#funny to see the beginning sketches… traced my face shape then I was like no. I gotta freeball it. and then that looked bad so I

[saint0psy]

10thsept self portrait - got caught in the rain 🌧️🩶

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn  P.2  Ch.9

A/N - Thank you so much for reading and thank you for your likes and comments. Its really been motivating so thanks. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith   Words - 2,500        

Warnings - Historically inaccurate language, Canadian spelling, bratty Ivar

The sounds of etching on paper tricked his mind into feeling as if he had lived that very moment before. There was something in the way those scratches on her smooth paper warmed his senses, tugging at something deep in his stomach. Perhaps, his body without the influence of his mind was recalling a time in his life when he was most content. Without a city to govern with the backdrop of retaliation, no religion or struggles for power, no toils to be heard, only the comforting, addictive experience of being alone with his Aethelswith.

It left him to wonder if their love, at the beginning, was what kept them together now or would it be their love at the end that would define their lives. That is what he chose to believe regardless of their current trials. Their strength to endure each other's impediments is what set them apart as if they had walked this same soil but in another life, side by side, in another time. Only the Gods held the wisdom to explain the truth but when it came to their destinies being tied, he knew in his bones he was right.

Studying her now, with her eyes down, the thin wisps of black in her drawing beginning to take shape, he watched the way her tongue slid out of her mouth, running back and forth over her lip. A sign of her most poised concentration as her hands created the image already complete in her imagination. She, herself, was a work of art. Perfectly carved. Each feature of her face exquisitely created. If he had sat down with Frigg herself and explained every detail he desired in the appearance of his one-day true love, Aethelswith was truly the result.

Something in the way her body held still, her mind utterly focussed on her drawing that made him want to throw his cup of ale onto the sketch of the vase of flowers. Spoil it all and draw her attention back to him. Attention he was so desperately craving. She was a cruel little thing, he thought, as his eyes roamed over her body.

If it had been his decision their union would have been blessed upon arriving home from England. So, on slow afternoons like the current one, they could be spending their time on more meaningful endeavors. The one he had on his mind, at the moment, involved her sitting on his face. Yes, that would be nice, he sighed with a groan, his eyes tracing the line of her silhouette, savouring how each time she leaned forward, he could spy down the front of her dress.

Do not start, he silently scolded himself, sidelining the thought, knowing the slip up the previous week when he succumbed to her tricks only undermined him. He may be mightier than most warriors, possess transcendent qualities, Gods-like even, but he was still a man with a very lonely prick with a beautiful queen with a beautiful cunt. GODS, he thought to himself, grumbling under his breath, adjusting his cock straining in his leathers. As his woman, he knew she understood the two urges that drove him, fucking and killing and the latter, these days, was providing him no thrill at all.

Clearing his throat, he watched her, waiting for her to glance up. Grunting through his nose when she didn't.

"If you were wondering... I am still suffering," he cleared his throat again, "touching you that once provided no relief."

"None?" she asked, her lips pressed together, her soft blue eyes staying fixed on the striations forming the feathers of a bird's wing.

Dropping his head to one side, his eyes bore into her, feeling impatient. She had a lot of nerve to answer with levity, following such a sincere admission. Looking over to the crackling fire, he snapped his gaze back, glaring in a way that would make a blind man uncomfortable. Sulking down further into his chair, he lowered his chin still observing her.

"This is worse than before.... Before...you know. I should know better but I am a loving, passionate person, after all, so it is your fault Aethelswith. You would think that I would be used to you disappointing me by now. But here we are."

Scoffing under her breath, she blinked up to him, her eyes providing not a shred of sympathy. What a feisty, fierce woman, he thought, fit inside a miniature, enticing body. Disregarding her unimpressed gaze, he wet his lips, shrugging his shoulders as if her attitude was to be expected.

"But I will say, Aethelswith, that if you carry on to much longer, clutching your hollow values as you do, I might have to start jerking off in front of one of those ambitious slaves."

"That would be Freydis."

Scrunching his nose in disgust, he twisted his lips up. "My high standards would not allow for that."

