothes by the fire.

The captain watched your reaction for a moment. You hope he doesn’t think the flash of realisation that was on your face a moment ago, is evidence you’re lying.

He moves to the side slightly so that you can look the Scotsman in the eye as you answer him.

“They took my clothes. It was the first thing I grabbed when I escaped.” The four men say nothing for a moment. Eyes dead set on you, on your movements, your body language. Contemplating your words, your tone, your story and your tears.

It feels like hours until the leader speaks up again. Hours of waiting for them to pass judgement on you and your future.

“They hurt you?” He asks, tone quiet once more.

You hesitate, “A little…why?” Why does he care? Why would any of them care?

The man ignores your question, “Do you need a first aid kit?”

The question confuses you. Is this some kind of trick.

Part of you wants to say yes. Knowing you’ve got cuts and bruises a plenty that could use cleaning or stitching in some cases. But your hyper aware of where they’re placed. To get to the cuts on your back you’d have to raise or take off your shirt. Not exactly something your eager to do in the four men’s company.

Your shake your head, eyes now wide and mutter out a no.

It causes the men’s eyes to narrow.

“Don’t lie to him lass. Ye wouldn’t want to see what happens if ye do.” The Scotsman threatens.

You bite your lip, “I can handle it. It’s nothing serious.”

“Serious or not, we need to see what damage has been done.” You don’t miss the we in that sentence. Do they all really need to see how banged up you are?

You still shake your head at the premise. The idea causing a pit to form in your stomach.

“You stay put love, we’ll find a first aid kit and bring you a drink. Don’t move.” He fixes you with a final look before he leaves the room. The rest of the men trailing after him.

When the last of the men leaves the room, he shuts the door. The sight of the dark oak door brings air back into your lungs, it lets the haze that’s filled your mind clear.

You need to run, you need to get out of here.

You need to return to Gunner. You don’t need to be getting involved with these four strangers. Who just so happen to be extremely handsome and muscular.

You don’t trust them. Not one bit. How do you know they aren’t Miasma, here to find out what you know and finish the job?

As quietly as you can you leave the warmth of the linen sheets and step on to the plush carpet. Creeping towards the now shut door as you gently pry it open. You have little time to get out the cabin before it’s too late.

You cringe as the door scrapes against the carpet. The sound is practically deafening in the silence you’ve created in the master bedroom. You pause for a moment, convinced the men from downstairs have heard you.

When you don’t hear the thunder of steps up the stairs, you begin your mission to escape. Moving as silently as you can along the carpeted floor. Hoping to get out before they find the first aid kit.

“What are we doing price?” Ghost finds himself asking in a hushed voice as the entirety of the 141 congregate in the kitchen.

“Looking for a first Aid kit lieutenant.” Price answers and returns to searching the cupboards.

Simon wants to scream at his captain. He wants to complain to his team. He wants to know why they’re entertaining this girl. No matter how pretty she may be, she’s lying about something. Simon hasn’t got this far in his career without being an expert in body language.

Price busies himself with rifling through the cupboards. Thankful that Laswell keeps all safe houses fully stocked.

His hands brush past plates and cans and glasses before coming to the last cupboard. Finally his hands grasp the large green box, packed with medical supplies.

When his gaze moves from the first aid kid, he sees his men staring out him. Looking confused at the sight.

“I’ve got Laswell doing background on the insignia on the jacket. I want to see she’s lying. Looking at those so called injuries will do that.” Price tells the team as he checks the first aid box before taking it upstairs.

It seems the rest of the team h av e a permanent frown on their face.

“I just don’t think any of this is right.” Ghost mutters. “It all just feels wrong.”

“Aye, she looks so frail and small. How can a lass like that escape a group of armed men?” Soap questions.

“She’s either insanely lucky or has some sort of special training.” Gaz voices to the others.

The thought permeates within their heads. Are you some sort of secret agent? Able to escape from armed men at hidden facilities?

The sound of a creak breaks them from their thoughts.

[blueathn]

Obligatory coffee shop au art

Close-ups and ramblings under the cut because I spent waaay too long on this

Welcome to my brain soup.

Disclaimer, I didn’t really plan this piece and just kept adding concepts as I went, so it’s kind of all over the place. It’s more a big patchwork of dumb ideas I got excited over, rather than a well thought-out drawing, but I like it as it is! It feels like my brain did when I was reading htn :]

1. The whole concept behind this is just "Vintage coffee ad but make it the griddlehark coffee shop au". I was aiming for cheerful but also not quite right, in a very stock photo kind of way if that makes sense. Gideon is smiling but she is not a willing participant in this. Also that coffee is cold.

I - very predictably - took inspiration from Leyendecker’s work, since his ads and posters are the first that come to my mind when I think "vintage ad", and also because I do feel like his painting technique is close to how I naturally paint. This is not meant to be a study of his style tho, I didn’t try to break it down on more than a very superficial level.

2. 3. Nothing special to say, just Gideon’s arms (her perfect biceps are hidden from view lest they cause a riot in the cafeteria). Also arm hair. I feel like it’s becoming a recurring feature in my art lol

4. I debated whether or not to add a foam skull on the coffee then ultimately decided against it. That’s one skull too many, and honestly Gideon neither has the skill nor the patience to attempt one. Let’s be real, if they let her have access to the pitcher she’d make tits. So here is your tits-free coffee, courtesy of the Cohort photoshop editors.

5. Isaac, sporting the Fourth’s blue not only in dress but also in his questionnable choice of eye makeup. They have matching haircut only so Jeanne can showcase how much better it looks on her.

6. This is where I finally have something clever-ish to say. Thoughts ! I have them ! Sometimes. So. Harrow. You can’t see it but she has a nose piercing as well - this is relevant to spreading my agenda that Harrow is full of bone (piercings, that is). Sue me, I forgot that they let her keep her face paint in this scene. Onto the actual thought process.

This is where Abigail interrupts the scene, before Harrow can catch a glimpse of barista!Gideon. Her interruption is shown by the unfinished look of this panel : the sketch lines peeking through (in a reddish hue, to mimic sanguine, the red chalk that artists used to draw sketches and studies - and also because the contrast of the colors makes it pop better against her skin) + the rendering is messier from the neck and down.

Abigail is blocking half of Harrow from view - I wanted to have her hide Harrow’s eyes and thus line of sight entirely, but I feared Harrow wouldn’t be as recognizable with more than half her face hidden, frowny eyebrows and all.

Abigail herself is meant to look out of place here, without taking too much attention away from Gideon. I drew her in a much simpler style, using a more monochromatic palette and cell shading, to contrast against the rest of the gang, where I used a lot more color variation and a more detailed & textured painting style.

That’s about all I have on this, if you got this far thank you! Your support is much appreciated. If you liked this drawing I’d be overjoyed if you reblogged it and left your thoughts in the tags/notes! I’m always happy when I read them, even just a "#nice" makes my day.

[chaos-has-theories]

It's here! My TLT Hemospectrum chart. Turns out I'd even finished the description, it just needed light editing.

One day I said to my roommate "Gideon is just so rustblood coded" and then I said "Harrow is definitely a blue blood" and three days later I had this. I'm… sorry? But don't get me wrong, I am deadly serious. THE BUTTS (colors) MATCH

Blank Hemospectrum chart by Rotommowtom, found here. Explanation/Image ID below.

Let's start from the bottom, shall we?

Gideon Nav: candy-red Images: GtN cover; astrological cancer symbol/Sign of the Signless; the scratched out Ninth on Gideon's chapter skull Text: "incongruously red hair" "mutant blood" "the Signless" Additional lines to Rust Class (for her servitude) and Bronze class (for her specific colors)

And, well. She's lesbian Jesus. Just like Karkat and Kankri. Sth sth Gideon's first act being unlocking her cuffs sth the sign of the signless sth Gideon on that fence vs the Sufferer in his Saint Sebastian getup. Quoth also my roommate: "Gideon wearing glasses and her hood is like Karkat greytyping"

Gideon is incredibly Rustblood-coded. Just look at her eyes and hair and the colors on her book.

But it really is no more than coding. Because very clearly, she's actually mutant candy-red! The Signless. She grows up without a Lusus parents and she is treated as a mutant and an outcast by the Ninth House. She's assumed to be at the bottom of the barrel when really she should be all the way at the top.

Rust Class: Second House Text: "A very common class, often used to serve and protect Highbloods, often has jobs tailored to Janitorial work, sometimes has Psychic Abilities" "Second-styled Cohort all scarlet and white" Title: Ranked Captain

The actual Rustbloods. Have you ever looked through the Dramatis Personae of GtN and noticed that the 2nd have seemingly no inherited title* whatsoever? Yeah. And obviously, their house color is red. Plus, compare how Judith only ever thinks she has any kind of cachet around the rest of the houses, even though her one attempt to pull rank fails miserably. ("A cohort captain don't rank higher than a Third official.")

(*Judith does get adressed as "Lady Judith" by Teacher once. Draw your own conclusions, but I think that might be generic towards a house heir with no other titles.)

Bronze Class: Fifth or Seventh? Text: "Are often Gifted with the Ability to Commune with Animals" "brown, long coated suit" (fifth); "'I agree', said her bronze statue of a cavalier" (seventh)

Gold Class: Eighth House Text: "Very often has Psychic Abilities, Often used as External Power Sources" "soul siphoner" "mustard blood" "mayonnaise uncle"; "Nona's eyes were a deep, warm gold" Title: Master Templar

This one I'm the most unclear on. By House colors, it would have to be the Fifth, but I also have reasons to place them higher up in the chart.

Additionally Protesilaus (non-puppeted version ) gets described as "bronzed and vigorous" and a "bronze statue" three times in row. As we've already seen with Gideon, though, I suspect that necros and their cavs can be placed in different Classes. There's 12 of them, after all, and only 9 Houses. I'm inclined to give this one to Pro, and maybe even Dulcie - she and Tavros have at least the wheelchair in common.

This is the one that struck me with lightning and had me go down this rabbit-hole in earnest. "Often used as external power sources". Did you mean: Soul Siphoning?

And: Gold blood gets derogatorily described as "mustard blood" on multiple occasions. Mayonnaise uncle, anyone?

Note that I'd consider placing Silas higher up on his own, but he patently does not have a noble title. Even Teacher just calls him "Master Octakiseron". Still, I've got a tentative line up to Teal for his "justice of the tome".

Olive Class: The Sixth Text: "Rarely having Psychic abilities. The Middle Class."; "nice normal olive" Title: Master Warden

There's an extra line here, linking Alecto's golden eyes to the idea of an external power source. (And Gideon's, of course. There's a theme about only the cavalier characters being Golden.)

Also, while one of the Third House colors is Gold, I have good reason to keep them further up this pyramid. In any case, it's mostly Corona who gets described as the "golden twin" (in GtN). See also this on the question of whether Corona has been used as Ianthe's power source since birth.

Jade Class: Fifth House? Text: "Oddly a very rare class. Tends to the Mother Grub and assists young grubs" "A strong relationship with both Tettares and Chatur" Title: Lady (and Seneschal) of Koniortos Court

This one was a bit more difficult, but Camilla is described as having "olive skin" twice (those being the only uses of the word in all three books). Also, just vibes-based, I asked around, and this was the result.

More importantly, maybe: "the middle class". You will find that noone below this line has a noble title, while everyone above does. Yes, everyone.

Slightly unclear here, except that Magnus and Abigail have the strongest parent vibes I've ever seen. Their whole house uses those parent vibes as political weapons, okay. Lipsticks, chainsaws, and how the fifth "skinned itself over with such airs of civilization…but they were spirit talkers, and speakers to the dead. And the dead were savage." Relatedly: "Abigail Pent blazed like a flare from a blue and Alien sun…. Abigail was soaking wet, wreathed in hot mistlike shimmers by spirit magic… A reek hit Harrow like a faceful of snow: water, brine, blood." Compare that to Kanaya's shiny rainbow drinker form.

I am also having thoughts about Nona being called a "green thing". Sth sth mother grub, and the ability to repopulate humanity.

Teal Class: Seventh House Text: "Often Legislacerators, and often deals with judicial issues"; "Her dress was a (concoction) of seafoam" Title: Duchess (and Knight) of Rhodes

See also sth sth representation of disabilty as seen in both Dulcie and Terezi, and potentially even how Cytherea causes Gideon's death, while Dulcie tells Harrow that she might still be saved. Compare to Terezi killing and then saving Vriska to save everyone… le shrug, as the kids say.

Colorwise perfectly correct, and a Duchess definitely belongs into the Bluebloods.

I don't know what to think about the "Judicial Issues" - hence the uncertain line connecting to Silas and the "judgement of the tome" - but admittedly Cytherea is at Canaan House to mete out her version of justice.

Cerulean Class: Ninth House Images: HtN cover Text: "Sometimes has the Ability to Mind control others"; "'You can control my body,' she said. 'You can read my thoughts.' 'No. Not remotely.'

Somewhat unclear. But the line about whether or not Harrow can control Gideon was always… hm. Is "borrowing perceptions" really so much different from mind reading? Besides, mind controlling Gideon is like Harrow's #1 activity starting in chapter one, even if she does it through considerable planning. And of course once we get into the permeability of the soul, looking at "your most intimate memories" is the least of your troubles.

Anyway, Harrow is just so blue-coded. It's her cover, her vibes, and listen: Teacher and Aiglamene call her "Your Grace". It's the correct style for a Bishop or Archbishop, but it's also solidly intriguing considering it's also used for Duchesses and Kings (real life) and Lyctors (NtN).

Indigo Class: Fourth House Text: "Often possesses high levels of Physical Strength and Nobility"; "blue hood". Title: Baron (and Knight) of Tisis

The Dreadful Teens wear blue. Strength, Nobility, Fidelity, and the Emperor.

Purple Class: Third House Text: "Highest Landdwelling Caste, keeps lowerbloods in check"; "Ianthe's pallid purple irises" Title: Princess of Ida

Violet Class: Third House Text: "Royal bloods that ensure the safety of the empress"; "deep, liquid violet"; "I won't tell her. You can't do this, doll, not now."; "1950s-style human greaser" Title: (Crown) Princess and Prince of Ida

Things get properly interesting here. Because yeah, blah blah, highest titles of the nobility, "royal bloods" and princesses; and Naberius' connection to pre-scratch Cronus Ampora.

But while Coronabeth's eyes consistently get described as "violet", Ianthe's are only ever "purple". Or occasionally "dying violets". "Violets on dialysis." Definitely not true violet, no matter how much Ianthe tries. Also, Ianthe "Gatekeep" Tridentarius loves to keep lowbloods in check. It's like her favorite thing.

To get our purples mixed up even more, it's the Fuchsias that traditionally fight with tridents in Homestuck. Tridents, Tridentarius, Trident Knife. Though of course -

Fuchsia Class: First House Text: "The Ruling Empress, has the power to enforce and influence all castes"; "Necromancer Divine, King of the Nine Renewals, our Resurrector, the Necrolord Prime" Title: The Emperor

Do I really need to explain that? He's the Emperor. Of course he's at the top of the pyramid. His "Stop" spell thingy is just the cherry on top. What else could there be to say?

…I'm SO glad you asked. Cherub time!

Alecto: Lime Green Images: green cherub spiral Text: "The dominant personality will then completely consume the other, integr8ting it in such a way that only one is left."; "Muse of Space"

John Gaius: Candy Red Text: "I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I'd done the smarter thing and mastered Time."; "Lord of Time"

Aaaand that's it! Thank you most kindly for reading all this, and if you have any questions, ideas, or frustrated noises to make, come scream at me please :D

I've talked about this before, but John and Alecto are absolutely a Lord of Time/Muse of Space duo. Active vs Passive, life vs death, and the process of a cherub maturing is eerily like Lyctorhood.

There's been plenty of theorizing on whether John actually does control time. Personally I don't think so, but it's certainly suggestive! And if John's the metaphorical mutant red, it's exactly what passed on to Gideon ("lipochrome. recessive") while the lime green neatly ties Alecto back to her "green and breathing thing".

[shepard-ram]

Here we are past the halfway point honestly didn't think I would get this far so now we on the Blade's chapter- Ender-anon

A life changing fight

Tommorow was the day that Tommy and Wilbur(who insisted you called him Wilby in person and in your letters) warned you about in their letters their brother the crown prince was apparently coming for a diplomatic mission and to make sure that the current ambassador was doing alright after suffering a stress related illness you had personaly gone to visit him earlier in the day after all he always went out of his way everday to ask about you day and make sure you were doing alright so it was only right you wish him a swift recovery in person. After your visit you decided to go to the military academy it was only one building and only had a few training grounds compared to the one in the Actic Empires capital,Wilbur had shown you around last time you had traveled there, theirs was more that 5 times the size at minimum but it had served you nation well in the centurys since it had been built.You saw Buldrokkas'tee giving a demonstration to the newest iteration of squad A6 upon noticing you he kneeled and asked for you assistance with a combat demonstration, granting his request you went to one of the simpler training grounds a simple dirt field, taking position opposite him you both bowed before you charged across the field sword clashing against his tower shield pushing him back slightly before dodging his spear as it cracked the ground where it hit making a small crater, running back to put distance between you digging in your heels as he threw the spear swinging you sword at the last moment defecting it flying out of the field leaving him weaponless, losing his spear didn't faze Buldrokkas'tee as finaly started moving forward shiffting his shield to use that as a weapon and despite you effort of knocking the shield out of his hands while trying not to get hit by said shield unfortuantely you messed up first leading to you geting hit in the chest knocking the breath out of you lungs and sending you flying into a nearby tree before falling to the ground bringing the match to an end. Laughing as you stood back up proud that you had lasted so long against him, you turned to see Buldrokkas'tee had recovered his spear and had a person trailng behind him that you didn't recoginse a piglin hybrid if you weren't mistaken.

You introduce yourself and when he does in kind your surprised to find out he was prince Technoblade who informs you that he was impressed with the match and if you would humor him with a spar.You gladly did so and managed to last longer than you did against Buldrokkas'tee but you still lost not without landing a few good blows on Technoblade. After the match which you imforms the prince that it was one of the best fights you ever had and that you'd be happy to fight him again tommorow before he had to go home, to which he gave you a strange look before agreeing and leaving. You were way to pumped about the coming fight and spent your free time thinking of his fighting style and how you could exploit the weaknesses that it held. When you arived early due to your excitment, once you saw him arrived you gleefuly asked if he was ready to which he nodded that he was and like that it began. Before you had struggled a bit due to his fighting style being very different from those of you knights but after spending the privious day replaying his every move within you mind deconstrucing it until you could see through his attacks which if his face (what little of his face you could see due to the boar skull mask) was any indication was infuriating.However even if you could now dodge and parry his attacks you weren't able to land any hits of your own leading to you both agreeing it was a tie after continuously fighting for over two hours.Your face almost hurt from the size of your grin as you try to catch your breath while Techno is just staring at you and he congratulated you on managing to tie with him, you just thank him for giving you the most rewarding fight of you life as he walked away you called him over and handed him a sword made in the style of your people as thanks for humoring your request of a rematch.He left back to the empire later that day and a week later while going through the enemy of rulers everywhere paperwork only to (thankfuly) be interupted as a guard informed you that gifts from the Arctic Empire which didn't surprise you honestly you didn't know how the empire had a fuctioning economy with how many gifts Tommy and Wilbur bought you, but this wasn't their handwriting or their fathers confused you opened the packages to find...stratagy books and books on different fighting styles all annotated with the mystery handwriting, turning to the letter you open it to discover that these were from Techno and he was asking if you could write to eachother like you did with his brothers, you would be happy to you thought happy to have a new friend.