"Only royalty for the king?"

"Only you for the king," he clucked his tongue and winked.

Biting her lip between her teeth, she stared out from between her long, blonde lashes. He could see she was fighting the urge to laugh.

"If you were wondering...." Tipping her head, she shot him a coy smile, "You, Ivar Ragnarsson, are a shit."

"Nice language, Aethelswith!" he scolded with a grin. "You talk to your god with that mouth?"

Smirking to herself, he could tell that she was holding back some perverse, witty comment. Instead, she looked back to her drawing, her hand resuming the soft scores across the parchment.

Huffing at her lack of response, his smile faded and his eyes roamed the room before settling back on her, still, in his opinion, ignoring him and being rude.

"Aethelswith?"

Looking up, she lifted her brows.

"It hurts me that you drive me to say such awful things to you. I hope you realize this entire rift is your doing. Because of your God."

"Ivar, this is such a lovely quiet day. Can we please leave God out of the conversation?"

"No!" he exploded, slamming the palm of his hand down on the desk.

Startling, she dropped her charcoal, bringing her hand to her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Both of their eyes followed the cylinder of coal rolling toward the edge of the table before it tipped over and shattered on the floor.

Leaning forward, his cutting eyes flicked back to her. "Me or your god, Aethelswith? Choose."

"You are asking me a question there is no answer to," she replied in a steady voice, her eyes showing compassion.

Flopping back in his chair, he lifted one of his unbound legs, shifting it to stretch out below the table.

"Maybe I will rethink my hatred of Freydis."

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. "Ivar, perhaps try your own hand with my charcoals. Your mind is restless and you are trying to provoke me."

"I am proficient at anything I try, Aethelswith. I would not want to create a masterpiece on my first attempt and undermine your already flimsy confidence."

Scrunching her brow, she studied him again. "How selfless of you. Always putting my feelings ahead of your own."

Pushing her seat back, she stood, grabbing a cloth from the table and wiped the sooty smudges from her fingers.

"You are going out?" He straightened, unable to mask his disappointment.

"Yes, you know that I am."

"Hmm," he mumbled under his breath, watching her, waiting, hoping she would ask if it was still alright. She asked nothing.

"Aethelswith?"

"Yes, my love."

"Do I not provide for you?"

Glancing over at him, she looked both unimpressed and suspicious.

"Do I not see that you have everything you need?" his voice shot up to a higher pitch as it did when he was being his most dramatic. "Are you unhappy with the level of comfort we enjoy as King and... whatever you are?" he flipped his hand dismissively.

"Ivar, you are looking for a fight. Stop."

With a smug expression, he continued on adding even more flair to the tone of his voice. "I am simply wondering why you feel the need to look for work. Hmm? Really Aethelswith, you want to be a wet nurse? A milkmaid to the young?"

"I beg your pardon?" She narrowed her eyes, confused as to where he was leading.

"Your breasts, Aethelswith. They are on display! You are advertising for work by wearing that dress, no? Am, I wrong?" His eyebrows shot so high on his face, she nearly laughed.

"For the love of God," she groaned, rolling her eyes and snorting at his absurdity. "You are ridiculous, Ivar. They are not."

"Look at that neckline, Aethelswith! How hypocritical. Do you not agree? Christian," he sneered.

"Is that supposed to be an insult? Calling me a Christian?" she smiled. "As far as looking for work, my customers would be disappointed when their babies go hungry from my lack of milk. Would you care to try?"

"Try what?"

"Breastfeeding." She glanced down at her cleavage.

"Aethelswith!" he objected as if offended. "You are not funny."

"Actually, I am."

"No, you are obviously oblivious to the number of times in a day I try NOT to imagine your tits in my face."

Walking around the table to her dressing area, she turned her back to him and began fixing her hair, pinning up the loose strands around her face.

"Ivar, my beloved, you are going to brood yourself to death. I am going to Gussr and Nanna's for supper with Brana and Loni. If you recall," she turned, looking at him with stern eyes, "I invited you and you declined so... I will see you later tonight."

With one last flick at her hair to cover the thin red line where her stitches had been removed, she turned and walked past him toward the door.

"Send my regards to your real family," he jabbed sliding even further down into his chair. His eyes roamed the room looking for anything to distract her with and keep her from leaving.

"Thank you, I will," she replied in an unruffled voice. "In the meantime, I will leave you alone to think on this delightful exchange as I know there is no better punishment for you than to sit alone with your thoughts. I will see you this evening."

"Kiss!" he shouted up into the air.

Turning, she walked back to him, stopping behind his chair and rose onto her tippy toes to kiss his waiting lips, on his bent back face. "I love you," she whispered before turning and heading again toward the door.

"Then wear a fucking shall!" he barked over his shoulder as she opened and closed the door behind.

Typical defiance, he thought, shaking his head as he straightened and turned in his chair to listen. Once he detected the faint jostle of blades and heavy footsteps of his men following her down the corridor, he relaxed and turned in his seat, slumping again and resuming his miserable mood.

—

Sitting in silence, he stared at the small, etched bird with a long beak, sipping nectar from the blossom of a flower on the parchment left on the table. Not his favourite but the likeness was fair. Sighing out loud, he pulled his legs upright from under the desk, frustration, horniness but mostly rejection still festering within. How can she be so unsympathetic, he asked himself, adjusting in his chair, getting ready to stand.

It was only mid-afternoon and he was bored. A thought struck that it had been months since he last practiced archery up at the grounds. Always, instead, grabbing his ax or a blade, some weapon that felt violent. There was nothing quite like the feel of his bow in the palm of his hand, lining up the tip of the arrow and slowly exhaling to quiet his thoughts. Distract him from the almost painful need to rub one out. Scoffing, he looked up to the ceiling and nearly laughed. He loved her so much, he could not even accomplish that without the help of her small hands.

The door opened and closed behind him and he tilted his head toward her, waiting. When she said nothing he broke the silence. "Come to your senses and see that I was right about your dress?"

"It is me, my King," a small voice replied.

Pushing on the table, he slid his chair around to see Freydis standing a few paces away. Much closer than he expected, not having heard her cross the room.

"The queen is not here."

"Yes, I know," she smiled faintly but her nerves still showed.

"Then, why are you here?" he asked, his tone aggressive.

"Her grace has gone to visit her friend and his wife in town."

Ivar's nostrils flared with annoyance. "I did not ask you where she had gone. I know the whereabouts of my woman. Why are you here?"

"I just heard.."

"Heard what?" he cut her off.

Widening her eyes, she continued, almost bashfully, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"What!" Ivar glared at her, squinting his eyes. This girl was either too stupid to sense the danger she was in or too ambitious to care.

"I have been the companion to men that I have served in the past. I was wondering..."

Holding up his hand, he motioned for her to stop speaking. Dropping his chin, he looked at her. Truly looked at her.

"Step closer," he commanded.

Following his instruction, she took two steps forward, her arms hanging at her sides.

"Take off your apron," he ordered.

Stifling a pinched smile, she untied the back of her apron and dipped her head forward sliding the loop off her neck, dropping it to the floor beside.

Staring, his eyes roamed her plain beige dress that showed little flesh as she subtly inhaled filling her lungs with air. Her breasts below the thick fabric pushed forward, looking more pronounced.

"Lift her chin, he quipped. "I want to see your skin."

Lifting her chin, she let her lips fall open. Her eyes never leaving his scrutinizing stare.

"Do you like what you see, my king?"

"Do you know what I see?"

She smiled, straightening, not answering his question, looking rather pleased.

"I see where your pulse is on your throat. I see where the large vein that carries your blood runs down your neck. The very place I will cut into with my ax IF YOU EVER COME INTO THIS CHAMBRE WITHOUT MY WIFE AGAIN," he boomed. "Do not think, for a second, that because you were the whore to some lord that I will take interest. I will NEVER take interest in anyone but my queen," he spat viciously. Leaning forward, he pointed his figure, dropping the volume of his voice to a threatening whisper, "and remember that she is much kinder and more trusting than me. She is also intelligent, so she will tire of you soon despite you speaking her tongue. And, when she does, you will get what you deserve. Now," he shook his finger at her again, "If you EVER," he shouted again, "enter our bedroom while not in her company, I will cut that insipid smile right off your face before I cut off your fucking head. GET OUT!"