A bond that he wouldn't allow to break

Technoblade the dreaded crown prince of the Arctic Empire was bored, his father had sent him to the country that was home to the ruler his brothers seemed obsessed with if the fact that they ordered the poor ambassador to your nation to send them daily updates about your day the stress of the two princes breathing down his neck had lead the man to suffering from a mental break. They didn't use to be so bad, well in comparison but now, now though Wilbur was charge of their latest coquest Newfoundland and Tommy in charge to the new colony of buissness bay and that ment they couldn't vist you nearly as much his father even had to sent a few nobles with Tommy to rule along side him to ensure he wouldn't just run off to you whenever he felt lonely. But now he was here to make sure the mans family was adequitly compensated for his unfortunate death by "bandits" on his way home but he had accompliced that within the first few hours after making sure that the man would have no surpirse visitors now that the man was dead he had nothing to do and since he arrived a day early he would have to spend a day longer here, not that was to bad there weren't anyone staring at him despite his hybrid apperence but then again most of the population seemed to be hybrids he could probably count the number of human he had seen in the capital on one hand. He was abruptly brought out of his museings when the sound of a sword clanging against a shield rang out looking around he realised he had walked by a dirt field being used for a spar, looking over to see who was fighting on the side closest to him was a human with a two handed sword (an uncommon weapon in the empire) and when he saw the other fighter he froze because he recognised that person, a towering figure at least 9 foot tall maybe 10 if you counted the branch like horns and a deer skull mask rested on his face only crimson eyes visible,the choice of a spear as big as its weilder and a tower shield over 6 feet tall only confermed its users idenity in his mind desipte its impossiblity. That human was fighting the infamous demon hybrid Patriot an general that once served the now wiped out ursus empire while it still existed but Patriot vanished before the collapse disgusted with the noblity but he shouldn't be standing their he vanished over a century and a half ago he would be nearing 200 years of age he should be dead but hear he was fighting a human and the human was holding thier own.He watched as the human deflected the spear thrown at them throwning himself to the ground as it almost impaled him when the human sent it flying but soon the human was sent flying into a tree but rather then be in pain the human just started laughting while dusting themself off.Since the spear was right next to him it was no surpires that Patriot found him but he simply lead him to the human who introduced themself as the ruler his brothers were obsessed with so not wanting to tick off his brothers by being rude to them he introduced him self title and all.

Your reaction to that was strange though you didn't harded you eyes in digust like he had seen other humans or even most hybrids did, he did however ask for a spar if you could disarm someone with over a century of combat exsperence you would give him a good fight surely and you did, you lost but it lasted longer than any fight he had had in years but instead of being anoyed that you lost you thanked him for the fight and asked if you could fight again before he left for home stunned by your lack of negative emotions towards him he only nodded and walked away to do more sightseeing.The next day he arrived on time only to find you already there, he didn't expect this fight to differ form the day before, he could not have been futher from the truth you were suddenly able to dodge and parry his every move its like you knew every attack he made before he had even swung his weapon it was starting to imfuriate him the only reasion he didn't outrite lose was because he could easily could read you attacks thanks to years of battlefield experience, the fact that you drove him to a draw after only a day, how much better could you improve with propper guidance,his guidance if you jumped up to his level in the space of a single day as he started to wall off mind filled with training regements and maybe he could get you a one handed sword and shield and teach you his style . He paused when he saw you running up to him with a two handed sword in hand and you were giving it to him... as thanks for agreeing to fight you and he felt his heart swell as you called it the most rewarding fight of your life looking down at your beaming face maybe he could see why his brothers were so attached to you. After returning home he went to his personal libery grabing the stratagy books and books on different fighting styles he thought would suit you and writing notes and helpful tips throughout them,it wasn't untill he started writing his letter and heard his brothers talking about you(they didn't notice him listening) as a sibling that it finaly clicked for him you could be the sibling he could truely bond with in a way not even his twin could someone who he could talk strategy with and not just have them nod in agreement just to appease him after all Wilbur had Tommy why couldn't he have a little sibling to himself.

Ender-anon

After writing this I can safely say I hate writing fight scenes, we are now at 3/4 SBI and don't regret writing spending so long writing Technoblade's reaction to Patriot cause he's such a badass as one of the hardest bosses in game he's from and in the story he shrugs off a blow that broke a skyscraper in half and in the end you never beat him in the story so I had to have techno react to this most badass 200 something year old giant of a man that got his own official music video depicting his fight.Feel free to ignore this if it's to off topic I just had to get that off my chest he is such a bad ass.

Ender-anon

[littobin]

sprung

genre: suggestive romantic stuff, with a tiny bit of angst

pairing: tattooist!moonbin x reader.

warnings: none ? just a minimal language, and kinda heavy making out... yeah

- summary: sanha, the well known skater, had an older brother. and maybe his best friend y/n was too in love to proper think.

a/n note: this is kinda long and emo, it's just my first time writing in this genre so hfjbfn sorry in advance. gender neutral, also for a special friend who encouraged me to post on her birthday. planning on do stuff for the other boys soon. :)

...

[1:02AM]

putting a bit of effort into it you open your eyes, tired after waking up from what felt like a long nap.

your head still was unsettled, confused, looking around the place you found yourself at. by some point then you manage to recognize the living room and the nice sofa on which you were lying, such things from nothing less nothing more than the comfy, simple house of your best friend, sanha.

honestly no matter how much you tried to recall it on your mind, nothing reminded you of what could have happened for you to wake up there. despite how it was already one habit of yours to often visit this house where the tall, half black half blonde haired boy used to greet you in with his bubbly smile several times, and of course with his extra peculiar style, ripped pants, bandaids and chaotic printed t-shirts you always thought to be funny.

to be friends with a professional skater since high school days wasn't so bad, after all sanha was indeed one of a kind, such a mature and high spirited boy. he was such a nice goofball, always ready to talk about any topic, share taste on music or learn new things, the actual opposite of what people say about someone like him. sanha has always been an amazing friend, making you feel comfortable and your days a lot lighter every time you went to see him after dealing with responsibilities.

whether your short visits were to spend some time for both of you to help each other with things about studies or just when you missed spending time with him, you were already a common guest. for textbooks and notes purposes or for when it'd all turn into laughs, popcorn and your best friend's favorite games, or even in skate competitions he used to bring you with him at the square down street.

or else, when you'd also come to secretly see the black haired handsome man always on his casual clothes living there with your friend, who at the time he was home would stay sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes doing his works outside at the small desk near the garden, sometimes practicing sketches in his own room.

sanha introduced him as his older brother bin, who unlike him was a lover of all kinds of arts. whom you shouldn't pay so much attention to, but before your mind could go against it all of your thoughts were just as they ended up. constantly filled with him, with the need to see him everyday.

however now instead of going on trying to figure out any other possibilities to what could've brought you there, or even letting your thoughts wander over sanha's brother again, you hear calm footsteps approaching and immediately close your eyes, burying yourself on the sofa's recline. there you pretend to be still asleep, yet not understanding why your first reaction was like this, if it could be just your best friend.

for a few minutes the atmosphere remains monotonous, but soon enough turns tense as you feel someone come too close. two strong muscular arms embrace you carefully, bringing a sweet smell of shampoo you instantly could recognize so well. since the time when, in a game match with your best friend and his brother, both you and sanha attacked him with tickles for being the loser, as a form of punishment. you'd never forget it, for how it was your very first time hearing bin's boyish giggles, and touching his so silky, smooth hair, like a thin fabric tinted by the late night hues.

all of this together sent your heart pounding madly, already knowing who was there with you, especially when his jaw's downy skin brushes against your face for the proximity. at first he made a kind of awkward attempt to put you into his arms, in a position you could be carried comfortably. after one more try he gets to pick you up, and just when he easily manages to hold you firmly in bridal style, taking you off the couch like a light plush on his arms, nervousness started taking over you in silence as you couldn't assimilate where he planned to carry you to.

albeit a bit sudden at times and without much control of his own strength, except when you saw him drawing extremely detailed lines with his tattoo needle for customers at the studio he worked in, to where once sanha took you to bring him lunch, albeit he was too broad and intimidating, and his own homemade food didn’t always come out good for that little rough way of his no matter how hard he tried to do something thinking of you and sanha, albeit it all bin was always too gentle, too loving. it was so much whenever he'd open his mouth to talk with such sweetness and even a tiny bit of timidity to express his thoughts, even though how excellent he is with words, all of his little 'eh?'s when he'd be confused or cute neck scratches, you'd never believe he'd be a professional tattooist for years. he could normally work for all kinds of people, from madams to rockers, and do any type of drawings, from small daises to pretty complicated dragons and skulls. you'd have no clue of it if sanha didn't tell you, also about the fact bin always wanted to be a dancer, but because it was just the two of them and life tends to adapt itself according to necessities, he never thought about doing tattoos, yet casually came to work on it with time.

outside his job bin always took good care of his younger brother, though the troubles sanha would occasionally cause or how mischievous he could be even with him, and bin had to hit his head sometimes. all of his gestures were always docile, humble, treating you as if he was also a friend, and always being a real gentleman. not mentioning the countless times he had his crescent moons smile on up his eyes, just utterly enchanting.

all of this inevitably got you even more lovestruck, and your heart weak, no matter how hard you tried to muffle down those feelings. bin remained as the only man whose your mind and its daydreams for hours never grew tired of, the only one who gave new colors to your days. the more you knew him the more you were sure you couldn't be in any other way than hopelessly in love with him, too affected whenever he'd be around.

before you'd notice it you were thinking about this, about all you kept hidden inside for him. so you just settled yourself to forget what would be going on and let him believe you were really asleep, although in fact tension ran down your nape feeling his body's warmth, heat uncontrollably up your face while you leaned against his large chest.

after a few minutes of more footsteps sounds on stairs and doors opening through he carried you, bin stops at a certain point, slowly placing you carefully over another soft material, which you deduced to be of a bed.

you held yourself static, thinking he'd soon leave you there to rest and go, as you figured out sanha's brother probably would do so by his cordiality. nevertheless almost all at once you were simply taken aback when the male leaned on the bed, and slowly on top of you. his elbows and one knee supported him over, in such a way that made you too weak under his figure covering yours up, as if he was like a huge brown bear in charge. shivers hardened your shoulders, as you feel a heavier breath against your face.

"i know you're awake." he says softly, yet his characteristic boyish voice sounding way huskier than normally. you instantly open your eyes in disbelief over what you've heard, and just so your cheeks turns crimson, realizing how both of you were just few centimeters apart. his stunning almond eyes sparkled brightly into the room, dark and hooded while staring deeply at you. every one of his features on his manly face were lined on a serious expression, seeming concentrated, but almost fatal.

"bin.." all you could do was just mutter his name sheepishly over embarrassment, only to get a sigh from him in response. "shh..." his index finger lightly touches your mouth, tracing its tip to the corner of your lips, your hands starting to sweat cold just by the small contact with his digits.

bin then suddenly towered over you, without removing his intense brown irises from yours and rests his arms around your face, so his long fingers would now caress your hair. solely in this move his body quickly cornered you on the bed by his height. butterfly swarms rush into your stomach, as for a few minutes both of you kept quiet, staring intently at each other.

you swallowed hard. any trivial action like breathing now seemed dull, with him there so close to you as never. bin was like the definition of being drop dead gorgeous, every detail, every fiber of him exuded beauty, to almost seem unreal. through these few seconds watching him you couldn't keep your eyes from wandering, over each one of them. his thin, dainty rosy lips, which looked a little swollen, begging for another one's touches. black hair strands resembling the universe's dark matter hovering messy on his slightly sweaty forehead, and over his expressive frowned eyebrows. soft, milky skin which became a little more flushed as he stared at you, thick neck exposed by his t-shirt colar, wide shoulders covered by his cardigan tucked on his elbows.

oh everything about him was, so breathtaking.

although you couldn't understand why he was doing this, for how in your head you wondered why such an attractive man like him, who anyone would want to have, was there looking this way at someone so simple, still you couldn't hold back such things he made you feel. too many things screaming for you to let them out. and it was just the same for him.

"you know what.. damn it.." you heard bin break down the silence with a shaky whisper, and before you'd realize or question anything he placed your noses together in a soft brush and collided your lips with his eagerly, both of you sighing in the contact.

fear still was the main emotion taking over you, even though you closed your eyes right away and gave in to him, millions of beautiful sensations coursing through your veins at once. you simply didn't have any idea on how to act, what you should do in the first place all because of the frozen state his attitude caused, something you'd hardly come up with in your dreams by how far out of your reach you thought it'd be. however now you just put everything aside, gradually melting away with your knees getting weaker, as you felt bin kissing you in an irresistibly slow, delicate way.

not even through any of your deductions with yourself you'd imagine these little things which had your heart to almost explode now, that his nose would be so soft, and his lips would taste so sweet, velvety in their texture extremely hot and moist, pressing and moving gently as if they were massaging yours. easily you were found anesthetized, like one who reaches the ninth cloud. when they started to move more, just a bit hungrier between small sucks created by him and nibblings on your lower lip, you began to gradually further correspond them into the kiss, wherein he lets out quiet sounds, his pulsations so out of control and his cheeks burning red just as, or perhaps even more than you.

bin was still trying to not lose his composure. still trying to keep the feelings he had hidden for you from being all poured out at once, like a waterfall.

since the first time when sanha introduced you to him as his best friend, after he came home from a rough day at work. since then when you smiled saying your name and he could sense flowers blooming all over his chest, stealing the air on top of his lungs. to every time you locked eyes for too long or your hands accidentally touched his when you'd volunteer to help him in the kitchen. every little conversation, every time you patted his shoulders to encourage him when his brother would as well, never looking intimidated, like most people he knew.

he didn't want to show each drop of his honesty so fast in case you wouldn't flinch, but it was too hard when he had you there kissing him back, only the two of you in this moment, feeling you not repress him but otherwise, just wanting his touches as much as he's been longing for yours. he couldn't help but lose his mind more and more into each of your small actions. your hands timidly plugged on his waist, almost embracing it while his warm, long fingers intertwined with your hair strands, that somes mixed a little in his bangs, or your leg unconsciously poking his. in a way that without noticing bin tightened his arms more around you as well as the pressure of his chest, looking for more and more closure to you.

it didn't take long until the male would part his lips like a bud's petals, and so you shudder with his hot tongue there rubbing your lower lip, asking for entrance. you just give in not even being able to think through all the flustering this new sensation sent on you, and bin slowly deepened the kiss, making it fulfilled by all the so suffocated attachment you had for each other.

little by little his tongue slides in intertwining with yours, as the first thing hitting you was the fresh flavor of his chocolate mint cereal bar, which you were used to always see on bin's hands or pockets, and it just added an even better feeling through you explored his mouth. plenty more touches come up between the two of you so that the male, after staying still in the same position for a little while, suddenly slides one of his arms down. his huge veiny hand grips firmly and gives light squeezes on your side what caused you to jump a few times, running it down in a path of pure shivers to your hips, until he catches your hand still on his waist and without any previous warning pulls it in, under his shirt.

air immediately hitched on your throat out of shock, but bin was immersed, focused on only feeling you more. in the intervals his tongue's tip traced your mouth tilting his head for access, and when he brought it back so he'd press and gently suck your lips with his, the male kept the pace guiding your hand on his large back. slowly he also brought it down to the point of his firm, built up abdomen, which caused chills on himself, and moved your palm to make contact with the warmth of his absurdly soft, fragile bare skin inside the fabric. uncontrollable pulsations took over you the moment you get access to this new touch, your head in a fog of only bin.

this one was indeed a little different from the docile person you knew, with his contagious smile behind gloves and a tattoo needle you were so used to see. instead bin showed to be such an intense man, and why not say sexy, full of alluring gestures you didn't know how to handle, solemnly irresistible. over an impulse you make up a little of courage and start moving your hands by yourself, caressing and feeling his muscles, that have always been apparent on his manly athletic body, as each of his proportions under the shirt.

"god.." he suddenly said under his breath in a way sounding too sensual from his gracious, still husky voice among the kiss, melting completely in sensitivity and a cardiac mess because of you. bin then pressed a few more pecks a few more times on your lips, not wanting to pull away but doing so already for running out of air, through both of you parted trying to catch it.

yet you fail miserably, as soon as you see your best friend's brother face, completely flushed and breathless. his coffee colored eyes dripped fondness and loads of tiny stars all together, eyebrows pressed in such a lovely, affectionate expression you swore you never saw anything so endearing in your life. if it wasn't for another beat skipping your chest when you noticed a small amount of saliva, that you could clearly define as traces of the wonderful kiss of a few seconds ago, in the corner of his mouth.

as soon as he notices your widened eyes, bin's face changes and he cleans it by licking his lips seductively, as if he knew how much it affected you. the cardigan he wore falls from over his shoulders and he removes the cloth piece, dropping it on the floor. a small smile sprouted on his captivating features when he looks over at you watching him, as he lowered himself to your neck, putting his lips near your ear.

"keep going.." bin closed his eyelids, feeling the characteristic and comforting smell of fabric softener on your clothes. this smell which he always had on his memories from that day he shyly hugged you on your birthday, that now made him ask sweetly into whispers for your hands on him again, pressing more of his fine body and chest against yours.

his hips suddenly rolled down in a slow move, stimulating waves of electricity and adrenaline onto your stomach, your state now broke into sighs. you squeezed his waist slightly and involuntarily, moved by your latent feelings as he nuzzled against your neck, like a fluffy cat purring. bin was panting still heavily, sending incessant shivers down your spine.

"bin... you.. you're too much.." losing any lasting control over yourself you buried your face deeply on his shoulder and grabbed his huge biceps, letting out any first thing that would come out of your mind.

he smiled against your skin with a muffled chuckle, light and content for how cute you sounded to him, what got you even weaker as well as over the moisturizer perfume on his exposed collarbones by his shirt, before you went to fulfill his request. soon enough your palms were all over his muscular back once more, massaging them in up and down movements. bin took time to appreciate the feeling of having you into his arms, touching your hair, your nape, your lower back, or your cheeks where he decided to put gentle, tender kisses, that got you forgetting even more about the destination of your fingers under his shirt.

they ran all over his torso, sides, down to his beautiful abdomen once again to trace trembling patterns with your fingers under his stomach, running them up to reach the area of ​​his chest, where you accidentally touch one of his nipples. bin stopped when he felt the stimulus, letting what sounded like a frustrated moan resonate in response, and you move your hands right away. yet you didn't expect him to feel so flustered to the point of, having his weight against you, to this time start distributing wet kisses, full of desire onto your neck and jaw.

in the middle of them bin took pauses where he sucked some of your skin to mark it slightly, or moistened each sensitive spot he left with the way too warm texture of his tongue. his hands also return to be entirely over you, one putting stronger, breath taking grips and squeezes on one side of yours as the other entered under the hem of your sweatshirt, his thumb touching your belly's area. each thing he did left you helplessly more and more of a mess for him, while his hips gave another roll once again in an enticing motion, causing you to feel an inevitable friction you tried to ignore but his moves only made it harder and harder, between his thighs wrapped tight by his jeans and yours pressed in the middle of his from jumping so much with his touches.

"sanha, saw you fell asleep, and asked me to take you to a room.. i went to see you and heard, you mutter my name.. saying that you wanted to have me..." for a moment, your eyes widen in realize, and finally you get how you were there.

your mind gets back remembering how sleepy you were before you'd come to see sanha, something which was again the result of another pulled night thinking about life, studies, and about bin constantly, about how incredible would it be if you had the courage to confess to him. but before you could even die of embarrassment for letting your dreams go too high right at your bestfriend's house, right next to him, bin slowly brings another trail of his warm kisses up your neck, eliciting quiet whimpers from you this time, especially when he stroked your waist skin inside your sweatshirt and reached for your earlobe, instantly capturing it in his mouth to suck on the small cartilage.

"do it now.. do whatever you want." you heard him confess with a bit of difficulty on his tone, for the much any response from you for now would mean to him. therefore he stopped, pulling away as he looked at you with sad traces, insecure.

bin needed to know about you, to get a reassurance from you, one more time of you expressing fully whether you were in love with him as much as he was with you to let yourself stay with him more, or if not, as hard as it could be he'd stop there, despite how reciprocal everything was from your side. he didn't want just a make out with you.

uncertainties still bothered him inside, through several sleepless nights spent on his room's desk among all his draft drawings and work notes, but thinking of the stupid, probably one sided attachment he developed for you, growing everyday because of how regularly he could see you. way too quickly you stole a space on his heart, bigger than the passion for art and colorful designs his job gave him. even when his needle did its work putting on pigment, when he found himself alone before a customer would come, he often wondered about what you'd feel, if you saw him only as your best friend's brother, if it'd be too risky to try and tell you what he felt.

there wasn’t one moment in 24 hours all of this didn't cross bin’s mind for once as the days went by, but he was too afraid of being rejected, to the point of thinking his brother could have much more chances with you. though he left all these things aside when he finally heard you demonstrating something for him as simple as saying his name on your sleep was, losing it all while he held you on his arms.

and so you knew you had to get all that fuss of feelings off your chest at once before the chance slipped from your hands. before you had no option but to go back to your routine of sinking in sighs about what could have been, wanting to be in his arms for a day, when you wanted it to be always.

taking a second to comprehend his eyes you raised your arms around the middle of his back to caringly engulf him on them. it caused bin to unhesitatingly lower himself again, resting his chin on your shoulder and hold onto your lower back, his heart rushing loudly, unsure by your action.

"i want what you want, love.." you confessed as well, still feverish for his previous caresses. then you just rested your face on his shoulder, and with all the sincerity within your heart you tightened your arms in a hug, trying to show your intention of making him feel exactly this, your simple embrace.

love.

as he heard you clearly when you hugged him, the moment you loosened the grip bin pulled his body a little away to look at you again. his serene, loving eyes flickered until they were deeply on yours, oceans overflowing with hope and anticipation into them. "did you say.. love?"