Shaking, with tears in her large eyes, she began to shuffle backward, "Y'Yes, my king," she stuttered. "My apologies, my king," she cried, before turning and rushing out of the room, forgetting her apron on the floor.

Wincing from the pain in his legs and his now worse state of mind, he pushed himself to stand and grabbed his crutch. Making his way over to where she had stood, he bent down and snatched the garment off the floor. Walking to the hearth he threw the apron into the fire, never taking his eyes off the flames until there was nothing left.

.

@youbloodymadgenius​​ @naaladareia​​ @whenimaunicorn​​ @lol-haha-joke​​ @ceridwenofwales​​  @jaydelesley4​​  @sweeneythots​​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​​ @fangirl-nonsense​​ @thiahilmarsdottir​​ @redama​​ @mdredwine​​ @didiintheblog​​ @yourpurplequeen​​ @justanothershelby​​ @londongal2810​​ @fields-and-fields-of-poppies​​ @readsalot73​​ @hexqueensupreme​​ @silly-bullshit-collector​​ @littlecarolina94​​ @oddsnendsfanfics​​  @youbelongeverywhere @blonddnamedhandz​ 

[athenagc94]

Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 4

This one is a lot longer than the others, but I wasn’t sure how else to break it up based on the next part, so I just put it all in one.  I know the brooch comes from Walnut Grove, but let’s just pretend it came from Atara instead.

You can read the first the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gust wet his lips with his tongue as he peered closely between the canvas in front of him and the setting sun.  It was quiet.  The only sound around him was the lazy flow of the river beside him and the occasional grunt from QQ who snoozed at his feet. He brought his paintbrush to the canvas and added some purple where the sky met the water.  The purple bled into a gradient of pink and orange that mirrored the sky overhead.  He glanced back at the sunset. It was quickly disappearing on the horizon, so he didn’t have much time before it was dark. The pains of being a landscape artist.  Time was rarely on his side and with autumn quickly approaching, the days were getting shorter.

“So is this one of those important tasks you were telling me about?”

Gust tore his eyes away from the canvas.  Piper watched him curiously, hands placed firmly on her hips.  Her fishing rod was strapped to her back and he smelled the distinct odor of marine life that often followed his father after a day of fishing.  He wrinkled his nose at her and turned back to his canvas.  “It is.”

“Oh really?” Her voice was closer now, but he didn’t look up.  He was on a race against the clock.  He wouldn’t indulge her, not this time. “Because this looks a lot like a frivolous activity if you ask me.” “Well, I wasn’t asking you.”

She didn’t respond and he, for a brief moment, believed she had left.  “So you’re a painter too?”  Gust sighed heavily.  He should have known better.   Piper wasn’t perturbed by his temperament.  She never backed down, she always came back, and Gust let her.  It appears they both were gluttons for punishment.  The rank stench of fish was stronger now as Piper regarded the painting over his shoulder.  “This is beautiful,” she said, “but could you maybe save some talent for the rest of us?”

His lip curled.  “I’m good because I practice,” he said firmly, “years in front of a canvas have led me to where I am today.  I can’t rely on talent alone.”  He mixed a little more pink in with the purple to soften the transition from one color to the next.  “It’s not my fault if other’s fall short by comparison.”

“Light, you take everything so seriously.”  

“What can I say, I’m a straight shooter.”  He heard her shuffling around behind him, but he still didn’t look at her.  The sun was almost gone now.  He didn’t have time to argue with her, but after a few moments, the sound of snuffling and squeals filled the air.  Gust glanced down.  QQ had disappeared from around his feet, but he could hazard a guess of where he’d gone to.  A certain builder liked to slip him an aroma apple anytime she visited the office, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“Can you stop feeding QQ?  He’s getting fat.”

Piper chuckled.  “But he’s such a nice piggy. He deserves all the treats,” she cooed, “besides, I heard an apple a day keeps the doctor away.  Why shouldn’t that apply to pigs as well?” Gust rolled his eyes and turned away from his easel.  Piper sat in the grass as QQ inhaled the sliced apple she’d laid out in front of him.  She scratched him affectionately behind the ear.  “Such a good boy,” she continued, “You’re perfect, don’t listen to your grumpy owner.”  She shot Gust a cheeky smile.

“Well, this grumpy owner is the one who has to deal with that stupid pig at the end of the day,” Gust snapped back, “so I think I know what’s best for him.”

“No offense, but you don’t really strike me as someone who would know or care how to take care of a pig,” she shot back, “you strike me as more of a cat person.  They’re easy to look after, with a mild disinterest in everything and everyone, just like you.”  He glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.  “Just saying.”

“QQ was given to me by my Master when I was studying in Atara.  She said I was boring and thought caring for a pet might broaden my horizons.”  Piper scratched QQ under his chin and he nuzzled closer with a happy squeal.

“Well, you’re a lot of things Gust.”  She was cradling QQ in her lap now and the pig looked like he was living his best life.  “But I would never describe you as boring.”  He straightened in his seat, taken aback.  He wasn’t sure how to respond.  Obviously, he didn’t find himself boring.  He had intricate depth and creativity on his side, though those facets of his being were rarely ever acknowledged by others.

“But it must have been QQ this whole time.”  Piper winked and Gust visibly bristled.  “So, maybe there was a method to your Master’s madness.”

Gust snorted.  “I still think it was all an elaborate prank for her.”

Piper hummed.  “I mean, it is a little funny, too.  As I said, you’re an unlikely pair, but I think QQ likes you.  Isn’t that right, buddy.”  QQ gave her another happy snuffle.  “That’s what I thought.  You love your owner.”

“QQ doesn’t have the capacity to love.  He’s a pig.”  With a sniff, he turned back to his painting.  The sun was barely visible now and he sighed.  So much for finishing this piece before the light was gone.  “Still, I care for him because he was given to me by my Master.”

“You’re telling me that you keep QQ out of spite?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t believe that.”  She was back at his side now, QQ in her arms.  “Look at this face and tell me it doesn’t make your ice cold heart melt.”  Gust arched an eyebrow as she raised QQ at eye level.  He nuzzled up against his cheek.  Gust tried to keep a straight face, but he smiled despite himself.  “I knew it. You care about him.”

“One is bound to get attached to an animal when they’re in your care,” Gust deadpanned as he took QQ and placed him back on the ground.  The pig bounded across the grass to chase some fireflies that had just emerged.  He watched him go fondly.  “But I should pack up,” he continued as he began gathering his paints, “I lost the light, so I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Piper looked up with a frown.  “My bad,” she muttered.

“It’sー” He paused, considering his next words.  Piper had pulled him away from his work, as she was known to do.  But he’d allowed himself to be distracted, so it wasn’t only Piper’s fault.  And honestly, he’d take any excuse to get out of his home for another evening.  “It’s fine, I probably wouldn’t have finished the painting this evening anyway.”

“You sure?”  Gust only hummed in response as he packed up his easel.  “I could try to work with the ladies at the Research Center to see if we could make you a light.  In case you ever want to do painting in the evening?”

“I assure you, it’s fine.  I was painting a sunset and that sunset is now gone.”  He threw his bag over his shoulder and balanced his canvas in his hands, careful to not smudge the wet paint.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head home.”  He gave her a curt nod and brushed past her before she had a chance to respond.  She didn’t follow him .  He tried to ignore that little voice at the back of his mind that was wishing she had.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sound of pencil on paper always calmed Gust. It was therapeutic for him.  He could press as hard as he’d like on a pencil and if it broke, so be it.  He scrutinized the messy sketch in front of him.  His lines were heavy and dark today.  The preliminary design for the new relic museum was slowly taking shape.  It was tame compared to his other work.  A classic two storied building with a cross gabled roof, crafted from polished white stone.  He’d add his own flair to it, of course.  