"yes, i.. always wanted to call you like that. can i?" your knees flutter with your own question, just by the idea of ​​being able to call him as something that in so long would describe him so well for you.

bin, however, sighed till the bottom of his lungs, both now filled as everything within into a magical warmth, through every inch of his longing feelings were complete over his exhale. he wondered if he was dreaming, if this was finally the pure and graceful joy of touching clouds, or the lightness of blowing dandelions to the wind, of knowing that you felt the same, despite how he still couldn't believe it at all.

"you're so cute, i adore you so much y/n. if you say it like that, i'll be addicted to you.." the male's palm comes back to find itself cupping your cheeks, as his fingertips against your ear. once again you watch his fascinating gaze and face too close to yours, his irises, his lips to his shoulders, as if it turned into a new habit which would give you life. his voice sounds honeyed, like a blanket on winter, yet intimate, breathy.

almost as an immediate response you blinked repeatedly at the main three words on his first sentence, as of it didn't take long until you blushed violently trying to proccess everything, surprising bin while you placed your wrists at your nose's level to hide your face. you were now too caught up on a mixture of inexplicable waves of euphoria and emotions hitting you, too overwhelmed at all of these extremely heartfluttering things he just said so naturally. god, indeed he was too much to handle, but he still was your favorite.

"don't do this, fool! i adore you too.. a lot.." with your wrists still there your embarrassed expression only increase as you let out, but soon you moved them aside when the sound of his soothing laugh echoed into your ears. "wow.. i guess i'm the happiest fool now."

bin was smiling widely, grinning, perhaps in the most angelic, genuine way among all the days you've seen him do through routine. the crescent moons forming his beaming eyes harmonized as his lashes half closed with the curves on his lips up, giving room for two light dimples, forehead aligned with yours, emotions all over that you still couldn't read, as of relief and affection at the same time on his details. to hear him laughing in a tender and so spontaneous tone, his body seeming relaxed, comfortable, and to be a part of it almost like watching stars at midnight, all of this also made you smile along with him.

without being able to express too many feelings at once or what you'd like to say to him now you simply place your fingers against his face, the small, gelid earring on his ear, touching his bangs between them dearly, as if he'd be made of crystalline glass. another silence raised as you both kept looking at each other, like the night stopped passing around you, until bin draws another small smile and breaks the short distance again.

you took a deep breath, grabbing a certain spot on his shirt when you feel all the coziness of his thin lips pressing more kisses on different points of your face all slowly. on the area next to your nose where he placed the most of them, or on your mouth as he initiated another sweet, luscious round of lips on lips, pulling you closer and closer by your lower back, which seemed to be his best choice for a comfort zone.

but it doesn't take long for his attention to turn back to your neck, stopping to scan and softly trace his thumb on the small crimson hickeys he left there.

"some of them, look like tattoos... sorry, i.." bin whispered, trying to explain himself somehow embarrassed, but gets interrupted by you taking the initiative to hold on his back and get closer.

there you bury your face on his neck and kiss him gently, under his jaw to the beginning of his collarbones, as of every inch of his velvety skin flushed hot and sensitive in goosebumps where you explored. still being a bit taken aback bin shut his lashes and rested his cheeks now tinted in shades of pinkish hues against yours, disarmed by your suddenness. the more he felt your timid lips going so intimate on him, the more unrestrained beats and pantings had the best of him at that moment, bin no longer being able to maintain the same calm. you always had that power to leave him like that, definitely. the only one who ever did.

"there's something i always wanted.. but first tell me, if you want me by your side." one of his thick arms hug your waist, a barely audible moan escaping through he said out without thinking at all, just letting himself upon your guidance, locked on your touches.

the moment you proccess bin's words and what they'd mean your fingers slip from curling the silky strands at his nape, also leaving the curve of his shoulder where you planted more confident kisses, as if by magic your heart was sent on another unbalanced marathon. did he really ask it?

"of course.. of course i do." you answered his doubt with your whole chest, and it was all he ever waited to have you saying.

bin didn't know what exactly made him feel so lost on everything about you, wishing to stick to your side more and more. but he knew it was such a thing way too heavenly for him to not want to dive deep in. one drink, or a way too pure cup of water on thirsty times he'd last there appreciating till the last drop, a room wherein he'd feel better than in any other, or even a necklace he'd carry on himself everyday, a permanent tattoo.

any way it all should be, he wouldn't care. as of the moment he heard you a smile flourished across the corners of his lips again, and in a matter of minutes he held your sides pulling you with him as he sat back among the sheets, placing you onto him all too fastly and strongly in a way you had to look for support by putting your trembling palms on his chest.

you were left once more in a loss of words, swallowing hard over another wave of butterflies when you found yourself held sitting on his lap and facing him, through he gave you such a dangerously charming, sexy smirk, gaze so intense it almost knocked you dizzy like you never thought to be. yet less even would you imagine he'd strip off his t-shirt right in front of your eyes, and reveal his toned, absolutely perfect torso, all of his muscles there totally exposed from collarbones to his lower abdomen, where a black butterfly spreading its wings showed up printed on his skin at his side. bin just let your shocked eyes hover on the sight of his whole sculptural half naked body, before he'd glue your foreheads and squeeze your sides excitedly, also giving attention to your right thigh caressing and gripping it with his other hand through he adjusted you on his lap.

"everything i want is us, y/n..."

he couldn't wait to throw aside his stupid composure with you.

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins

Chapter 1

This chapter is more descriptive heavy. I changed the layout of the upstairs area to include a bathroom and another bedroom. 

At first, all Nancy felt was dizziness. It was strange. It wasn’t the first time she’d been knocked out by someone. But it was the first time it was done by a masked skull figure, and they didn’t exactly knock her out so much as throw, something, towards her face. Whatever it was, it was potent. She still felt woozy and would have gone back to sleep if it weren’t for the thunder and a woman’s voice.

“Here, drink this”.

The sudden smell of something bitter filled Nancy’s nose.

“Don’t give her anything strange, then I really will have to take her to the hospital,” came another, lower, voice.

“Oh hush now. Just get back to your work,” the woman snapped back. She turned towards Nancy and urged the drink.

“It will make the dizziness go away, dear”.

Ignoring all warnings of caution, Nancy reached for the drink and drank. It was bitter, not that she expected it to be anything else, but it worked. She quickly found herself coming back to terms with her surroundings.

“There’s a dear,” the woman said. “I’m Renee. Mind I ask what you were doing unconscious in the Bolet manor?”

“Someone attacked me”.

“Someone, attacked you?” Renee repeated, not understanding.

“Someone dressed as a skeleton attacked me. I’m Nancy Drew. I’m looking for Henry Bolet”.

“Girl, you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard? Should we take you to the emergency?”

“No,” the lower voice broke in. “No emergency rooms! I’ve already got enough to deal with, and this power outage doesn’t help matters!”.

Renee sighed and shook her head. She turned towards Nancy.

“If you need me, I’ll be out in my garden”.

Saying so, she got up and left out through some double doors.

“I’ll call them and put them on hold and see how they like it!” the low voice grumbled after Renee left the room.

Slowly, Nancy got up and looked around. The room was dimly lit. Candles were everywhere, decorating bookshelf after bookshelf. One bookshelf was oddly decorated by teeth, with each book depicting a tooth on its spine. Another had a stuffed lizard on it. Trophies decorated the other side of the room, and in the left hand corner a desk sat with a young man on a swivel chair.

“Uh,” Nancy called weakly, then cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Are you Henry Bolet?”

The swivel chair turned and she came face-to-face with an oddity of a man. He dressed sharply and was very fit, but he leaned into the red chair and slouched a bit. His crisp looks were contrasted with features that Nancy recognized as a goth look. Not quite one or the other, she thought.

“I am”.

“Uh, well. I guess I’m the woman who fell unconscious at your house. Sorry about that. Bad way to introduce yourself, though, I guess it could be worse.”

Henry looked at her perplexed. “How so?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I could be all up in your face demanding why you kidnapped my friend”.

“Okay,” Henry drawled.

“Long story. I’m Nancy Drew. We have a mutual friend, Ned Nickerson?” She held out a hand towards him. “Pleased to meet you”.

Henry shook her hand firmly.

“Ah Ned,” he started but then dropped the sentence. He knew who Ned was, barely. They shared accounting courses. Ned Nickerson blended into the class and Henry would have never thought to approach him. But somehow Ned noticed him and stuck around to give a friendly wave and smile.

“He’s, persistent,” Henry concluded.

“Well, that’s Ned for you,” Nancy said, giving Henry a bright smile.

Ned was the only one to notice Henry being even more gloomy and withdrawn as usual. Perhaps he overheard the phone calls Henry had with Bruno Bolet’s doctor and solicitor. Henry didn’t know, but Ned asked him how he was coping with his uncle’s loss. When Henry said he was going to New Orleans, Ned insisted on having someone check in on him.

“I’m guessing he sent you here to check on me. I kind of come off as needy, but I’m fine, really. So you can just go on home and tell Ned I’m fine. Go out and enjoy New Orleans”.

Henry didn’t really understand why Ned would send some friend over. They barely knew each other, so this Nancy person would find things even more awkward. It was best to just get this over with. The sooner she left, the better it would be. The whispers were chattering amongst themselves. They weren’t loud, and they seemed at ease. It was a new sensation.

Skull… find… mask… skull… her…

“I can’t just leave! I don’t know how you’re doing. Plus,” Nancy started to shift her weight from one foot to another. “You see. I’m the type of person, well,” she sighed. “Look, I just can’t let go of what I saw”.

“What did you see?”

“The door was open so I stepped inside. When I entered the living room, there was a man dressed in all black with a skeleton mask. He threw something at me and I got knocked out”.

She’s really lost it.

“I have not lost it!” Nancy snapped, reading his face.

“Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”

“I know what I saw, and I’m determined to figure it out”.

Well, at least she’s not bothering him about his feelings.

“Can I at least look around for some clues. I promise not to break anything”.

Henry sighed.

“Alright. But I better warn you. Uncle Bruno was eccentric and into all sorts of exotic pets and things. So be careful. Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean they are”.

Way to sound ominous Bolet. He didn’t mean to scare her, but also didn’t want to deal with a bigger headache than the one his uncle left for him.

But Nancy just smiled, thanked him, and left the room.

 Nancy really didn’t understand why Ned asked her to go and visit some classmate of his. He even acknowledged that he barely knew this Henry Bolet, but she’d be damned if she let the Nickerson charm fail now on account of her. Everyone became enthralled by a Nickerson. So she came down to the French quarters of New Orleans with a friend, Bess Marvin, for a week of good sights and good food, only to have it pour down rain for two days. Trapped in their hotel room, she and Bess called their friends, Ned and Bess’s cousin, George Fayn. It was there that Ned requested her to check in on Henry, and seeing as the rain had no intention of stopping, Nancy went alone.

She was expecting it to be a simple check-in, nothing longer than an hour or two. When she knocked on the door, on one answered. She learned from the concierge that most folks kept their doors open in New Orleans. It wasn’t just on account of friendly neighbours It was also to allow ghosts to exit the house after accidentally entering it. Apparently, ghosts became cranky if they get trapped in a house. Twisting the knob, she entered the manor and went to the foyer. Towards her right was a room and she walked towards it. A person stood in a black tailcoat and boots with his back to her. She called out to them and as they turned, a shiver ran along her shoulders. The person had no face. Or rather, their face was obscured with a skull mask. Before she could ask who they were, what they were doing here, why even were they wearing a mask, the electricity went out. Rats, she thought. Trapped in an empty house with a skeleton person, well done Nancy. A flicker went off and a flash of lightning lighted the room. Within that brief time, the skeleton person managed to tramp up to her, close enough for her to see the eyes underneath the mask. They threw some powder in her face and between her stinging eyes and choked coughs, Nancy lost consciousness.

Had she not been an experienced detective, Nancy knew she probably would have become one today. She went back to the living room and started to investigate. The skeleton figure was inspecting the model cemetery when she entered, so she headed towards it. It was really beautiful and Nancy could see why it would have won an award. This Bruno person clearly appreciated cemeteries from the intricate figures of each burial ground. She read the names. Sleeping Meadows, Terra Siesta, Crowing Crypts, Sorrow Park, Withering Roots Memorial, Forty Winks Mausoleum, all clearly meant for a final resting place. Each burial ground was uniquely decorated and had crypts that indicated how a person was buried. She followed each paths around the cemetery, anticipating any indication of what the skeleton figure was looking at. There was a swamp with an alligator in it, surely a creative addition. There was also a large mausoleum separate from the other burial grounds. It seemed randomly placed and as Nancy peered closed, she saw that there were four engravings on it.

There were buttons that allowed her to change the engravings. Clearly this was some sort of locked box, but she didn’t know the combination that would open it. But she was confident that this was what the skeleton figure was looking at. Stepping away from the model, she looked around the room. There was a collection of portraits on the left wall. These must be the Bolets. They were quite unique in how their appearances overlapped. Guess, this must be where Henry gets his looks and style from. Each portrait revealed the personality of the subject. Oddly enough, they each held some object in their hand. One frame was empty and below it, Nancy saw a piece of paper. She picked it up. On it was an etching of a crow. It matched the engravings on the solitary mausoleum. Surrounding the crow was a detailed border. But Nancy remembered that only one of the engravings had this border. So, there must be three other pictures I need to find.

Nancy looked closely at the bird drawing. It looked like someone stenciled it from some surface. I wonder if this belonged to the Skeleton figure. The paper was slightly damp. So, that must mean the skeleton figure, must have stenciled this outside somewhere. I’ll have to take a look around outside.

Pocketing the paper in her trench coat she moved towards the fireplace. It was cold, but there were indications that it had been previously used. It’s too hot to be using a fireplace right now. She picked through the coals and found scraps of some paper. Most of it was too small and burnt off to be of any use, but she did find one piece with a name on it. Zeke. It looked to be the name of some business, but what?

Nancy stood up and went back to the study room. Henry was still typing away at his computer.

“Henry? I have some questions for you”.

The man swiveled around and raised an eyebrow.

Start small Nancy, you don’t want to scare him. He already thinks you’re seeing things.

“How well did you know your uncle?”

Henry shrugged. “Barely knew him at all”.

“Didn’t he raise you?”

“I guess. If you could call sending me to boarding school, summer school, military school as raising a child. He may have looked after me, but he never cared to spend any time with me”.

“Oh”. Great going Drew. She tried again. “Well, what about your parents?”

“They died in a car crash when I was eight. Then I got dumped onto my uncle. End of his bachelorhood I guess”.

Okay, that didn’t go so well either. She might as well rip the whole Band-Aid off.

“I think this skeleton figure was looking for something in this house. Is there some big object or hidden money or something that people might want to get their hands on?”

Henry looked at her, puzzled.

“Uh, maybe? There’s a lot of junk in this house, as you can see. Some of it might actually be worth something.”

“Well, I think they were after whatever is locked up in the mausoleum box in the cemetery model. It has a lock on it and this,” she took out the crow stencil. “This must have been left by the skeleton figure. If we can unlock the mausoleum, we can get whatever’s inside before the skeleton figure comes back. Do you know where the solitary mausoleum is located?”.

“Look,” Henry began and Nancy internally groaned. She knew that word and tone all too well. Distrust and disinterest. It was rare to ever find another person who had the same interest and excitement in uncovering mysteries. Most people didn’t care about the little odd threads that didn’t add up, only to cry when everything become unwound. It was times like these where she sometimes wished she had her friends and fellow detectives, Frank and Joe Hardy, to back her up. People were more willing to listen to a group than an individual.

“Why are you so concerned about this skeleton figure?” Henry asked.

“Why are you so calm?” Nancy countered. “Someone broke into your house and you’re calm about it? I clearly interrupted them which means they might come back, which means you’re in danger”.

“I got a lot of work to complete”.

Who doesn’t. Nancy sighed, “You don’t need to help me, just tell me a bit about the garden space. Is there a mausoleum that’s separate from other burial grounds?

Henry hesitated. There was such a mausoleum and he knew it very well. Too well.

“What do you need from that mausoleum? The door is completely locked. No one had been inside in years”.

“I don’t think I need to go inside. I just need to look at the building itself. There are engravings that could match the key for the model one”.

Henry nursed his head. “Alright. Once you enter the cemetery and go past the bent tree, the mausoleum should be to your left. Just keep heading that way. Hard to miss”.

Nancy beamed. “Great, thanks so much. She turned to go out towards the door, then turned back.

“Yes?” Henry drawled.

“Do you happen to have any paper?”

“Sorry. Ask Renee”.

Nancy nodded then headed out the door.

Henry watched her leave then turned back to his computer where an excel sheet filled with numerical data awaited him. God, I hope I don’t regret this.

 Outside the Louisiana heat infused into Nancy’s skin. She was not accustomed to the humidity and could already feel her back start to warm up and stick to her dress shirt. She turned to her left and saw a small alcove draped over by green vines. Tucked inside was Renee who was busy potting young plants.

“Hello,” Nancy called out.

Renee looked up sharply and Nancy wasn’t sure whether it was the heat or Renee’s grey eyes that initiated the sweat droplets down her back.

“Hello, dear. Welcome to my little lantern-lit corner of the world. Come in here where it’s dry”.

“What are you growing?” Nancy asked.

“Whatever I need dear”.

“Nothing like freshly grown herbs to add to your food, right?”

Renee looked hard at Nancy and her voice dropped.

“I don’t use these herbs for cooking, darling”.

Then what do you use them for? Nancy wanted to ask Renee this, but the older woman switched topics.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Henry yet?”

“Yes, I have. From your conversation earlier, am I correct in assuming you two are not on the best of terms?”

“My you’re forward aren’t you!” Renee laughed. “Henry is a very morose, very negative young man. Very cunning too”.

“How so?”

“I am almost certain he’s selling his uncle’s property on the sly. When he’s not supposed to, that is”.

“Doesn’t it all belong to Henry now?” Nancy asked.

“Absolutely not!” Renee exclaimed. “According to Dr. Bolet’s will, Henry is to receive thirty percent of the estate. Dr. Bolet’s physician, Gilbert Buford, is to get thirty percent. Our Lady of Route 57 Dentistry and Cosmetology gets thirty percent, and I am to receive ten percent”.

“Is the cemetery part of the estate?”

“Yes and no. It’s not legally part of the estate, but it technically belongs to the Bolet family. It all belongs to Henry now, along with his thirty percent”.

“Who is Gilbert Buford?”

“That’s Dr. Bolet’s heart doctor and best friend. Those two go long back. Thick as thieves”.

Nancy reflected on what Renee provided her with.

“Does Henry seem upset by only getting thirty percent?”

Renee drew her head up and stood tall. “Young lady,” she started. “The Bolet family is intrinsically connected to New Orleans. Henry is not only gaining assets, but also a name, title, and land. Thirty percent of the Dr. Bolet’s fortune is quite a tidy sum, never mind the Bolet family fortune and cemetery”.

“Oh”.

Renee looked towards her plants and slowly resumed her potting.

“I suppose I gave you the impression that Henry is greedy. While I cannot attest to it, Henry is nonetheless not someone you can trust. You best watch yourself around him”.

Renee potted some soil then paused.

“One more thing dear. That skeleton man, I’ve—I’ve seen him too. Now don’t ask me more questions, I don’t want to think about it. But just know, there is something in this house that’s just not right”.

Nancy nodded then switched the topic.

“Do you happen to have some paper?”

“Get the urge to draw something?”

“Yep!”

“Well, now. I know I have some paper in my room, but I won’t be able to go get it till after I’m done potting my plants”.

“I can help you pot the plants”

Renee laughed. “Impatient one you are! No. No. No need. Just take this key and go on up yourself. And while you’re at it. I’m feeling a bit hungry. In my cupboard there’s a stash of Koko Cringles. Be a dear and bring one down for me, and help yourself to one too”.

Nancy took the key and headed back inside. Henry didn’t acknowledge her entrance, so she continued out of the study and up the staircase. It was wonky and creaked a bit. There were four doors. One door was on a lower level and the other three were sequentially placed along the top most level.

She didn’t tell me which door was hers.

Nancy placed the key in the first door, but the handle had no lock. Curious, she pushed open the door and saw an empty room that was bare of anything save a drawer and bed. There was some clutter around the bed and she assumed it was Henry’s. Why would he sleep here though? It was so, lifeless. The rest of the house had character, but this room just looked sad. Nancy quickly shut the door and move up a floor.

The next door had a vase decoration near it, though Nancy didn’t recognize the plant resting within. This door had a lock and she tried the key. The door unlocked. She stepped inside.