He traced the curve of one of the large arched windows.  They would be the star of the show if he had his way.  Stained glass.  A wonderful mid morning sun would create a fantastical lighting display in the museum.  His own masterpiece to go down in history. “Stained glass, huh?”  Gust’s blood ran cold.  Piper’s breath tickled the back of his neck.  How long had she been there?  How did he not notice?  He swallowed the gasp that threatened to spill out.  “Who’s going to be the poor builder who has to make all that glass for you?”  There was teasing lilt to her voice.

“I’m just drafting some ideas,” he set his pencil aside and swiveled in his seat, “nothing’s set inー”  The words died on his lips as he balked at the sight in front of him.  Piper was a mess.  Her face was flushed, breathing hard, like she’d just finished running a marathon.  Her wheat colored hair was plastered to her skin, drenched in sweat.  “What in Light’s name happened to you,” his lip curled at her the mud and sand she’d trekked up the stairs, “you’re filthy.”

Piper rolled her eyes and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  They were sticking up straight now.  She didn’t seem to notice.  His fingers twitched in his lap, but he resisted the urge to fix them.  Instead, he chose to stare at them helplessly.  “I just got back from the ruins in the Eufaula Desert,” she explained with a shrug, “I feel the heat out there a little more than I do here.  Trekking across sand isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”  Gust couldn’t argue with that.  He’d only visited the Eufaula once since the bridge opened and he had no intention of returning.  “But,” she continued with an enthusiastic smile, “I came here for a reason.”

“Oh really?” He tried to hide the smile in his voice.  “You aren’t just here to irritate me?”

“You know that’s my favorite pastime, but no, not this time.”  She reached for the bag slung across her shoulder.  There was the distinct clink of rocks and metals as she shuffled through its contents.  “Here we go.” She tugged a book out of her bag and presented it to him.  “Tada!  Structural Dimension Theory by,” she paused and glanced at the cover, “Vincent Azula!”  

Gust’s eyes widened.  The cover was a little battered and it was covered in a thin layer of mineral dust, but he could read the title plain as day.  He’d been searching for a copy of this book for years.  He’d scoured the Free Cities.  He sent letters to fellow architects.  He even asked his Master to keep an eye out during her travels.  Nothing had come of it.  “How did you find this?”

“I found it while I was digging around in the mine,” she pushed it a little closer, “hence the dirt.”

He reached forward to touch it, but stopped himself.  Why was she giving it to him?  This book belonged in a museum, not his bookshelf.  She could sell it and make a fortune.  Instead, she was just giving it to him.  He didn’t do anything to deserve it.  His hand fell back into his lap.

“Do you know how valuable that is?”

“Do I care?” She tilted her head at him, “Albert told me you were itching to get your hands on a copy and I found one.  I want you to be the one to have it.”

“Well, I don’t want to take it.”

He winced.  That’s not what he meant.  He wanted to take it very much, but she was wasting it on him.  Piper’s expression fell, the disappointment clear on her face.  She was terrible at hiding her emotions.  The exact opposite of him.  He lacked the ability to appropriately convey his emotions.  It’s how he found himself in situations like these.  He couldn’t even describe what he was feeling right now.  Shame? Guilt? A deeply rooted sense of self loathing?  Probably a lovely mixture of all three.  Piper was giving it to him.  He shouldn’t turn away because he felt he didn’t deserve it.  That wasn’t his choice to make.  He turned away from her to hide the angry blush burning in his cheeks.  “You can set it over there.”  Piper didn’t respond.  A part of him was afraid she’d left.  He wouldn’t have blamed her.  

“But you just said…” Piper trailed off.

Gust breathed a sigh of relief.  She was still there.  “That’s not what I meant,” he managed softly, “it’s a rare find and you’re just giving it to me.  I was just surprised.  Set it over there.”  He gestured to table off to the side.  “You went through the trouble of bringing it here, I might as well read it.”  He grimaced.  For once in his life, he wanted to say what he meant.  Thank her, you coward. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?”  She sounded confused.  That made two of them.  “I hope you enjoy it.”