 The room looked like a doll house. A creepy one at that. There was an elegant but simple bed with green bedsheets. The bedside cupboard. A vanity table was littered with all sorts of bottles and herbs, and a chest sat in one corner, opposite the bed. Nancy first went to the table.

A bottle with the label ‘hiccup powder’ sat at the forefront. Surely not, she thought as she picked up the bottle and opened it. But to her surprise the burst of powder caused a series of hiccups to come bursting out of her. She quickly put the bottle back, then began to rummage through the other bottles. There was nothing labelled sleeping powder or knock-out powder, though some of the bottles were unlabeled. She didn’t think it was wise to open them though. There was no paper on the table, so she went towards the cupboards.

Opening the top drawer, Nancy found the paper. She then opened the bottom drawer and found a stash of chocolate. Jackpot baby! She took one for Renee, and then ate one. The warmth of the melting chocolate felt good in the creepy room and Nancy couldn’t help but take one bar for the road. No telling when she would need to keep her fortitude up in this house. She got up and turned towards the door when something on the wall caught her eyes.

The wallpaper itself was old, faded and ripped in places, but clear as day in the centre were seven symbols surrounding a major rip. They contrasted a glaring red against the pale yellow wallpaper. Blood red. Nancy stepped towards the symbols and tentatively placed a finger on one sign. The colour was dry and odorless. Probably not blood. But she had no idea what those symbols meant.

Walking around the room, Nancy noticed a rocking chair and went towards it. Lightning flashed and as thunder rumbled, Nancy caught a glimpse of a doll. Not just any doll, but one she specifically saw with an old case of hers. A doll that belonged to a woman that died more than 200 years ago. Nancy had no idea how Renee could have gotten her hands on that doll seeing as the company closed a long time ago. She turned to her right and saw the chest.

Squatting down, she saw four abstract figures on each corner and a large blank circle at the centre. Surrounding the large circle were a multitude of buttons. Curious, she pressed one, and a line appeared on the centre circle. She pressed another and another line appeared. The centre image was now beginning to look like one of the corner figures. She pressed two more buttons but both failed to finish the image and the circle blanked out.  

Nancy looked back towards the wall symbols, then at the chest. Random symbol equals random symbol? She tried again to replicate one of the corner abstract figures. This time it worked and the figure turned blank. Curious lock, she thought as she solved the other three figures. Once all the figures turned blank she heard a click and the chest lifted a little.

Opening the chest, she saw all sorts of odds and ends and a book on hoodoo symbols. She opened the book up and skimmed through the pages. On one page she noticed that the symbols on the wall matched the one’s in the book. Beside each symbol a name was written. Bah? Boo? Dee? Mo? They didn’t spell anything, nor make any sense. Still, it was best to record it down. Nancy took out a notebook and pen from her trench coat and jotted down each symbol along with their associated name. She then packed everything up and headed out of the room and back towards the garden.

[joshslater]

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“Yo, anyone here?”

Brock closed the door to South London Styling behind him and surveyed the room. He had no idea what to expect, but was pleasantly surprised by the interior. It looked like a good barber, perhaps even towards the higher end. A man in his thirties, dressed in black polo shirt and pants emerged from a back room, and greeted him. “Good Morning. How can I help?” he said in a British accent, which Brock had always thought sounded smart.

Brock pulled out a card from his khakis and handed over. “Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know what you do. It was just my birthday and the frat house gave me this card. Wrapped in like 30 envelopes.” He was reassured by the surroundings. Jake got a gift card for a lap dance from a male escort service. Luke the second got a blow-up sex doll. Luke the first had gotten a hot air balloon ride, but he was afraid of heights. So far this looked like the pretty normal gift, but he was sure there was some twist somewhere. With frat birthdays you should always watch a gift horse in the mouth.

The man looked carefully at the card in his hands. “Ah, the all-inclusive personal styling and outfitting. You really should have called ahead of time to schedule a session.” Brock was intrigued by the contradictions of this barber’s, or whatever he was, hands, holding his gift card. Both arms were heavily tattooed, but on the left wrist was a fancy designer timepiece. “I’m normally over at the campus but had another thing downtown. How long does it take? Do I need to come back?”

The man looked up from the card. “It sort of depends on the wishes of the client, but we usually set aside two hours. I do have an opening right now, with the caveat that the next appointment might arrive at the end of the session, cutting it slightly short.” “Sure, I have time. What is it you do, though? Haircuts?” “We do that too, but we try to be your one-stop for all styling and grooming. As the name suggests we have a more European focus on the style. In particular a look known as Chav.” “Never heard of. Sounds French.” “It is British. Perhaps you have heard the related term Scally?” “Sounds Italian. Nope there too. I love European fashion though. In theory at least. I have a student budget.” “Well, perhaps we can get started and you’ll get a feel for what direction to go. In the all-inclusive package, besides all the grooming, one full outfit is included for you to take home. I’m Alexander by the way.” “Brock”

Brock had no idea what to expect. He didn’t know anything about British fashion trends. Kilts and tweeds would obviously be off the table. Otherwise his only reference was Rob, the exchange student from UK, who always wore too tight pants, sorry trousers. Was that British fashion? He followed the man into the back room.

The room was a surprise. Large and bright, with neutral furniture and muted, light colors. Lots of wardrobe doors along the walls, some furniture to sit on, and a room divider in one corner, presumably acting as a fitting room. “If you like European fashion, let’s start with the European brands”, said Alexander as he went to a wardrobe and pulled out one adidas top after the other, placing them on a rack.

There was a second of confusion for Brock when the contrast between his expectations and the class of the room clashed with the almost jarring display of streetwear. Of course his frat house hadn’t bought him a bespoke suit and tie. He’d expected a twist, then just when he thought this was a real birthday present: twist. But a new set of athletic clothes isn’t cheap, so he decided to engage fully. Let’s go all in with this style and let the house get the laughter they’ve paid for. Perhaps it would even look good on him.

Once past the disappointment, Brock found the whole experience interesting. He hadn’t really thought about the difference in relaxed clothes between different areas. Instead of his normal outfit of jerseys, baller shorts or cargo pants Alexander showed him a range of track tops and “joggers”. Together they placed a black T-shirt, adidas track top, unbranded grey sweats, and a pair of Nike shoes on a couch. As Brock grabbed it all to try it on, Alexander placed two plastic-wrapped bundles on top of the pile. One was a two-pack McKenzie briefs and the other was a 3-pack unbranded white socks.

“You want me to strip naked?” “It’s up to you, but we do offer a complete style.”

It wasn’t until behind the divider, with his khakis and shirt folded into a pile, that he made the decision. It felt weird stripping naked in the same room as another dude, although on the other side of the screen, but he reminded himself that he would use the gift card to the max. Off went his underwear, and he started putting all the new clothes on.

Looking at himself in the mirror it kind of felt different. Sure, it was just clothes, but how often do you replace everything. How often is everything you wear chosen by someone else? He had input on what items to take, but from a selection already decided for him.

“Well mint.” “Mint?” “It looks good on you. Let’s style the rest of you to match.”

They walked back out into the barber part and Brock sat down in one of the chairs. Alexander put a barber’s gown over Brock and started to prepare him for a haircut with a sanex strip around his neck. Brock had a quick thought about his clothes in the other room when Brock spoke again.

“There are a few different styles I would recommend for your look and face shape.” “Just pick whatever you think is best.” “Oh, OK. In that case we have an additional service we can provide while you relax, if you wish. It’s a kind of motivational attitude tape you can listen to. Completely complimentary, and optional, of course.” “Yeah, sure. I’m all in.” “Do you smoke?” “What?” “We have different tapes depending on your preference.” “Yeah, now that it’s legal I light up occasionally.” “Very well. Put these in.”

Alexander opened a small box with some wireless in-ear headphones, put on some disposable rubber covers and handed them to Brock. While Brock fiddled with getting them into place, Alexander brought a cup of tea and a small plate with what looked like a piece of single chewing gum.

“Just drink the tea and then start chewing on the chewing gum, and I’ll get started.” Alexander said, and started tapping on a cellphone. The earpieces started to stream a constant, but not very loud hiss. Brock wasn’t used to tea, but this one was alright. Bitter, sweet, and a hint of lemon. Alexander started to draw a line around his skull with a clipper machine. Was he getting a bowl cut? If that is the price for a new set of clothes, so be it. He was getting really relaxed.

Brock jerked violently as he woke up, looking around confused to establish where he was. His eyes landed on an unfamiliar guy. “Good Morning again. Did you have a nice nap?” said someone standing next to him, and slowly he got his brain in gear. “Oi Alex!”.  Brock looked back at the unfamiliar guy in the mirror. If it wasn’t for the face, he saw nothing that would clue him in that it was him in the mirror. A fresh set of clothes and a fresh new haircut that somehow managed to look clean, athletic, trashy and aggressive, all at the same time. He was loving it. “Looking mint, mate!” he said, causing Alex to smile.

“I didn’t want to make any decisions for you while you were relaxing. Would you care for a nick or two in the brow?” “Hot looking, innit. Go for it, mate.” Alex took a small clipper and quickly made two slits in Brock’s left eyebrow with his steady hand. There was a piece of stale chewing gum in Brock’s mouth that bothered him. He felt he needed something, but this gum had given all it could. Discretely he took it out when Alex looked away, and stuck it under one of the chair’s armrests.

“Finally, we do have some time for ear piercings if you want.” “Sounds epic, mate.” While Alex went to pick up the piercing gun, Brock grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the desk in front of him, pulled out a fag, and put it in his mouth. Even though it wasn’t lit, it felt so much better to have something in the mouth. “I have these healing studs that look pretty good.” Alex held out a pair of cut glass studs. “You can switch them out for something fancier once healed in 6 weeks, if you want.” “Those are well nice. Fucking mint, innit.”

As Alex cleaned, pierced and finished with his ears, Brock considered what he saw in the mirror. If any of the wankers at the frat gave attitude he would kick them in the teeth. This was mint as fuck. If only he was allowed to light his fucking fag.

[lovelessmako]

Ve

Chapter: Two

Iselin ground her teeth as her flight feathers were clipped by rough, uncaring hands. She should've known she would be caught. Her owner had connections and money, of course he would hire someone. That's strange, when did she start thinking of her foster father as her owner?

"Did you learn your lesson?" He fisted his finger into her feathers as a threat for what would happen should she argue.

"Yes, Master."

He pulled, some feathers coming loose. "Don't call me 'Master' like you're some kind of pet! You call me 'Father'!"

"Yes, Father." She yelped in suprise as a cool piece of metal clamped around her neck. It was tight, too tight. She coughed, trying to breathe around it.

"Don't be so dramatic! That's just some jewelry to help you if you ever get lost again. And there's a tiny bit of motivation to stay close to me."

Pain erupted as lightning danced across her skin causing her to fall over. She lost control of her limbs and twitched for what felt like forever. When it finally stopped she pushed herself up onto wobbly knees and gasped for breath.

Her father knelt down and changed his tone to one filled with worry and dripping in sweetness, "you understand why I can't let you be alone, sweetie? There are bad men out there who would love to get their hands on such a pretty little girl. It's not safe. But I can protect you. I won't ever let anyone take you away from me."

Iselin wanted to puke, both from the pain and from his manipulative behavior. Why did it take her so many years to realize it? Denial. She was passed around so much that she desperately wanted this home to work. Her mother was murdered by her father when she was only a year old. Her older brother had tried to raise her, but a preteen isn't ready for a baby; no matter how much he tried. She would never blame him for bringing her to her god father. She was upset, however, that the man refused to take him in; only her. She spent 10 years with Gabriel, her human god father. Unfortunately, he was called into active duty and couldn't bring her along. He brought her to his older brother whom she had never met. Lucas seemed nice enough. He worked a lot, but he had a big house and she always had the best clothes. But then a strange man showed up on their doorstep. She was introduced to a Golem by the name of Goliander. Tall with a cruel face, he smiled down at her while Lucas explained that she would be staying with him for awhile; just until Gabriel came back from war. If she knew what she knew now, at 25, she would've known that Gabriel wasn't coming back. He had been gone 7 years at that point with no contact. She would've also suspected that Lucas was only keeping her while she was a child, due to the fact that she went to live with Goliander on her 18th birthday.

He sighed in annoyance. "Get up and compose yourself. We have guests coming in an hour." He was...he was leaving her alone out here? "And don't think about running, that necklace has a long range." Of course.

She nodded, choking out an, "understood, father." He nodded, satisfied and went into the house.

Iselin sighed to herself and stood up on shaky legs, using a tree for balance. At least this was better than last time. She thought back to the traumatic memory.

A tall women in a silk red dress and matching heels stood in the doorway, smoking from a slim cigarette holder held between her fingers. Her hair was dark and tied up into a messy bun, an expensive looking pin tucked inside. She spoke with an accent Iselin couldn't place but sounded Asian in orgin.

"If you want freedom so much," Goliander started, shoving Iselin forward, "then last 1 week with Lady Li. She is going to teach you the ropes of her business. During that time you are to obey her completely. Understand?"

Iselin had been so excited by the thought of freedom that she didn't even ask what the business was. She would later learn that the woman was something called a Mistress.

Back in present day, Iselin rubbed at where she knew a particularly bad cigarette burn marked her left breast. It still stung sometimes, but it was mostly the memory. She had went through such torture and then been dumped back onto Golandier's doorstep, bloodied and broken. She was 1 day away from freedom. But she never would've truly been free. Lady Li would've just kept her.

She looked towards the house to see a dress laying on the ground. So he was mad enough to make her change outside, huh? Shouldn't be suprising. How she was expected to keep her clothing spotless when it was in the dirt was beyond her. She removed her current mudded and torn dress and picked up the other one. Her corset was undoubtedly her favorite piece of clothing. She preferred to wear her's stealth, something she was glad she was allowed. It was a simple brown overbust; no need to get something fancy when it would just be hidden under clothing. It had come slightly loose and ruffled throughout the day so she removed it and hit it a few times to dust the fabric off. Slipping it over her head, she began to replace the sides. Her breasts were fairly large but few knew that because of her secret. She pushed them down, as opposed to up, and pulled the strings tightly. It hurt, of course, but it halved her cup size so it was worth it. Why didn't she like her breasts? Other women would try all kinds of tricks to make theirs look larger. She told herself that it was just because they got in the way.

Iselin suddenly grew self-conscious, realizing she was outside in nothing but her underthings so she quickly reached for the dress she had sat down earlier. She hadn't bothered to clean her chemise, hoping it wouldn't be seen. The gown was a simple one, floor length and in a lovely gold. So it seemed Golandier wanted then to look higher class. She could do that. She put on the coif that had been hidden in the grown's fabric as well as a French hood that matched the dress. She hated those; it always seemed like it was going to fall off. Plus, it was difficult to maneuver them around her addax styled without cutting the fabric.

There was a mirror propped up on the side of the house since it was common for her to be forced to change outside. She looked at her baby blue face and bright golden eyes. Iselin had never met another Troll with gold eyes, which drew a lot of attention. Swirls of lighter blue marked her arms and face. Gabriel had mentioned once that the designs have meanings such as bloodline and destiny. He claimed to not know what her's meant.

She stepped inside, forgoing shoes; they couldn't be seen under her gown anyway and it was the little bit of rebellion she was allowed. Inside stood a tall Troll, skin so dark blue that it appeared purple. He had 4 horns equally spaced atop his head that were nearly flat against his skull as they grew backwards, like hair. He stared her down with dark maroon eyes, his own clothing consistenting only of a leather strap across his chest and a tight fitting leather skirt that barely was long enough to cover his unmentionables. The Trolls she saw often wore similar styles of clothing, likely to easier display their markings. He seemed annoyed by her attire since it covered nearly all traces of skin. He let out some frustrated clicks, proving her point. Goliander returned with some clicks of his own in an assuring tone. It was times like these that Iselin wished she had been taught more of the Troll language, other than the words "I am at your service." She nervously pulled at her wings, drawing the Troll's attention to them. Like her eyes, she had never seen another Troll with wings before.

He puffed out his chest and let out an angry sounding stream of clicks. Within a moment, Golendier had grabbed onto the Troll's head and slammed it into the wall. He instantly went limp and slid to the ground, leaving a trail of purple blood. That was the first thing Iselin had learnt about her new home; Golems were very physically powerful. She quickly turned her gaze away, but he caught it. "Room. Now." With a quick nod, she scamped off towards the other end of the house. There had been a lot more visitors as of late. It seems like he was wanting to pass her off onto someone else. She had become too much trouble. Iselin quickly lay on her bed and closed her eyes. There was no telling when she would get another chance to rest and knew to use the time her guardian spent cleaning up his mess to her advantage.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

What Are Friends For || Morgan & Lydia

After Morgan accidentally strikes a bargain with Lydia, she is invited over to make good on her word. What are friends for, after all? 

@inspirationdivine

Morgan was eager to make a better impression on Lydia than she had at the beach. She brought one of the few bottles of wine she hadn’t wrecked in the house, assuming that whatever was good enough for Deirdre’s luxuriant tastes would suit Lydia as well. She put on a bright floral dress that was hanging in the closet from her old things, too attention-seeking with its sweetheart bust and bright pink belt to do for her everyday ‘don’t look at me I’m dead and depressed’ chic. Which meant it was clean and, mostly, unwrinkled. She did her hair. She checked herself, however self-consciously before the door to the rather intimidatingly large house. When Lydia answered the door, Morgan held out her gift bag automatically. “I brought this for you!” If she had any blood flow to her face she would have blushed. No hi? No how are you? Seriously? “It’s good see you,” she tried. “I thought you’d like this. And, um, there’s a rose quartz plate. I don’t know if you like it, but it is one of the nicer things I made.” It was part of an unfinished commission the buyer only wanted a refund for, but even Morgan wasn’t so frazzled as to mention that.

Lydia smiled as she opened the door, humans kept busy upstairs so as to not disturb them. Almost immediately Morgan was pushing a gift bag into her hands, which Lydia peaked into curiously. “Thank you, darling, it’s good to see you too,” she stepped aside, leading Morgan into the kitchen of her home. Large windows filled the room with spring skies, and a view over her garden. “Look at that, you did put on your Sunday best after all. You look good.”

Morgan stepped carefully into the house, minding not to scuff the tile as she walked in. Windows lined every wall that wasn’t adorned with bright paintings or strange sculptures that seemed to draw Morgan towards them. It put her in mind of an art gallery, or a home in a movie: some mysterious billionaire with a shark tank in the basement. “Have you collected all of this in only four months?” She asked, staring wide-eyed around her. So entranced and distracted, she nearly tripped on her way to the kitchen. “I did!” She said, summoning as much brightness as she had in her. Not much, but enough to sound pleasant. “I like to think I clean up good. Your home is amazing,” she said. “Almost like a museum.”

“No, I’ve had much of it for years. Every time I move, I choose my favourite pieces to bring to the new residence. I change it reasonably frequently.” Lydia looked around, smiling at her collection. For each piece, she could name the Leanan who had inspired it. Some of them distant friends or siblings that Lydia could see in the art itself. Either directly, the planes of their chests carefully etched into wood, or in the colour pallettes of the beautiful baroque scenery. “You do clean up well. I also hope this means you feel the slightest bit better relative to the last time we met.”

“Oh. Sh--stars,” Morgan corrected herself quickly. “It really is like a museum. That’s incredible. And when you say years, do you mean--” She hesitated, wondering if it was impolite to ask about age. Morgan didn’t even know what kind of fae Lydia was. If she was a banshee, she would have more skulls, right? And Deirdre wouldn’t be so lonely. She probably wasn’t like Jeff, Morgan would have noticed that too. “Well, just how many, I guess, if that’s polite to ask.” But, in case that wasn’t-- “I am feeling better, though. Thank you for asking. Still not, you know,” she fidgeted on the counter, “Kickin’ that well. But, better than last time. Haven’t almost drowned anyone since.”

“I’m over seventy years old, although I haven’t been collecting art for quite that long,” Lydia replied, preening herself under Morgan’s compliments. “Are you an art connoisseur, or do you just enjoy seeing it?” There wasn’t any judgment in her tone, for once. It was simply a question to find out whether they could talk art, or simply enjoy it together. “I would be more concerned if you were suddenly completely fine. Although, if pranks become part of your new lifestyle, that remains a good choice for a prank. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Seventy?” Morgan balked with surprise before she could stop herself. Did this mean she and Deirdre would look this good at seventy? Her mind struggled to go in five different directions at once. “I don’t know if that’s especially old for fae, if your family treats you like a kid about it or not, but at least you don’t seem cynical or tired after all this time,” she said, trying to get back on course. “I’ve, um, I’ve taken a couple courses in art history. Came in handy when I was alive, a little, with curse research and the sacred geometry that goes into alchemy. But mostly I just think it’s pretty. I um...I mostly have a weak spot for anything with a dramatic enough emotional statement. There’s a chapel Rothko designed, in Houston? I would go there to think some times, as a weird treat for myself.” She scanned their surroundings again. The house was so open she could see all the way to the entrance still. “That one,” she pointed, “Is that an original baroque or something in the style?” She gave a hapless smile, this is as far as my knowledge goes, but I’m trying. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having. Or water,” she said, to be polite. At least water had never really tasted like anything in the first place.

“It doesn’t directly translate to either of those. I have a lot of life left to live, but seventy years is no short length of time for anyone.” Lydia replied, smiling. “Why would I become cynical or tired of it? The world has so much to experience and live for.” She sat on a stool by her kitchen table, as Morgan described her education. “Yes, I know the chapel. It’s incredibly beautiful.” Lydia looked down the hall and nodded. “It’s a Reubens. I do love the Baroque style.” She smiled, letting Morgan go from the discussion. “Water it is,” Lydia acquiesced, pouring Morgan a glass. “Now, shall we discuss that little deal of ours?”

“Oh,” Morgan said, chewing on the thought. “I guess, just because…” Life sucks and then you die. And sometimes you come back for even more hurt. She was able to think better of the statement and after a few moments of mouthing awkwardly in silence, “Humans do. Get cynical and tired. It doesn’t even take seventy years for most of them. I used to get crap for not being more...bitter, cautious, whatever. I was tired a lot, but maybe energy is different for fae.” She didn’t try to flex what little art factoids she had. Lydia was being nice and, fuck it, she’d let her be. Morgan had given her offerings, she made an effort, and despite Lydia’s airs of propriety, there was something about her that invited Morgan to drop her own pretensions and be herself. She gave a smaller, though more sincere smile and nodded gratefully. “Right! I said I’d do something for you. What kind of thing did you have in mind?”

“There are days that are terrible. Sometimes weeks or even years. To let that colour my entire life would be...wasteful.” Lydia replied, but knew it probably wasn’t what Morgan needed to hear right now. Losing another wasn’t the same as losing your own sense of self. Even if Morgan hadn’t lost her life, Lydia understood she currently felt like it. So she smiled, matching Morgan’s. “Yes. This is really… more of a heads up, if you will. I’m sure Deirdre is very careful with these things, with you. But if you’re to date a fae, you need to be aware that not all of us are as sweet as Deirdre or I, and that you might need to watch your words more carefully.” Lydia clasped her hands. “As for what I had in mind. I was thinking a small painting. I can offer you as much inspiration as you like. I don’t care if you paint the whole canvas blue, or if you throw the paint at it, or if you take rests. All of that is up to you. You could even take a knife to the canvas, for all I mind. Just create something, for me. That’s all I ask to end the promise.”

“Wait--what?” Morgan sputtered with confusion. She thought that Lydia was kidding. She had to be. A head’s up? “We’re always intentional with our promises, yeah,” Morgan said, straightening with a little pride. Their promises were better than any cheesy ring or one-time declaration any other couple might make. They were their trust, their fidelity, something that could stay true and real, even when Morgan could barely get out of bed. They never had to pull on the thread because they meant what they said. It only existed for something sudden, some hypothetical emergency or some time when the compulsion would be a comfort. What else would promises be good for, besides a proof of trust? Her expression wrinkled, confused and scrutinizing as she waited for some other punchline. Then her body began to ache, her insides burning and twisting. That was...weird. “Uh…” Her stomach tightened, and Morgan clenched her jaw to keep from dry heaving in front of Lydia. “Oh-kay.” She gripped the countertop to keep from doubling over. Was this--something fae let happen on purpose? “Canvas?” She asked, voice strained. “Can you, um, show me where, a-and paint, crayola crayons, whatever? Please?”

“Already set up,” Lydia replied smoothly, stepping over to help Morgan. “Darling, there’s no rush.” That would at least ease the ache that had Morgan keeling over, her jaw tight. Lydia tried to feel bad about it. She really did. It was the fae in her, that couldn’t stand to avoid taking advantage of such things. Perhaps it was a bit of a compulsion. She would have done it to anyone, really, and would expect it in return.  “Come along here, and I’ll bring you something you can really taste.” Lydia lead Morgan to a pre-set up canvas and paints. It was a small canvas, A4 sized. If Morgan wanted to, she could cover the whole thing in a couple minutes flat. “There you go. As I said, darling, no rush, take the rests you want, paint what you like.”

Morgan’s insides unclenched at Lydia’s words. She let out a deep gasp, bracing herself again, just so she didn’t go to the floor in relief. She looked up at Lydia, bewildered by how quickly this had turned around into something...not at all like what she shared with Deirdre. Was this the ‘heads up’? The lesson she was supposed to get out of this. “T-thank you,” she said quietly, averting her gaze. She followed her at a distance, still feeling a little clammy, or maybe just shaken. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she asked the universe to help her feel again. She looked between Lydia and the canvas and back again. It was all...waiting for her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Okay. What I like. I can do that.” She tried to smile again, but she was too shaken to feel at ease just yet.

She lifted a drafting pencil and began to sketch out the bones of...whatever this was going to be. Why was this so hard? Of course she liked things. Morgan sectioned off the canvas for a close up landscape and set aside a circle for what she wanted to put in it. She had started on a base coat (she remembered that much from the extra curricular lectures she’d attended) when she worked up the nerve to ask, “So, can I ask--? When you say that other fae are not as sweet, do you mean...that they do this on purpose? For...what, exactly? I just...would like to understand better.”

“I mean that the kind of promise you made could be used for something much crueler than a simple painting.” Lydia sat down a few feet away from Morgan, watching her paint the base. She sat back, her wings fading into view as she considered the question.  “We do it in part because it is our culture. To us, there is little more valuable than our word. That everyone else gives it so thoughtlessly is infuriating. There should be consequences for such things.”  She turned her gaze back to Morgan. “When I was attacked by that vampire, when I was done being terrified, I was enraged. Not just because he’d turned me into a toy, or because he’d tried to kill me. What made me most angry was that we’d made a deal, and he went right against it. That made me more angry than the manner by which he did it.” Lydia shook her head to clear her mind. “I suppose though, perhaps what I want to warn you of, is that many fae don’t like other fae to date other species at all. That a commitment like the one you made to me could have been used to end the relationship between the two of you.”

Morgan could understand, a little, what it must be like to see everyone take for granted what was so essential to you. She still hadn’t been by to see the coven despite saying that she would, she needed to. It was too painful, too infuriating, to witness magic as if it were a matter of course when her power had died in the street with her heartbeat. She switched to a different brush and began to cover the canvas in blue before taking up another and layering a wide swath of green over it for grass. It was more of a clumsy child’s dreamscape than the spot in the woods by the river she had hoped to represent, but Lydia hadn’t asked her for the artistic value of her work. She paused, turning solemn as Lydia recounted the worst parts of her story to her. Morgan shook her head with dismay. “Vampires are the fucking worst,” she grumbled quietly. Then, with a little more poise she said louder, “He should never have done that. He should have to pay, pay to someone for being cruel in that way. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

At the suggestion that Morgan could be promise-tricked into deserting Deirdre, she put her brush down. “They might hate me, for being with her. I’m aware of that much,” she said solemnly. “But...we promised each other first. All she ever has to do is ask for me to come to her, and I will. Wherever she is, whatever else happens between us. Doesn’t that promise matter too?” They were careful. They still didn’t go shouting from the rooftops that they were together. But if fae could sense each other, it would only take one outing down the wrong street, bumping into the wrong person, for them to guess. “How do I keep that from happening?” She asked. “I didn’t...I was being sincere, Lydia, when I spoke to you about doing something. I just didn’t understand that it was possible to bind yourself without the word ‘promise.’” She picked up her brush again, sighing with dismay as more troubled thoughts floated and circled her brain. “I’m sorry for that too I guess.”

“He will. He made a deal, and now he will pay for it. As he should,” Lydia replied, sneering, before pushing the mysterious vampire out of her mind and out the conversation. Morgan had much more interesting things to say. “You made a promise to Deirdre that you would stay in a relationship with her?” Lydia asked. Deirdre could do Deirdre but… how completely bizarre. She’d have to ask Deirdre about it sometime.  “Yes, any such promise has incredible value. There is a separate danger there. When an unstoppable force hits an immovable object, what breaks? Usually, the person who has made two opposing unbreakable promises.” It was rather gruesome, really. It was horrifying. Lydia had seen it happen to a couple humans, but had once seen it happen to a gancanagh she knew, barely eighteen years old. The whole fae population had gone into mourning over it. “You watch your words, carefully. Any time you commit to something, any time you indicate a favour owed. It takes practice. That’s why I wanted you to learn this now.” Lydia leant forward, her eyes softer than the situation should suggest. “I appreciate your apology, darling. I don’t doubt your good nature.”

“Oh, no, that’s--” Morgan couldn’t help but scoff darkly. “That’s definitely not what happened. Not that I would ever fuck with our agency like that in the first place, but Deirdre--” Deirdre had been more livid, more hurt than Morgan had ever seen her before, or since. Everything was vanishing behind one locked door after another. Morgan, with her cursed track record, had feared the worst. All because of some stupid words she hadn’t understood. Morgan couldn’t bring herself to explain the horrible details, the guilt of having caused that kind of hurt still haunted her mind. It rose up, prickling her peace like needles whenever things grew tense between her and Deirdre, and when they were so light and calm, they seemed too good to last. But the unpleasantness of that day in the woods was clear on her face as she stared into the distance before resuming her painting. “She would’ve released me in two seconds if that had been what I was trying. We weren’t in a good place, when I gave her that promise. But I wanted…” What she had really wanted was for all the badness to stop. And for Deirdre to not give up on her own humanity just because Morgan had wounded her by mistake. But Morgan did not know how to tell Lydia any of this, or if she even wanted to.

“I wanted her to know that I would always be there for her,” she said at last. “Even if we never got back to the kind of place we were at before, I would still want to be there for her, if that was something she might...want. Even a little. No relationship conditions, she could have frozen me out for weeks or months, and asked me over for just an hour or a night or a week. When you care about someone enough...when you love them, it shouldn’t matter if you’re in a fight or broken up over some stupid mistake or you haven’t spoken in awhile. If you love them, you want to be there no matter what, as long as they want you to. But that’s hard for people to believe. And not everyone means things like ‘oh, i still wanna be your friend,’ ‘yeah you can still count on me.’ But I meant it. So I gave her a promise. If she ever decided she wanted to see me again, I’d come. She only had to ask for me.”

Morgan began to paint the drop of canvas she’d sectioned off a bright orange. Not at all like the amber fossil kept safely in their bedroom, but close as she could figure from her selections. “We worked things out on our own, eventually. She’s never pulled on that thread, even once. And I’d come without pressing her to take that measure, obviously. But I like knowing it's there. There’s no telling what could happen, and it’s still true, so…” She looked over at Lydia, a little heartened by her softness. She nodded at her words, accepting the gravity of her situation, why she might feel compelled to go to all this trouble. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You must care about Deirdre a lot, to look out for us.”

Lydia listened. This hadn’t been intended to be a backdoor into Deirdre’s private relationship or private thoughts, but as Morgan explained, Lydia began to relax and ease. Not just because she had for a second believed that Deirdre would have accepted such an ethically questionable promise. She listened attentively as Morgan talked, watching the attention by which Morgan painted. She deliberately wasn’t watching the actual painting, willing it to be a surprise, and to ensure that Morgan wouldn’t feel too imposed on. Beyond the literal imposition, of course. “I’m rather relieved to hear that, I must admit. The alternative would have been alarming. For the both of you.” Lydia settled and rolled her shoulders, stretching wing muscles as she did. “It is still a major commitment, but I’m glad you thought it through with her. I’m glad you were there to help her.” She smiled, softly, at Morgan’s comment. “I do. She’s a wonderful woman. Ultimately, I want her to be happy. Everything else is secondary.”

Morgan painted as best she could, which was, honestly, not very well. She began to add what was meant to be a squirrel picking flowers, caught in the lens of the orange drop, but her inexpert strokes morphed the image into a strange brown blob, almost sinister. “You don’t have to worry about that with me. I love her,” she said simply, setting the brush aside. She stepped back from her work. Not an artistic vision by any means, but it was covered. She gave Lydia a sidelong glance, wincing at just how awful it looked next to the art surrounding her. “I, uh, I tried,” she said. “It’s...well, it’s supposed to be things I like, but you should maybe display it out by the dumpster.”

Love. Morgan had used that word twice now, so that it couldn’t be an accident. Deirdre had said many things, but she had said nothing of love. Lydia looked down to her hands for a moment, at the smooth skin and the burgundy nails she wore today. She wondered if she’d be so kind, if Morgan was still human. She wondered if she would have done this at all, if Morgan never had been. Lydia set those thoughts aside. There was an edge to this kindness, that if asked about, Lydia couldn’t deny. One that perhaps they would forget about in time. Morgan turned the easel, and Lydia raised an eyebrow at the monstrosity that Morgan revealed. “I wouldn’t throw it away, this is a gift. We’ll call it… dadaist modern art, and call it a day. I am very grateful, Morgan. For everything.”

Morgan couldn’t help but notice the silence around her declaration. She wondered if it had to do with her being only recently un-human’d. If she had been dead all along, would Lydia believe her more, would she see it more clearly? Or would it only look right to her with a pair of wings at her back and fae blood in her cold veins? She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the self-consciousness. Lydia was being kind, but it was the sort of kindness that gritted its teeth against something else. She should probably count herself lucky, she reminded herself, that Lydia was trying at all. That she had, in some spare moments, tried to extend whatever counted as friendship for her kind of fae towards Morgan. “I don’t think I’ve done all that much,” she said, side-eyeing her handiwork again. “But I appreciate you taking this time with me too. I’d like to get to be your friend too. At some point.”

“You made more of an effort than I expected. That has value,” Lydia replied softly. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I think I’d like that too, at some point,” Lydia replied in turn. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not in a month. Perhaps not while Remmy was made to hate themselves for saving Morgan from her curse. Some point, though. It was an easy, commitment to make. “I also think I’ve taken up more than enough of your time, as pleasant as it has been to get to know you better.” She smiled, looking at the painting one more time. “I am truly happy for you and Deirdre. I’m glad you have each other.” I hope it stays that way. Deirdre didn’t need more heartbreak. As Lydia showed Morgan to the door, she thought that Deirdre wasn’t the only one like that, either.

[damienthepious]

yo pretend that it’s still fucking tuesday in my time zone. i only missed it by like fifteen minutes just be cool 

Toss and Turn In Undertow

[ao3] [companion piece to Keep Your Head Above The Blue]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast (Second Citadel)

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Anxiety, Panic Attacks

Summary:  Sir Damien has a bit of a rough day. His flowers do their best to help.

Notes: Whoops, here I go projecting my mental health onto rad bouquet again! Sorry, Damien. Extra content warnings for some very… aggressively self-hating language. I will admit that this was at times unpleasant to write. Hope the stress is worth it <3<3 Name from a lyric in the song In Undertow, by Alvvays.]</small>

***

Sometimes the thrumming panic buries Damien. Sometimes, despite his best efforts, despite his prayers and the knowledge of a love buffeting him from two sides, he is consumed in the bleak, bitter echoes of his own mind. Mistakes in the past, mistakes he might make in the future, actions he should or should not have taken, opportunities he is missing and failures he is committing at this very moment, a thousand catastrophized possibilities of his own making-

Rilla knows the signs, even when Damien manages to keep from babbling his head off through the spiral. She knows the particular shallowness of his breathing and distance in his eyes when the worst parts of his mind take the reigns, knows how to take his hand and talk him down, or if the talking doesn’t work, how to sing and stroke his hair until his breathing comes easier, until he can hum along as well.

Arum is less practiced, but he’s almost better at recognizing when Damien is coming close to danger than Rilla is, which feels odd at first. Arum can hear his heartbeat from a short distance, and that is interesting for a number of unrelated reasons, but it also means that he can tell quickly if Damien is working himself up too fast. He also recognizes early on that he can’t just duel Damien every time he needs to pull him down from his dangerous highs of distress, though sparring is still enjoyable on occasion. The most effective method Arum lands on is to simply wrap all four arms and his tail around Damien, lift him into the air and squeeze. Just enough so that Damien can’t wriggle his way out, just enough so that the pressure feels- feels like something safe. That’s what makes it likely to work, Damien thinks. The physicality of it. An anchor in the world outside his own head, giving him no choice but to hang in the air and just breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says, panting from the pressure and the panic and closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression of annoyance Arum might be wearing. “I am sorry I persist in- I am sorry to trouble you so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arum mutters, close by Damien’s ear. “No apologies.”

He is only saying that to assuage Damien’s feelings, certainly. Damien can feel Arum’s heart beating from this close, a slow, sweet drumbeat he does not feel worthy to hear. “I know that my weakness of the mind must be frustrating, Lord Arum; you need not honey over your words for my sake-”

Arum squeezes him tighter for a moment, his tail coiling behind him as a low ticking growl rises in his chest. “Are you accusing me of deceit, honeysuckle?”

“No, no I merely-”

“Then you should trust when I say you need not apologize.”

“I know,” Damien says, ducking his head. “I know.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Yet I worry that I have caused you some irritation, and if so you could not be blamed for feeling-”

The growl in Arum’s chest pitches lower and louder for a moment and then he adjusts his grip on Damien, swinging his legs up until he’s carrying him in a way Damien can only think of as bridal style, which is entirely unhelpful to the roiling confused mess of his thoughts as he squeaks in protest. “I’ve had quite enough of that,” Arum says roughly as he starts a quick walk. “Keep, open the way to Amaryllis’ home, if you would.”

The portal opens ahead of them and Arum doesn’t even need to break stride until they’re through to Rilla’s front room, the wide flowerpot in the corner behind them curling with the Keep’s vines for a moment or two longer before they recede back into the dirt.

“Lord Arum,” Damien says breathlessly, “I must insist-”

“Amaryllis, I require your assistance,” Arum interrupts flatly.

Rilla steps out from the kitchen with a confused look, then darts across the space to pull the curtains closed. “Saints, Arum, you have to have the Keep warn me before you come through-”

“The poet is being unreasonable and you know better than I how to deal with him.”

“Excuse me-”

“Oh,” Rilla says, brow furrowing sympathetically. “Hard day, Damien?”

“No, of course not my love, it is really not so large an issue as-”

“What must I do,” Arum interrupts again, some of his worry bleeding through the edges of his flat tone, “to convince him that he is not some burden that needs be begged pardon for?”

“Oof,” Rilla says, stepping closer. “Hey, if you figure that one out, make sure you tell me about it first, because I’ve been trying to get that through his thick knightly skull for years now and it doesn’t seem to want to stick.”

Damien writhes in Arum’s arms, anxiety on every line of his face. “I don’t- it isn’t as if- I never said-”

His words dry up and he stills again when Rilla reaches out to cup the back of his head in her hand, drawing her fingers through his hair. “Damien. It’s okay.”

The combination- Arum steady and surrounding him with his arms and chest, Rilla on the other side with her hands gentle upon him, it’s soothing and pleasant and loving and Damien doesn’t deserve any of it. He has been nothing but an annoyance to the both of them lately, with his chaotic mind and his fears, and he is sure, so sure that he is damaging this relationship merely by being a part of it.

“S-stop,” he gasps, “oh, tranquility oh please, please- please put me- put me down, I can’t-”

Arum blinks at him in surprise and immediately, gently reorients Damien’s legs beneath him and sets him down, brow furrowed. “I apologize, I did not intend-”

“Don’t- don’t apologize,” Damien says, shaking his head viciously as he stumbles back, out of range of their gentle hands. “I am the one who- who keeps doing this-”

“Damien,” Arum says, concerned and confused, and Damien flinches and takes another large step away, fisting his hands at the sides of his head.

“I don’t know how the both of you tolerate me,” Damien hisses through clenched teeth, the hard thud of his heart making his chest feel tight and close and horrifying. “You are both brilliant and brave and you fit together with such glorious ease, with familiarity and humor and I am l-little more than a leech, a drain of affection and attention, and when you look at me like that- like that, with such unearned compassion, I know that I have manipulated you into feeling so softly towards me with my persistent, pathetic, pitiful writhing-”

“You think so little of us, honeysuckle?” Arum says, his head ducked and his expression so openly raw that Damien has to close his eyes against it for a moment.

“No,” Rilla says gently, reaching out to grip Arum’s wrist. “No, it’s not like that. Damien, Damien you need to breathe, okay?”

Damien shakes his head, but he still sucks in a quick sharp breath automatically. “See? Don’t you see?” He laughs in a shuddering, wild sort of way. “Your comfort is- it shows the compassion and beauty of your heart, my flower, but it is a grace of which I am entirely undeserving-”

“Breathe,” she says again, and Damien stops to gasp. “You aren’t being fair to yourself, Damien. Even if any of that were true, I love you because of who you are and how we are together, not because of anything to do with deserving. That’s not how love works.”

Arum watches this exchange, wary eyes darting between the pair of them as Damien shakes his head in denial.

“But you deserve so much better than myself, you deserve each other, such luminous beings as you are, and you certainly deserve better than me-”

“I deserve to love who I love, Damien,” she interrupts, “and I love you. I deserve to have a say in this relationship, and I say that I love you. And I’m gonna keep saying it, Damien. I’m gonna say it again and again until you believe me. I love you.”

“Why?” Damien cries, swinging his fists down from his head, leaving his arms to shake at his sides as he gives Rilla a tearful, horrified look. “Why? Why would you possibly love me? You are the most brilliant person I have ever known, and I am little more than a miserable-”

“If I started rattling off a list of reasons why I love you right this instant, Damien – and I do have an actual list, by the way - I know for a fact that it would just freak you out more, with the state you’re in.” Rilla raises her hands at her sides in a helpless gesture. “I want to help you. It hurts to see you like this, but I don’t know what to do, or where to start if you won’t believe the things I say.”

“But the two of you- your minds are as quick and sharp as knives which sharpen each other, and all I can be to you is a distraction, a desperate whining thing aching at your heels for affection and comfort. My own mind cannot match yours, it is little more than a nest of nettles within which my demons rest between their campaigns to devour me-

“Enough of- stop that.” Arum shakes his head, his frill flared partway in distress. “I cannot stand- I cannot abide you speaking of yourself so cruelly.”

Damien squeezes his fists, nails digging into his palms. “You, Lord Arum, have- have even less reason to give me your affection. I was nearly your murderer again and again-”

“And I yours,” Arum barks. “Are we not past that? Have those mistakes not long since been forgiven?” He sneers, but the expression slips away too quickly to be believable. “Or have you been harboring a secret grudge against me for my actions?”

“Of- of course I haven’t,” Damien nearly yelps, shaking his head again.

“Arum,” Rilla warns, squeezing his wrist. “I don’t think-”

“If he believes that I would care less for him because of the mistakes that we both made,” Arum says, “how can I not draw the conclusion that he expects this because it is how he feels about me?”

“Because that reasoning requires some if-then style logic and Damien and logic aren’t even in the same room right now, Arum.”

Arum blinks, then glances at Damien, whose breaths are growing worryingly quick, whose body language is screaming danger as clearly as a blaring horn. Arum slips his hand down slightly, gripping the hand Rilla had wrapped around his wrist, and presses another hand over his own mouth. “Ah… have- have I made things worse?” he hisses low, eyes flicking between his humans again.

“Hard to say,” Rilla murmurs, but the wry tilt of her mouth says, it certainly didn’t help, and Arum winces.

“I-” Damien presses a hand hard against his collarbone, clenching the other tight at his side. “I know that this- that I am- that I am only making things worse, I know that, so I don’t understand why- why you- why you even want to keep me beside you-”

“Breathe,” Arum says at the same moment Rilla says the same, and she squeezes his hand as he continues, “honeysuckle, you are not thinking clearly.”

“I am thinking without sentimentality,” Damien snarls, “for once. The two of you- this relationship would be better without my presence stunting and frustrating and causing strife-”

“You think our relationship would be better without you?” Arum wrinkles his snout, stiffening in horror. “The balance we strike is the three of us together, honeysuckle. I fit between you, as you fit between us, as she fits between you and I. This relationship would not exist without you.”

“Wretched whining thing,” Damien mutters, apparently to himself. “See how you distress them? See the ills you cause?”

Rilla exhales, brow furrowed in worry, and Arum’s heart lurches for the both of them. He takes a shaky breath of his own and Damien continues to mutter abuse at himself, arms wrapped around his own chest in a parody of a hug.

“I love you,” Arum says at last, quietly, and Damien startles like a deer, going dead-still and looking at the monster with wide eyes.

This is not the first time Arum has said this, to Damien or to Rilla, but it is still new enough that it feels like something precious, something to be handled with care. Arum has so far reserved such words for moments of safety, moments in embrace, in the darkness of a shared bed and the warmth of their arms. So for him to offer them now, in the daylight, standing and facing Damien from across the whole distance of Rilla’s front room, after Damien himself has spoken in such wildness and despair-

“I love you, Damien,” Arum says again, just as soft, “and I will not allow you to push me- push us away out of an urge towards self-destruction.”

The words sink down through the churning mire of his mind, and Damien is incredibly aware, for one sharp, bright moment, of how spectacularly he had ruined this, of his own utter lack of control, of his inability to draw breath, and then tears overflow the corners of his eyes as the familiar and unwelcome headrush finally pushes him down, folding him into a childlike crouch as he presses his hands to the sides of his head with a choked-off moan, every single thought in his mind whiting out in an incomprehensible tangle of horror, strong as certain death.

Then, it’s over.

Damien is shaking, hollow and exhausted and wet-cheeked, but the overwhelming panic is spent and gone. He feels suspended in the empty calm for a long moment before he straightens up with a shuddering inhale, clumsily brushing his tears away.

“What…” Arum stares at Damien, worry rolling off of him in waves as he whispers to Rilla. “What was that?”

“Panic attack,” she says, matching his volume with a tense smile. “A pretty rough one, too, I think. C’mon.” She steps a little closer to Damien, then, pulling an alarmed Arum behind her by the hand. “Hey,” she says gently, still leaving a bit of space between the two of them and the knight, “you think the worst of it is past, now?”

Damien nods, still rubbing his face and not looking at either of them.

“Okay.” Her voice is steady, calm, and Arum thinks for what must be the thousandth time that she is the cleverest being he has ever known. “Are you okay for a hug? Or would that be too much just now?”

Damien presses a hand over his eyes, his lip curving miserably, and then he nods again and reaches his other hand towards them.

Rilla sags in relief and closes the gap, wrapping her arm around Damien’s shaking shoulder. She can’t kiss him with his hand covering his face like that, so she kisses the hand instead as he shudders against her. Arum doesn’t know what to do with himself despite Rilla pulling him close as well. When he picked Damien up last, it seemed to catalyze this- this attack, and now he’s frightened of making things worse again with his touch.

Rilla notices his hesitation, and her brow furrows for a moment before she moves, readjusting their positions. She gently spins Damien so he’s in front of her with her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and she pulls Arum closer on the other side until Damien is pressed up against Arum’s chest, between the two of them. She gives Arum an encouraging smile over Damien’s head, and he tries to swallow his worry, wrapping two arms all the way around Amaryllis and slipping the other two between them to scratch softly down Damien’s back.

“Is this okay?” she says, barely louder than a whisper, and Damien nods a third time, bumping his forehead against Arum’s chest as his breaths slowly even out from their hitching, as the salt Arum can taste on the air subsides.

“I’m sorry, honeysuckle,” Arum says softly, tucking Damien’s head beneath his chin. “I should not have pushed you so when you were in distress.”

“No, it- it wasn’t your fault, it-” Damien finally drops his hand from his face so he can press his palms against Arum’s chest, as if he is gleaning stability from his physical presence alone. “These thoughts have been- haunting me as of late. They would have outed eventually, I’m sure.”

“Nevertheless. I should have been more gentle with you.”

“I know- I fear that my persistent worries are irritating, and then I become terrified of that irritation driving the both of you away, and then the worry over irritating you becomes an annoyance itself, and it recurses and recurses until it becomes an endlessly deep oubliette into which I am cast, and I cannot see either the way to climb out, or the bottom to which I must fall. And-” he sighs through a laugh, “and I know that it is happening, and I cannot seem to control my mind. Even when I know I am being unreasonable. I can know that, but I cannot make myself believe it, or make myself stop.”

“You’re feeling more rational now, though?” Rilla asks, and Damien laughs again.

“I am tranquil, at least, and as rational as I ever am, my love. Which, when compared to yourself-”

She squeezes her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the back of his neck. “Perfect. Then that means I can start the list.”

“The- the list?”

“You asked, Damien, so you can’t complain about this now. So! Reasons why I, Amaryllis of Exile, am deeply in love with Sir Damien the Pious, version siiiiiix- no, seventeen, revised edition, with additional contributions from Lord Arum.”

Arum laughs in surprise, and Amaryllis grins behind Damien as he goes stiff. Then the knight looks up at Arum in alarm, his cheeks already tinging dark.

“You did ask, honeysuckle,” Arum says through a smile, his fingers drifting in soothing circles across Damien’s back.

“I love you, Damien,” Rilla starts, “because you are the most sincerely compassionate person I’ve ever known. You’re patient, you’re thoughtful, and you’re selfless to a fault.”

She pauses, raising an eyebrow over Damien’s shoulder, and Arum realizes it’s his turn to offer his contributions. “You are… fiercely loyal,” he says, and he smiles when Damien buries his face in Arum’s chest rather than look him in the eye. He understands the urge; it is more difficult than he expected, to put words to all the facets of Damien that cleave together to make Arum’s heart swell and race while Damien is here to hear them directly. “You are spectacularly beautiful,” he says, and then he quickly continues before the teasing gleam in Rilla’s eyes can fluster him, “you are a warrior with such skill that you make your movements as effortless as a dance when you fight, and you are the cleverest wordsmith I’ve ever known.”

“Just a brilliant storyteller,” Rilla agrees warmly. “I didn’t even like poetry before I met you, you know. You can put words together like- like you know how they’re meant to go, and you do it with so much joy that it’s impossible not to get caught up in your stories.”

“I will deny this if ever I am asked, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, conspiratorial, “but your poetry is far and away superior to every scrap of monster poetry I have ever read.” Damien chokes on a laugh against Arum’s scales, and Arum can’t help but nuzzle close to his ear. “And your voice, honeysuckle- it rings like music. I love the sound of it. I love you.”

“You care so deeply,” Rilla continues, “and you try so hard at everything you do. I love you because you make me laugh, and I love you because you are so completely different from me. I love that you and I don’t see the world in the same way, and I love that being with you makes the world seem that much wider and richer because of that. I love that you’re so damn tenacious about everything you set your mind to, and I love how you-”

“Alright,” Damien cries, lips pursed to try to keep his embarrassed smile from growing out of control, “alright my flower I believe you have made your point abundantly clear-”

“You sure, Damien? Because we can keep going for as long as this takes.”

“Quite sure,” he says, and he slips his arms around Arum to hug him properly. “I would prefer to be finished with weeping for today, my loves, and if you continue I will not be able to control myself on that particular front. Tears of happiness, I’m afraid, are still tears.”

Arum tries not to noticeably react to the sound of Damien’s voice now that it sounds more like him, steady and lilting instead of desperate and sharp, but he’s unsure how well he manages to hide his relief.

They stand in embrace for a few long minutes, breathing slowly, with Rilla humming lightly against Damien’s shoulder.

“I… I am not so experienced in… relationships,” Arum says quietly, breaking the silence. “We are… we are still- you have not changed your mind,” he settles on, wincing. “About… about us, have you, honeysuckle?”

“No,” Damien says emphatically, squeezing his arms tighter around Arum’s midsection. “Saints no, absolutely not. You are- the both of you are the best part of my life. That is… part of why it is so hard for me to believe it can last. It feels too good to be true, at times.”

“Alright,” Arum breathes through his relieved sigh. “And… and you do know…” he huffs out a breath of discomfort. “You know that when I say… when we are speaking, and I say that you are foolish or ridiculous- you do know that I- that-”

“I know you do not mean it,” Damien murmurs into Arum’s steady chest, closing his eyes, the gentle scritch of Arum’s claws drifting up and down his back between him and Rilla’s steady heat. “Or- that you only mean them affectionately.”

“If I cross into cruelty, honeysuckle-”

“It is comforting, actually,” Damien says, and Arum can feel the curve of his smile against his scales, “when you are willing to tease me. It is better that way, than if you treated me always as if I were fragile. It feels more honest. It’s easier to make myself believe you, that way.” He laughs, very slightly. “And, if you ever did overstep, I am certain our Rilla would make you aware of your mistake before I would even have the chance.”

“Yep,” Rilla agrees from behind the knight, looking at Arum over his shoulder with sharp, steady eyes. “No worries there.”

Arum, surprisingly, does feel less worried at that. “Good. Would you step back for me, Amaryllis?”

Rilla raises an eyebrow, but she does as he asks. Damien gives a look of confusion for only a moment before Arum’s hands all move in concert to lift him back up into Arum’s arms, just as he had been before.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “You are quite easy to carry, honeysuckle.”

“Of course it’s easy for you,” Rilla says. “You have extra arms to work with.”

“You will find that I am simply stronger than you soft mammals,” he says, preening, and then he glances down towards Damien, checking his expression carefully. “If you don’t mind terribly, little knight, I believe I enjoy having you in my clutches.”

Damien is breathless, face flushed, but the tension from earlier is nowhere to be seen. He lifts an arm to curl around Arum’s shoulder, readjusting in the lizard’s grip to make himself more comfortable. “If- if you insist, Lord Arum,” he says primly. “If you are sure I shall not strain you-”

“Don’t make me laugh. You weigh about as much as you would if you were truly made of flowers.” He grins at the knight, but the eye contact drags out until something earnest slips into his expression. “I could never tire of having you in my arms, honeysuckle.”

“Oh, stoppit,” Rilla complains, swatting a hand through the air. “Stop being so damn cute. You’re making me want to play hooky and I have tons of work to do. Get back to the Keep already and stop teasing me.”

“Of course, Amaryllis,” Arum says, bending in a mock bow and smirking as Damien laughs in his arms at the swooping motion. “A thousand apologies. Keep?”

Rilla scowls, eyes sparkling as the portal opens. “Oh, wait- before you leave.” She comes closer, and presses something into Damien’s hand with a sly smile and Arum gives a pleased rattling laugh when he recognizes it.

“What- wait, your recorder?” He furrows his brow, puzzled, and then tilts his head at her. “Why?”

“It’s more of a player than a recorder, actually, but it’s what’s on it I want you to hang on to for me, okay?”

He blinks, then brushes his thumb over the play button but does not push. “What is it, love?”

“Yes,” Arum says smugly above him, and Rilla laughs.

“Arum and I have been working on this for a little while. Something for you to play when we aren’t around to do what we just did, or for when you’re feeling anxious about bothering us but you still need a bit of a boost.”

“It is why our list was so well prepared,” Arum adds.

Damien presses his thumb down, and Rilla’s voice chimes from the device.

Damien comfort log, version sixte-

It is not a log, Amaryllis, this is why we keep needing to start over-

Shush. Fine. List of ways Sir Damien has charmed the literal pants off of both of us, is that better for you?

There is a short hissing rattle that devolves into a laugh.

Yes, actually. That is much better.

If you wanna go totally informal we can do that too, Arum. So, Damien, we both love you pretty ridiculously and we know you get in your own head about it sometimes, so we thought it might help if you had something permanent that you could pull out when you’re feeling unsteady, you know?

Amaryllis insisted I write out notes beforehand, if you care to know how seriously she took this, honeysuckle.

Notes are useful. They reminded me just now to start with this- Damien, you are the most sincerely compassionate person that I’ve ever known, you are patient, you-

Damien firmly presses the stop button, his eyes shining, and Rilla shrugs. “I started with the same one earlier because I kind of memorized the notes I made for this. I just- we thought this could help, maybe.”

“It’s lovely,” Damien says, swiping at his eyes as Rilla and Arum politely pretend not to notice. “I am- I am not used to receiving the gift of words, oh Saint Damien above, my loves are so full of surprises-”

The Keep sings through the portal, its voice mingling exasperation, confusion, and fondness, and Arum starts slightly, having forgotten that he had already opened the way. “Ah. Apologies, Keep. Will we- see you tonight, Amaryllis?”

“If the experiment goes really well or really poorly I should be done before nine, otherwise midnight at the latest, I think,” she says with a shrug, and then she comes close enough to give each of them a kiss on the cheek. “Behave until then, okay?”

Arum rolls his eyes through a grin, and Damien squeezes Rilla’s hand for an extra moment and kisses her knuckles before he releases her.

“Thank you, both of you, for-” Damien clutches the device, clutches his other arm tighter around Arum’s shoulder. “Just- thank you.”

“Would you believe that we have rendered the little poet near-speechless, Amaryllis?” Arum says, nudging his nose into Damien’s cheek in an almost-kiss. “Impressive work, love.”

She grins, then lightly pushes the monster towards the portal. “Go home already, will you? It’s rude to leave the Keep waiting like that.”

Arum grins wider. “Until tonight,” he says, and then he steps back through to his home.

Damien’s nerves try to rally against him again when Rilla is no longer with them, but the reality of Arum’s textured scales against his own skin anchors him to reality, and the weight of Rilla and Arum’s gift in his hand feels talismanic, magical. He sighs, letting his head sink to rest against the crook of Arum’s neck, and he feels the lizard laugh gently.

True to his word, Arum does not tire of Damien’s weight in his arms. Arum does not tire of him even as Damien himself tires, eyelids sinking under the weight of his exhausting day, nor even as Damien succumbs entirely to sleep, with his cheek against Arum’s shoulder.

He does not even tire of him in the in-between, and when Damien wakes again he is still carefully entwined in Arum’s arms, safe and beloved in their shared bed.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 50 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 1,638

Logan clutches the laser shooter close to his chest, walking as fast as his feet will allow without full-on running to the safety of a blind spot around the corner (running is against the rules). The red pipes of light beaming from his chest do nothing to calm his nerves, which are more frazzled now than they’ve ever been. Worse even than the time a rumor floated around the fifth floor that Mx. Oatmeal was auditioning candidates to be launched into space to check on the jellyfish. (And in case you were wondering, yes, their last name really is Oatmeal. Please hold your shock.) And if his heart leaps into his throat with enough force to knock him of his breath when his foot catches on a loose seam, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own, isn’t it?

He whips himself around the corner and holds his breath, watching the black reflective wall betray the positions of his pursuers. Their shining blue lights bounce with each of their impossibly quiet footfalls as they swing a hard right turn. One turn too early.

Logan exhales as softly as he can manage, pressing the barrel of his shooter to his ribcage to prevent an inhale too deep, too loud. He releases it, one inch at a time, as his heart rate reluctantly slows. Well, as much as it can slow, given the nerve shakedown he’s putting it through by playing laser tag. Why did he let Virgil talk him into this?

Because it was the soonest you’d be able to see each other again in person, his brain unhelpfully supplies. Logan shakes off the thought, daring another glance around the corner. So thorough is his relief at the empty space that he almost doesn’t notice the swarm of faint blue light advancing from the far end of his hall. His heart finds that familiar place around his tonsils once more.

Clutching the scope to his eye, Logan scurries down the corridor and keeps his eyes peeled for an inconspicuous hiding place, but to no avail. Only one way to go—the last fork at the end of the hall. For all the black lights bouncing around in his skull, he’s surprised he hasn’t been completely blinded yet.

He hesitates at the split, torn between retreading the same ground or making a break for the red base, smack dab in the heart of blue territory. Left or right? Familiarity or safety?

The sound of footsteps hammers to his left. Easily five people, maybe more. Not long behind their broadcasted presence is a herd of blue lights, rattling like so many rain clouds along the walls.

He banks a sharp right.

He ventures down the hall on the balls of his feet, uncertain which way to face. If I continue forward, he reasons, I’ll see anyone coming. If I face backward, he counters, I’ll know how much distance I’ve got on those other blues. But I already know they’re there, and I don’t know who’s in the direction I’m heading. If I face forward, though, the other blues might snipe me from behind. So might someone in front of me. Or the people behind me might drop off, and I’ll be evading for no reason, and maybe even putting myself more at risk.

This thought process continues for some time.

He finds himself settling on a weird half-pivot style, spinning back and forth to scope out all directions, rather than, y’know, picking a direction and sticking with it. By the time he reaches the end of the hall, he almost feels optimistic about his chances of not losing any points for his team. This unearned confidence comes mere moments before he rams into someone with the slopes of his shoulder blades.

Logan lets out a yelp, tossing his weapon in the air and scrambling to point it as he whips around to defend himself—or figure out whether he can escape. He hasn’t decided yet.

The gun just about leaps out of his hands again as he locks eyes with Virgil. Where Logan wields an awkwardly large rifle, clunky in his untrained hands, Virgil spins two mini shooters around his thumbs. He likened them to the Splatoon 2 dualies, but Logan wouldn’t know—he’s never played. Supposedly, Virgil’s next mission following this escapade is to be correcting that lifelong mistake.

Virgil, it might interest you to know, is not on the red team. That is, he’s on the blue team. Against Logan. Sorry, might’ve forgotten to mention that.

The correct thing for Logan to do in this situation would be to tag Virgil’s gear with his hand sensors, or just laser the guy point blank. Virgil is much better at thinking on his feet than Logan. Of course, Logan has the detriment of never having played laser tag before, while Virgil apparently has years of experience under his belt, but that’s beside the point.

Aiming his dualies square at Logan’s chest sensor, Virgil cocks his head to the side and levels a grin at him. Overconfident, certainly, but with good reason.

Logan laughs uncomfortably. “What a tangled web, am I right?” His voice cracks on the last word.

“Said the fly to the spider,” Virgil retorts. Luckily for him—or not, as the case may be—Logan is spared from having to come up with a clever remark by the sound of frantic feet. For the briefest of moments, he’s reminded of the ‘...Daddy?’ ‘Do I look like—’ vine, but he shakes it off when he sees the kid rushing up to greet him. His chest glows a proud red to match Logan’s as he barrels closer, evading what looks like a distant swarm of blue fireflies. The rest of Virgil’s team, no doubt.

The next few things happen in very rapid succession, much too fast for Logan to keep up with. It goes something like this: The kid trips over his (probably untied) shoes, crashes into Virgil’s back, and saves himself with a somersault before continuing past Logan, evidently unimpeded. To the best of your ability, do try to keep up, because that in itself was only one event, the fallout of which Logan would never have predicted. At least, not outside of a cheesy romance movie. Virgil pinwheels his arms from the kid’s collision, his eyes waffling between the duealies he doesn’t want to drop and the balance he doesn’t want to lose. At the former, he succeeds expertly. At the latter, he fails spectacularly. Logan, in an understandable display of his inexperience, tosses his gun to the side and thrusts his arms out—to steady Virgil, to save himself, he isn’t sure. His answer doesn’t delay long.

Virgil releases the faintest of yelps—almost like when you accidentally step on a puppy’s foot—as he falls forward. He spreads his arms out to avoid literally punching Logan in the face as his momentum knocks both of them to the ground. It doesn’t really register in Logan’s mind what, exactly, just happened, until his heart decides to start beating again. An ache is rapidly forming along the side of his spine, but he ignores it in favor of wondering just how compromising their position looks.

Each of Virgil’s hands—both of which are still holding their respective dualies—are planted on either side of Logan’s head, his bent elbows keeping their faces mere inches apart. Where Logan’s feet drew up to his thighs in an attempt to curl in on himself, their progress is blocked by Virgil’s legs—one knee pressed to the ground between Logan’s, and the side of his other shoe planted firmly against the outside of Logan’s leg. Logan forces himself to draw a real breath, pleading with his brain to depart from its currently wayward train. It sprints in circles like a child thrown from one of those playground merry-go-rounds, whipping in incomprehensible circles without a care for what Logan would rather be doing—which is literally anything else, mind you. The messiness of this metaphor should offer some inkling as to how hard Logan is working to keep up with his current situation.

Oh my god, is he going to kiss me, is that what this is, I’ve always seen it in movies but never expected it in real life, oh my god, he’s going to kiss me, oh my god, what do I do, oh my god, oh my god, oh my —

Well, you probably get the picture by now. Also some concerns about whether Virgil will take the opportunity to get a point for his team, whether Logan should try to do the same, all that fun stuff.

Logan’s eyes must widen, or maybe his lips part, or something else in his expression betrays the whirlwind of thoughts in his head, because Virgil’s cheeks suddenly turn bright pink, and Logan is pretty sure it isn’t the reflection of the lights on his vest. Well, maybe the lights are helping a little bit, but Virgil’s face certainly wasn’t that red when they first bumped into each other tonight. Logan swallows around a lump in his throat as Virgil freezes, which is at once both better and worse than when he was, you know, existing like a normal human bent over his friend on the opposing team of a laser tag game. What else would be the next most reasonable thing for Virgil to do but jump to his feet, knocking Logan’s gun farther away in the process?

Logan glances behind himself as he props his weight on an elbow, but the kid on his team is long gone. Beyond Virgil, the swarm of blue is still steadily advancing. Virgil spins his dualies around his fingers once more before running to join them.

After he levels a laser shot square at Logan’s chest, of course.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Carpe Noctem

Author: Silent-Fields

Year: 2010

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Richmond, Anthrax & Ebola

Richmond watched as the children of the night careened about in a haze of smoke, extending their pale arms towards Heaven and Hell. After weeks of careful research, tonight was the night Richmond had decided to set out and experience his first goth club. He had chosen Pandora's Box because it offered two rooms spinning various genres, a lounge, and a very extensive bar. He was in the gothic room at the moment, enjoying the contrast of ethereal female vocals with demonic male ones echoing from the club's speakers. With his last few paychecks as Project Executive, Richmond built himself up an extensive wardrobe, favoring mostly Victorian and Edwardian inspired styles, but liking the cuts on many of the more modern clothes as well. Most of his old clothes were then donated, but he did keep a few pieces. A purple dress shirt did look quite nice with a black tie. For his debut he wore a black frock coat, a black ruffled shirt whose cuffs dangled just enough over his hands to be dramatic but not a hindrance, and a maroon waistcoat. Black trousers and pointed boots completed his outfit. He had recreated the eye make-up he had done for Denholm's father's funeral, but chose to simply line his lips' natural shape rather than draw them into a frown. He wanted to be approachable, trying for subtle indifference with a hint of misery for tonight's look. His parents had been more upset about his demotion than his new lifestyle. "You always liked The Addams Family and Tim Burton movies," his mother said with a shake of her head. "And there was that time your father took you to see Kiss. But Richmond dear, can you still support yourself?" Richmond had enough savings to cover any emergencies that may arise within the next few months and tended to live rather frugally, so the lower pay hadn't really bothered him. What had been surprising was how much more comfortable he was now, finding solace in the shadows of the night after years of corporate competition under harsh florescent. Richmond had been so lost in reminiscing that he didn't notice two girls approaching him until they were right in front of him. The taller of the two was wearing a long black velvet dress with bell sleeves, her wavy blonde hair flowing over both her shoulders. The shorter girl's black hair was pinned back with spider shaped sliver clips, and she wearing a black knee-length tank dress with zippers on the straps, fishnet stockings, and combat boots. Both wore matching necklaces, a silver dagger on a satin cord that stopped at the tops of their breasts. Drinks in hand and small purses on their shoulders, they introduced themselves. "Hello, I'm Ebola.” said the blonde, her manner stoic. "And I'm Anthrax." said the other, her tone equally void of emotion. "Richmond." He replied with a bow. Oh dear, should I have created pseudonym? Alabaster? No, sounds silly. Ammonite? Possibly too obscure. Maybe I should have used my last name, it does sound a bit more gothic . . . "We haven't seen you here before, is this your first time?" Anthrax asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Oh yes, yes it is." "They seem to be playing older stuff tonight, not a bad night to drop in. Would you care to join us in the lounge?" Richmond nodded and Anthrax's lips curled upwardly slightly, flashing the tips of a pair of fangs as she turned toward the door. Richmond followed as the girls effortless weaved their way through the dancing patrons towards the lounge. They sat on a vacant purple velvet settee while Richmond sat in an adjacent chair, the table in front of them covered with ashtrays and empty glasses. Candlelight and black fabric draped from the ceiling surrounded them. Ebola sat her glass down and fished a cigarette and lighter out of her purse while Anthrax and Richmond held on to their drinks. "So Richmond, what do you do?" Ebola asked, lighting her cigarette. She held up her free hand before he could reply. "Wait, let me guess. Computer programmer? No no, graphic designer." Richmond furrowed his brow in confusion. "Nearly every guy here works with computers," Anthrax explained. "It provides a relaxed office dress code and a pay check that supports the lifestyle." "Oh. Um, I work in IT." It felt odd saying that, as Richmond still had no idea what kind of work he was expected to do. Though it is quite nice working in the basement. "Ah." Anthrax took a sip of her drink, something dark red. "The bartender here is quite excellent, always coming up with some new delicious and deadly cocktail. I see you've gone with The Green Fairy." "I quite like absinthe." Richmond replied with perhaps too much enthusiasm. He was drinking a cocktail of the previously mentioned bartender's own design. While lounge was relaxing, Pandora's Box was primarily a dance club, and did not lend itself to melting sugar cubes into luminous green filled glasses, so he settled for a mixed drink that contained some of his favorite liquor. "Oh I'm sure you'll meet him eventually." Ebola said, rolling her eyes. Richmond looked quite confused. "Absinthe is the owner and operator of a S&M club nearby." Anthrax explained. "It's members only with the exception of a few events throughout the year." She looked him up and down. "You could probably become a member without too much difficulty." "Oh I see." Richmond wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to interpret that statement. "Um . . . are you members?" "Yes." Ebola replied, taking a drag from her cigarette. "Why, are you interested?" "Not now, maybe one day." Richmond shifted and took a sip of his drink. He noticed Anthrax looking him again and he suddenly wondered if maroon was too bright of a colour for the occasion. "This isn't just your first time here is it?" she asked. "It's your first time out a goth club." Richmond blinked. "Oh dear, was it obvious?" "A bit" she replied, her fangs once again peeking out over her near smile. "Oh. Well I am still feeling my way around the culture." he admitted "It does get associated with a lot of different things." Anthrax commented. "How did you become interested in the lifestyle?" Ebola asked, placing her cigarette on the closest ashtray. "Cradle of Fifth." he replied, hiding his grin with a sip of his drink. "May I ask you two what interested you in becoming goth?" "Sure," Ebola said with a shrug. "For Anthrax it was The Hunger, that film with David Bowie as a vampire and Susan Sarandon's lesbian scene. If that wasn't enough the moment we start the film she's shaking me asking 'What's this song? Who's that bloke in the cage??'" Anthrax glared at Ebola. "You're the one with the thing for David Bowie." She turned to Richmond, "My older brother was into the scene as well so I'd often watch him put on his make-up before he went out and developed an interest from there. As for Ebola, she fancied my brother." "That wasn't the only reason, you cow." She glared back at Anthrax before replying. "I always loved Lydia's outfits in Beetlejuice, I wanted to dress like her every day. But it was so distressing to see her so happy and normal looking at the end of the film." "Oh yes, I agree. Even if the song is very catchy." Richmond swirled his drink in his glass, watching the bright green whirlpool, wondering what question to ask next. Perhaps they know someplace that provides a more appropriate atmosphere for drinking absinthe . . . Ebola reached for her cigarette, noticing a man walking quickly past them. "Good Evening, Lord Catalyst." she called out. The man froze and turned around with a grimace on his face. He was dressed similar to Richmond, but had chosen to accessorize with a top hat and cane. "You two!" he said with a slight twitch, pointing his finger accusingly. He turned to Richmond dramatically, his cape swirling to match his movement. "Take heed my dear fellow! They are harpies, who will snatch away your soul!" He glared at the two girls on the settee. "I do not mean this as a compliment!" "Oh fuck off!" Ebola hissed. "Or shall we tell him why you're so uncomfortable around us?" Lord Catalyst jumped, his twitch increasing in intensity, and scuttled away. Both girls exchanged a look and a snicker before turning to Richmond. "I'm sorry Richmond. We . . . collect boys on occasion but tonight we were just looking for conversation," explained Anthrax. "Though you are very handsome.” Ebola added. "That's quite alright. I must say, you both have beautiful skulls." "Thank you," they replied in unison. They spent the rest of the evening chatting away in the lounge, occasionally getting up to dance when a song came on that the girls insisted Richmond must dance to. Soon the antique grandfather clock in the lounge struck three, signaling that the evening was at an end. "You've both been very helpful. Thank you." said Richmond as they exited the club, trying not to smile. "There isn't a goth rule again smiling, Richmond." Ebola said with a laugh. "Just don't make it a regular habit." After exchanging phone numbers and email addresses the group went their separate ways, with the promise to meet again soon. ----------------------------------- For the first couple of years they were always out together; going to clubs and films and tea parties in graveyards, meeting up to chat and shop and dance. Anthrax and Ebola quickly discovered Richmond had no trouble pulling, his shy demeanor combined with his theatrical delivery proved highly amusing and rather attractive to both goths and non-goths of all genders. Sometimes they would meet just to compare notes on their various conquests. As the years went on Richmond began to come out less and less, mainly communicating by email and only occasionally by phone. He would still show up to major events and travel with them for Whitby, but Richmond slowly withdrew into his own world as Anthrax and Ebola continued to venture out in to the night. ----------------------------------- Neither Ebola nor Anthrax had seen Richmond for months and after weeks of persistent emails and phone calls, he agreed to come out. Before heading to Pandora's Box they decided to meet up at a near by cafe, sitting in a booth in the back corner, for privacy as well as ambience. Always a gentleman, Richmond waited until the girls had settled before sitting down. Anthrax sat near the wall, dangling her fingers over the table candle as she waited for her tea bag to steep. Ebola stirred her coffee, watching the creamer swirl. Both waited silently, wanting Richmond to speak first. He stared at his coffee, watching the stream curl out of the mug for a while before speaking. "My old boss committed suicide. He just jumped out of a window one day." Anthrax gasped and Ebola jumped slightly. That wasn't the whole story of course, but Richmond didn't feel like explaining that the pensions at Reynholm Industries had been tampered with for years and if Denholm had chosen to think about it, there had probably been an easy way to fix them. But Denholm has always been impulsive and unpredictable, up until the last moments of his life. "The one that demoted you?" Ebola asked carefully. Richmond nodded, still not looking up at either of them. "I slept with him shortly before it happened. It wasn't anything serious; I knew that before we did anything. In a way it sort of felt like closure." Richmond took a slip of his coffee, continuing to look at the table. "I wasn't allowed to attend the funeral, but at the time it didn't really bother me. As the weeks went on though, I found myself becoming rather depressed." "How are they treating you at work?" asked Anthrax. "Oh much better, I'm allowed out during daytime hours now. I still don't talk to my coworkers much - don't really see a reason to. I'm just sort of . . . there." Richmond looked up, saw two pairs of sympathetic looking milky lenses, and looked back down. "I'm not quite sure what to do with myself now." Ebola looked at Anthrax, biting her lip slightly. They searched each other eyes for the right words. Today it was Anthrax's turn to have the epiphany, eyes widening as she turned to face Richmond once more. "Richmond, do you remember the last thing that came out of Pandora's Box?" Richmond looked up from his drink at Anthrax, allowing his frown to become one of confusion rather than despair. She reached across the table and took hold of one of his hands. "It was hope." Richmond blinked, his mouth forming a silent "Oh". Ebola reached across and took hold of his other hand, both girls squeezing before letting go. The friends finished their drinks in a comfortable silence. "I think it's the industrial room tonight my dears." Ebola said as she began to rise out of the booth. "We can dance the night away and count how many times someone samples Dune." "No complaints here." Richmond replied, waiting until Anthrax was out of the booth before standing, trailing behind them both as they walked toward the front. "Oh Richmond we must tell you about this ridiculous boy we met at The Black Spider." Anthrax turned as he held the cafe door open. "He looked a bit like you but lacked your depth. When we asked him what his favorite song was he said it was Gary Numan's Dominion Day." Richmond sneered slightly as he followed her out. "First time?" "First and last, thankfully." And so the friends set out to drink and dance, extending their arms towards the infinite possibilities that lay ahead of them, capturing the night in their pale hands.

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2018 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest Part 1.0 Results!!

Again, thank you everyone for your patience. Too many random things popping up over the last 2 weeks. ^^; Whew, just got this posted before midnight. Sorry for the late night post for those of us in the US, but it’s kinda my thing, isn’t it? 

14 total entries between the two categories, but as always, a nice mix of new participants and veterans to this contest. Are the usual players coming away with the goodies, or have the newbies snuck in to wow us with their creative styles? While tumblr will shrink down all the images, I will include the full size uploads (well, almost for all - 2 were way too big) on my imgbox account. Just click on the “(FULL VIEW)” link for each one. Hopefully this way, there won’t be people who have trouble viewing them this time around. 

My thanks to @digitallyfanged and @jaybird-c for helping me judge the entries this time around!! We were all sorta on the same page it seems for our individual results, but it’s always harder when there is a smaller total of participants, because everyone is deserving in their own way. 

Thanks once again also to all who participated! For all winners [and there are 10 of you, out of 14], I will be contacting you as soon as I can about your prizes. If you didn’t win, there’s always next time...which starts as soon as tomorrow, when I announce Contest Part 1.1 (as in Mega Man 11)!!

Without further ado, after the break, here are your top 3 winners for each category, the raffle winners, and all of the fantabulous artwork!

CATEGORY 1: Ride Armor Road Trip 

[FULL GALLERY HERE]

1.) @follyknight: (FULL VIEW MAIN IMAGE LINK) (PHOTOS 1) (PHOTOS 2)

*Tabby’s #1 - I felt like out of all of the pieces, this hit the theme the hardest. Definitely showing the back of one of the cards was a really unique touch to the piece as well. And that LaLinde postcard. The CHEEK. “Hey dad, I visited your girlfriend while on vacation.”

*Jay’s #1 - I have got to hand it to Folly Knight, above and beyond doesn't begin to cover this. Eight postcards, each with a unique theme, composition, and aesthetic, and then all presented together? That's fantastic.

Miyabi’s #1 - Even as simple, everyday objects, that book and cup of coffee are painted so well! I appreciate all the various scenes you presented in your postcards, with emotions ranging in each one of them. From the hilarious “Shrimpin’ Ain’t Easy” bib to Blues’ loneliness in Fiji, your entry was varied and unique. I also felt your entry really represented the theme very, very well. 

2.) @multiple-sages: (FULL VIEW LINK PIC 1) (FULL VIEW PIC 2)

*Tabby’s #2 - This is very cute. I like that it showed summer activities from sort of a different perspective/culture. Not everything is action and traveling. Sometimes it’s small festivals and quiet cafes with friends.  Zero definitely seems like the type to sit around in a cat cafe for hours. 

*Jay’s #2 - Man, it was hard to pick -- a lot of these have great composition, but I think the #2 Spot should go to [multiple-sages for] Cinnamon and Zero. It does a great job at setting the scene for the moment and raises a lot of interesting questions as to how exactly we got here. Obon postcard is also very good, but of the two, this is a slightly less evocative piece (that is, there's less story apparent here)

*Miyabi’s #2 - Both cards look super cute, and show different ways the hunters spend their time not battling Mavericks, while experiencing tradition in Japan. The Maverick Hunter logo stamp on Axl’s was a nice touch. The little kitties are all adorable, either sleeping or pawing around with Zero’s luxurious golden teaser toy hair. Like Cinny is trying, it’s hard to hide your smile while looking at that scene!

3.) Steph O’Dell: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Tabby’s #3 - A very cute image of the ladies at the beach. Everyone needs some sun! I do dig how you made it sort of look like a selfie. 

*Miyabi’s #3 - While the hubby is away, the girls will play. Haruka finally gets out of the house and to the beach with some friends. The selfie style was a different take compared to the other entries, while still feeling like a postcard. While the palm trees look like they’re just ‘shopped in, the rest of the background ocean and sand is deceptive enough where I couldn’t tell you had worked on that until I zoomed in closer. So kudos for making that part of your background look photorealisitic!    .

Runners up (in alphabetical order):

@bracedshark *RAFFLE WINNER ~ X7 4KOMA*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay’s #3 (tie) - Very appealing and exceedingly well-composed, but kind of suffers a little from how they handle the text. There's a sizing issue the cuts some of the text short.

*Miyabi says - I didn’t know I needed to see starfish booblight Zero, but I am amused! XD I totally liked where you were going with the curved arc format for the text to match that familiar typefont on so many postcards, but I agree that the ‘from’ getting partially chopped feels like it just needed to be resized down a little more. Otherwise, a fun pic that fit the theme well!

@chaudandfrends *RAFFLE WINNER ~ ZERO ACCESSORY SET*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - This drawing is ambitious, but I'm afraid it's more pictures with text over postcards.

*Miyabi says - I don’t care if I need to eat my calcium, I am not touching those fishbones, Captain Beefhead. Good mix of action with Yai, Dingo and Netto jumping into the water, to the rest of the crew reclining and enjoying their refreshing dip. The watercolor look to your sky and sand give a little contrast to the rest of your coloring technique for all the characters. LOL at Enzan ducky on his inner tube.

@forceway: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Miyabi says - Much like myself, a Shadow vacation involves not really going anywhere, not really doing anything, and just enjoying the simple things outdoors near home, while sipping an ice cold beverage. XD While you won’t see many Polaroids around these days, it feels fitting for these two bots. I felt it was a wonderful composition, and very enjoyable piece. 

@seabyrocks: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - I gotta say, I love Seabyrocks' sunset lighting, but I'm afraid the pose is a little simple and, I hate to break it to you, Rock, but you put your hands on backwards.

*Miyabi says - Nobody should visit Mega City without a commemorative autographed heroic Rock Light postcard! I do think you did wonderful blending those sunset colors in, on the right side of the pic. The purples and oranges are so pretty in the sky. Very cute!

@tealsalmon: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay’s #3 (tie) - Very appealing and exceedingly well-composed, but kind of suffers a little from how they handle the text, as it blends in with the darker parts of the background.

*Miyabi says - This turned out very pretty, and also gave me a laugh with Zero’s pointy helmet tips poking through his straw hat. Having a butterfly land on X’s finger feels so fitting for his peace-loving ways, and I loved the E-Tank being used as a container to hold all those fresh strawberries. Even the little details like the dirt and grass on Zero’s shovel are well done. 

CATEGORY 2: Ruby-Spears Mega Man: Plasma Powered Up!!

[FULL GALLERY HERE]

1.) @irissempi: (FULL VIEW ZERO SHEET RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO SHEET CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP 2 RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP 2 CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW AXL SHEET RETRO)

(FULL VIEW AXL SHEET CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW X SCREENCAP)

(FULL VIEW LUMINE CAP RETRO)

(FULL VIEW LUMINE CAP CLEAN)

*Jay’s #1 - This. This is the picture that caught my eye immediately. The composition, the lighting -- this is one of those iconic series' images that gives you everything a character stands for. Lumine is going to end the world, and every second of it's gonna rock. Goofball Axl and hardcore samurai Zero are also winners.

*Tabby’s #1 - I love this. I love everything about this. I love the extra mile on making the design sheets, and making it look like a horribly ripped off tv shot. The corny dialogue. Clearly Ruby Spears needed to continue and make us an X series.

*Miyabi’s #1 - You get major kudos for using an actual Ruby Spears production sheet as your format, and adding those effects to make it look just like it was a photocopy I scanned. The grainy filter to make the ‘screencaps’ feel like they came from a VHS tape, and punny one-liners are wonderful! Thanks for putting in all the work to make your entry feel like it would fit in perfectly with the original series! (P.S. - those aren’t booblights for Zero anymore. Those are mammoth pec sunglasses, that would blind anyone who dares to stare at his super cool, manly chest!!! LOL)

2.) @kaitlinexe: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Miyabi’s #2 - Of course this theme was right up your alley, and you certainly didn’t disappoint! I can’t believe how many characters you tried to fit into this collage. While at first glance it might feel like you focused on mostly existing RS-characters, you really did add quite a few updated designs. I just have this feeling that you planned to be even more ambitious than this, but weren’t able to finish it as you hoped. But regardless of the lack of background, the work you put in drawing all of these characters is amazing! Kalinka, Treble Boost Bass, and Time Man are probably my favorites of your redesigns.The more pronounced spikes for Bass’ helmet and claws look so, so good!!

*Jay’s #3 - I gotta love all your new designs, and is your Skull Man taking notes from Hitoshi Ariga or am I just getting my hopes up? Bonus points for all the attention to detail and going out of your way to replicate the original style.

*Tabby’s #3 - You definitely have the style down pat here. It’s super clean. This would make a great poster, with a little bit of background work. 

3.) @pstart: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Tabby’s #2 - Dat Forte. You really changed up his and Gospel’s design quite a bit, and it definitely works within the Ruby Spears theme. Super kudos on the retro graphic design going on here. It almost looks like the back of the old DVD covers too.

*Miyabi’s #3 - Just from the look on his face, I feel like Bass would have the same wisecracks and would sound almost just like Proto Man...only with a deeper voice. And now I’m imagining Proto and Bass both harassing Mega in stereo. XD I like the "super” title twist to your ad, which would have played off the actual game well, if Ruby Spears got another season to coincide with Megaman 7′s release. It does feel like an ad I’d see in old gaming mags.

*Jay wrote - I like your poster design. Good job cleaving to the show's style, good job with the little details like the marketing schlock and copyright, great job with the classy reference to the old school instruction manuals.

Runners up (in alphabetical order):

@forceduser *RAFFLE WINNER ~ RUBY SPEARS WILY CEL*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - Block Man is a neat design; the plunging neckline is certainly evocative. This one, too, could've stood to have more personality exhibited.

*Miyabi says - From what little we’ve heard, Block Man’s dialogue in Megaman 11 is like by far the most fitting to be used in Ruby Spears. So he was a good, and relevant choice to try to tackle. Definitely can see his chiseled pecs hiding under his main shell, and feels like he’s at least been working out on leg day, doing squats while lifting his heavy body around everywhere. 

@hyperbole1729: (FULL VIEW COMIC) (FULL VIEW BURST)

*Jay wrote - Your Burst Man is something. The explosive nipples are going to haunt me. But as stand-out as your design is, I wish you would've shown off more of Burst Man's personality.

*Miyabi says - Your comic totally has the right tone with the dialogue, from Proto’s complaint not being able to deal the final blow, Wily being Wily, and the obligatory ‘sizzling circuits.’  It flows well, has some drama, and I totally read it all in their Ruby-Spears voices. Burst does seem like he’s bulked up just right, with some minor changes to his classic design. 

@3-oclock-blues *RAFFLE WINNER ~ ARCHIE COMIC INKED PAGE*: (FULL VIEW PIC) (FULL VIEW SPLASH)

*Jay’s #2 - Now THIS is promotional material. I love how well Bass is introduced by simply having him rage off into the distance. Everybody else, they're mad because they hate this moment. Bass?  Bass just hates everything. Splash Woman is also a neat design, but also shows off more design than personality.

*Miyabi says - BUT I WON’T MISS THIS TIME...With all the rage and fear from everyone around them, it’s quite amusing to see the two brothers smiling as they hold their glowing busters to each other. It’s chaotic, but also nicely almost ties in with the photo theme of the first category, too. Splashy’s side fins and more flowing waves protruding from her helmet are nice touches to her design. Would have been interested to see how she and other Light/Wily bots would have fit into that family photo. 

[lminnsmars]

Producing A Skull Illustration - Owl

I am now going to use all the skills I have just learnt from the different shapes that I have been creating, to produce a skull image which is inspired by Patrick Seymour. I have analysed his work in the past so I know how he works will his use of lines. The work I have been developing has been helping me to lead up to this piece of work. When looking back at my Pinterest board along with where I analysed three skulls, I think this image below was the most interesting and unusual. I wanted to create something different from a typical deer skull as I felt this has been many times before. I found this owl skull on Pinterest to which I felt this would push me enough to create as only have Patrick Seymour’s work to refer back to. His style of work is very bizarre which I was very attracted to when I first saw his work. 

I knew from Seymour’s work that he uses lines where they all touch each other but I found when looking at the details of this owl, that I wasn't sure how I was going to get them to be like his work as the animal I have chose is completely different to what his normal works consists of. 

I started by placing my image onto the page where I locked it and created a new layer. There are a couple of reasons for doing this to which one is that you can hide the layer whenever you want so you can look at your drawing on its own while going along. Another positive, is that the image wont move when drawing over it. This new layer that I created would be for drawing the design. I can now start drawing. 

To draw the design, I used the ‘pencil tool’ and just drew around the sections that first stood out to me. I felt doing this would then help to to when I got to the more trickier bits as I would be able to see the gaps left and refer to that on what sort of shape to draw. Although, the first shape I decided to draw was the eyes as I feel this is the main element of the animal. To get a smooth circle I used the ‘ellipse tool’ to which I didn't hold down shift as the eyes weren't a perfect circle. I then copied and pasted this oval and sized it down so I could then show a 3 dimensional look but also so I could use the ‘blend tool’. I decided to make the stroke of the eyes quite thick compared to the rest of the lines as this is the section that I want to standout at first glance. From the eyes on, I just created the shapes that stood out to me. At this point of this screenshot, I wasn't sure on how the final result was going to look as it didn't look like an owl. 

However, I kept going and kept adding more elements. For all these shapes, apart from the eye, I used the ‘pencil tool’ as I found it this was the best tool. When creating the beak of the bird, I held down ‘shift’ for the sections I wanted the lines to be straight. In this screenshot, it is also showing where I got stuck on blending this certain shape. In the top two shapes on the birds head, it is showing where the shapes are slightly overlapping one another. I found that the shape at the top of the head is a very weird shape and when it came to blending the shape, the lines would go over this original line that is showing in this screenshot. I couldn't have this happening as it would then overlap the other shape I have drawn. 

I overcame this problem my drawing this unusual shape so its wasn't so pointy and I also made it curve in some points as well so it wouldn't become a problem again. Doing this also meant I had to chnage the shape of the other one I drew as this screenshot below is now showing that it doesn't really sit or join very well together. 

I have now redrawn the shape so it fits the rest of the design a lot better. Although, I still felt there was something wrong with this shape. 

I then tried to change the stroke so that it is a thicker stroke on the outside and then gradually gets thinner as it goes into the centre. Another element I altered, was the shape that was in the centre. I decided to make it as small as possible so there would then be no gap showing in the centre. I think this idea was the reason for it seeming off as I now think the stroke being increased, is the reason for it ineffective. 

Here, I have now switched the stroke back to being thin as this was how I originally had it. I felt I needed to do this as this shape that I have drawn is quite a large section of the bird already and having the harsh black strokes makes it standout even more. I don't want this as the animal needs to show immediately instead of just one shape striking the viewers eyes. Another element I have added in is, the gap that was in the centre of ala the other shapes I have already drawn. I left this shape till quite late on, as I wasn't sure how I was going to draw it yet, but I ended up just just drawing around the edges of the other shapes. Looking back, I'm not too sure on how I feel about it, as the position that I have placed it at, isn't in the centre, which means it has a very different overall effect. 

However, I kept going as I felt I could always adjust some shapes later on when I actually see both sides of the animal. Here, I have now added the last shape to fill the gap. As well as this, I also filled in (using the ‘blend tool’) the two smaller shapes that were showing where the nose would have been. Although, I'm actually not sure about the direction this nose looks like its going. By this, I mean that the gaps in the centre of the both the shapes are quite large and almost seem to large as it looks like I’m trying to show the direction that the nose is facing. However, this wasn't what I wanted. 

Again, I put this aside, and kept going. As you can see, I have now got the stage of placing and positioning the other half of the face. To do this, I selected the whole half of the drawing where I copied and pasted it. Then I selected this new half of the original to which I went into ‘object’, ‘transform’ and ‘reflect’. This then brings up a tab to which you want to make sure you are reflexing it the right direction, which you can do by clicking and unclicking the ‘preview’ box. I then just simply placed the new half next the original. Below, is showing the result of doing this. 

However, I felt the overall look of the animal seemed slightly off for some reason. I discovered it was because the nose section was too far away from each side. I found it being this far apart, made the final result look very much like the halves didn't match each other. I fixed this problem by moving the nose on the original side to which I then got rid of the new half and went through this process gain of placing the other half back down. Now looking back, I could have just moved each side by the arrows on the keyboard but I didn't think of this way at the time. 

Overall, I’m very pleased with this final outcome as I was worried at the start that I wouldn't be able to create something very effective. But, to me, I think this art piece is striking to the viewers. I do think that adding some sort of colour could help the design even more. One thing I didn't notice, was that my way of working is very different to Seymour’s, as he uses a lot less lines than me where he also doesn't show as much of the shapes unlike me. Although, the main difference is that he joins all of his lines together to show the animal as one whole animal whereas I have negative spaces of the background in mine. I can see this does make my design not so put together as almost separates the design up a bit. Nevertheless, I actually really enjoyed retracing the shapes I could see in the skull, where I then used the appropriate amount of lines that I thought worked the best. 

[ishikagupta3796]

Hip Hop Jewelry – The Coolest Trend to Follow

Hip Hop jewelry which is also known as bling-bling is known for its bold look, big size, huge rope chains and what is more important than all of that are the pendants which are famous for their massive size and unique designs including skulls, iced outcrosses, sneakers and other weird designs that may look non-traditional to us but are really attractive. Hip Hop jewelry is more common among rap stars who prefer to wear this kind of jewelry for being massive in its size and features unique designs. But this jewelry trend isn’t restricted to rap stars alone. Anyone can look charismatic with stunning gold chains as long as they are able to carry themselves well and have the ability to mix and match attire with pieces of jewelry.

The Rapper Style Hip Hop Jewelry

But wearing Hip Hop jewelry is not limited to rap stars as it has spread among other people to be worn by actors, sports celebrities and even ordinary people who always like to imitate what celebrities do thinking that they always present what is new in the world of fashion and jewelry. Creating real Hip Hop jewelry is based on using precious metals and gemstones such as diamonds.

Creating Hip Hop jewelry through using gold, platinum, diamonds and other precious materials makes wearing this type of jewelry restricted to celebrities and wealthy people but very costly and unaffordable for most of the ordinary people who want to get this type of jewelry. For this reason, a new type of Hip Hop jewelry is created to be more affordable to those who want to wear Hip Hop jewelry without wasting a lot of money and this type of jewelry is imitation to the real Hip Hop jewelry as creating it is based on using cheaper materials such as silver, palladium, stainless steel, base metals and is encrusted with low-quality and cheap stones such as cubic zirconia and diamonds of low quality.

Among the most famous celebrities who are usually seen with hip hop jewelry is Ja Rule, LL Cool J, rapper Curtis James Jackson who is widely known as 50 Cent, Beyonce, Missy Elliott, Ashanti and more celebrities whether they are males or females. Hip Hop jewelry is created in diverse sizes, shapes and types of jewelry items that we wear to accessorize our bodies and complement our clothes as there are hip hop watches, rings, necklaces, pendants, bracelets and other pieces of jewelry that we usually wear but must be heavy in their weight and must be completely and heavily decorated to be classified as hip hop jewelry pieces.

The popularity of hip hop jewelry increases rapidly among people because it is worn by many celebrities and this is why it can be considered as one of the hottest trends that are presented to us through the world of jewelry. The bigger the jewelry pieces are, the better and catchier they will be. So, if you are one of those who likes wearing massive jewelry pieces that are obvious enough to attract attention, you will need to try wearing hip hop jewelry.

Why is Gold so Popular in Hip Hop Jewelry?

“Yes, these are the big gold chains. As a rapper: I am embarrassed to say that I am in a circle without wearing a gold necklace.” One rapper once said that which illustrated the importance of gold chains to hip-hop rappers.

If you sing quite well, even if you do not wear it, the producer will send you one. The shiny gold chain, she let you shine in the crowd. There may be questions for the hip-hop jewels. Do you need to wear a big gold chain when playing doing hip-hop? What is the standard of a big gold chain for hip-hop? When does the relationship between hip-hop and the big gold chain?

In fact, the first generation of rappers do not wear gold chains, sometime later, we start wearing the gold chain, and then it becomes a fashion and a popular element in the hip-hop culture. It’s like a cowboy hat in rural music. Lips and nails in punk music, leather pants in the music of metal trace elements.

So what exactly is the meaning of wearing a big gold chain?

First, it is made of gold and it is very expensive, at the same time, it is a symbol of wealth. It’s a symbol of their attitude, their achievement, and their hard work. One of the good things of wearing these golden chains is that your wealth will not be exposed. It is a way to express joy and display for a long time. The local gangster boss said seriously, put gold in your neck, in addition to showing the wealth, more importantly, that when the crisis occurs, it can work anytime and the gold chain maybe realized its cost in critical moments.

Second, the gold necklace is actually a kind of decorative jewelry to show that I’m brilliant than the other and I have a unique ability as the jewel. The people who wear them are very cool. Bling Bling, this word is used to describe these big gold chains.

The gold chain expresses an attitude. Many hip-hop musicians like to promote “being oneself”. The richness of the gold chain matches human desires and the rapper places the gold chain in the foreground. We like to wear the gold chain and this style seems to become popular around the world. If you think it is not bright enough, then just hang up two or three, which will make you look amazing.

In short, why do rappers want to wear a gold necklace? Wearing gold necklaces show one’s achievement and attitude while not showing off their wealth. Second, it makes you stand out from the crowd. Third, you tell the world what kind of man you are wearing bling gold chains.

How to Sport Hip Hop Jewelry?

When it comes to men’s fashion, the fashion gurus have spoken, and bling is seriously in! Whether it’s custom-made grills, as advertised by your favorite celebrities and rappers, or everyday statement pieces like glamorous eyewear or sophisticated watches, hip hop jewelry for men seems to be in vogue this season. We have curated eight helpful tips from experts to help you plan your next shopping spree to upgrade your look-book.

Shine and shimmer

The whole point of the typical hip hop attire is to blend the non-conformist baggy pants and hoodies with gold, silver and diamond elements in your jewelry. Do not shy away from statement pieces, and try to construct the rest of your outfit around them. The gold Jesus pendant, for example, styled on an 8 mm Cuban link chain, would make for an amazing combination for a night out on the town. If a minimalistic accessorizing style is more up your alley, then a Gold Moon & Star Necklace from the is the chosen one for you.

Simplistic chains

Contrary to popular belief, sober and simple chains can be an equally capable standalone accessory, if styled correctly. They are best suited to gala evenings and dinners, where going all out on the glitz might not be the best idea. Instead, try styling a three-piece plaid suit, with a Cuban link chain silver, and clear gold and black glasses, for a well-put-together outfit. If you are feeling a bit bold, the gold retro round frame grey lens glasses or 14k gold square lemonade canary earrings might just give your look that extra boost to set you apart from the crowd.

All about the eyes

They weren’t kidding when they said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Good eyewear, suited to the occasion, the complexion of the wearer, and his facial structure and shape can go a long way in sprucing up your look. It can add considerable weight to an otherwise plain and boring getup. For instance, the large white oval sunglasses, as endorsed by none other than Wiz Khalifa, are quirky and can be paired with almost everything in your wardrobe. However, the retro gold flame flip sunglasses, undoubtedly, take home the trophy for the coolest eyewear fashion.

Glam up your wrist

A bare wrist simply won’t do in 2018. The wristwatch has long been one of the most integral articles of men’s jewelry and accessories, and this year, they seem to have gone all out in their quest to carve out a niche market in the hip hop jewelry industry. Of course, you could never go wrong with infallible classics, like a stainless steel luxury watch with a prominent round dial. It wouldn’t, however, hurt to go big for a change and try out eye-catching pieces, like the white gold big face watch or the rose gold presidential watch. Bracelets, underrated as they may be, would also do a bang-on job of upping the oomph factor of your appearance. Of course, the good old chain and bejeweled bracelets will never go out of style, but nothing screams trendsetter like a quality beaded bracelet with a powerful piece, like a gold lion head, at its center.

Jesus and cross statements

The whole movement associated with hip hop began as a form of political protest, with religion being of special significance. Statement pieces, such as the Jesus piece silver, have been around for long, but it’s only recently that they are being touted as the highlights of the outfit. Here’s an essential point to be kept on the frontlines of your memory when trying to incorporate bejeweled pendants and necklaces into your – keep the remnant of your outfit simple so as not to draw attention away from the statement piece of your ensemble or go overboard.

Styling pendants and necklaces

Chains, pendants, and necklaces are the most commonly chosen accessories when it comes to men. It’s not as simple as it seems though. There needs to be a perfect balance between your clothes and your accessories, and just because the two are individually great does not mean that they will pair well together. So, if you are opting for a 10k gold cuban link chain with a micro Jesus piece, make sure that your outfit is either monochromatic or, at the very least, leaning towards the darker spectrum of the color palette, and ideally, without any exaggerated prints or patterns.

Avant-garde combinations

While most would play it safe with tried and tested looks, if you are a man, who likes a good challenge, going avant-garde might be an interesting change of pace. There’s literally tons you could do with good jewelry, the right accessories, and clothes that fit your specific style of aesthetic. There’s plenty of great new pieces, like the gold-green jade Buddha pendant necklace that’s guaranteed to make you the center of attention in the room. The great thing about the avant-garde, though, is that there is no right or wrong combination; it’s the element of the good kind of surprise that you should really focus on.

Customize what you wear

When it comes to jewelry for men, you could opt for the understated, classic look, with regular cut diamonds for your ear studs, an 18k gold Cuban link chain, and an elegant luxury watch to go with your formals. Or, crank it up a notch by settling for nothing less than customized pieces to suit your individual taste, instead of settling for off-the-rack pieces. Of course, the latter might lead to a bit of a pocket pinch, but when you think about it as a one-time investment in a non-depreciating asset like jewelry, it’s actually quite a profitable deal. You will have to work intimately with designers and jewelry technicians to figure out the final outcome of your collective efforts.

Concluding remarks

It’s always a great idea to figure out your unique choice of style before proceeding to buy jewelry. Whether you choose to make your clothes or your bling the headliner of your appearance is your personal choice, but you must always strive to ensure that they are never at conflict with one another but are instead working in sync to enhance your overall look.