Gust didn’t trust himself to speak, so he settled for a dismissive wave.  Not much better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Her heavy footfalls retreated back down the stairs, then the jingle of the front door.  When he was certain she was out of sight, he let his head fall forward with a groan.  He tapped his forehead, once, twice, against his drafting table.  A disaster.  He was a disaster.

“And you say I’m bad with women?”

Gust glanced up. Albert leaned against the banister of the stairs a cheeky grin playing on his lips.  He hated when Albert gave him that look.  It meant he felt like gloating and he was not in the mood for Albert to get on his high horse.  He massaged his temples.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on mate,” Albert threw his hands into the air, “You used to be so charming and talkative when we were in Atara.  You had men and women eating out the palm of your hand and now you can’t even thank someone properly for their incredibly thoughtful gift. What happened?”

Gust fiddled with his watch.  What hadn’t happened?  He’d abandoned his family and fled to the city with no intentions of returning.  Now that he was back, he had to face the consequences of his actions.  He doted on his sister.  He tried to make up for the time they’d lost, but it was clear that she’d grown up without him.  They spent time together, but he could feel the unspoken tension.  They never talked about the manner in which he’d left.  There was an elephant in the room and neither of them made any attempt to address it.  His father.  He bit the inside of his cheek.  Well, his father had Mint who was, by all intents and purposes, more deserving of his father’s affection and attention.  Mint could be the man and son Gust never could.  Portia had been his home, but now he was the stranger.  He had no right to feel bitter and alone.  He’d done this to himself.

“I have no interest in charming the people here.”  That much was true.  He couldn’t fix what he’d done, so he just didn’t bother anymore.  It didn’t matter what he did, whether he was kind or mean.  His future was set in stone as long as he lived in Portia.

Albert shook his head.  “You’re allowed to make friends.”

“I’m not here to make friends.  I’m here to do a job,” Gust replied with a pointed look in his direction, “As are you, we’re building our reputation.  When that happens, we can move onto bigger and better things.  This way, I won’t have any attachments holding me back when that happens.”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

Gust wandered the streets of Atara.  He knew these roads like the back of his hand.  He’d spent his free time as a student exploring every inch of the city.  It’s how he found his favorite cafe.  It sold the best coffee and it was where he and Albert had hatched their original plan for A&G Construction.  He almost smiled at the memory.  They had a lot of dreams back then.

Today, he’d decided to meander through the market district before he had to meet Albert for a long day of schmoozing.  People surrounded him on all sides, but he relished the bustling energy around him.  They were strangers.  They had their own lives and they didn’t bother themselves with knowing him or his business.  It was so unlike Portia.  

A gentle smile settled across his face as he followed the flow of traffic.  He was on a mission this morning.  Ginger’s birthday was in a few months and he wanted to find something to bring back home for her.  Perhaps there was a new book that he could get his hands on.  Anything to get her to stop raving about Journey to the East.  If he heard her gush about Albert’s thoughtful present one more time, he might just scream, especially when he knew where the book really came from.

He glanced at the shop stalls with mild disinterest.  Nothing really stood out to him.  Most of these shops sold boring knick-knacks.  Cheap and plentiful.  There was nothing of real value, and certainly nothing worth giving his sister.  Just as he was resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t find anything, he paused.  A small display of jewelry and brooches was set up on the side of the road, glistening softly in the mid morning sun.  He examined the pieces for a few moments, but one in particular kept drawing his eye.

It was a brooch, reminiscent of a pinecock feather.  A gradient of gemstones went from deep emerald to a pale blue and the golden frame was lined with pearls.  It was beautifully crafted.  It made him think of Piper.  He knew she  would appreciate the steady hand it took to make it.  It would also compliment her complexion.  He shook his head, mentally scolding himself.  No.  He was looking for a gift for his sister, not Piper.  He took a hesitant step away from the display, but couldn’t manage another.  His eyes stayed trained on that brooch.

He was conflicted.  On the one hand, getting Piper a gift wouldn’t be completely out of the question.  She had given him a birthday present and that architecture book, so getting her something in kind would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?  But on the other hand, he didn’t want the ramifications that came with giving her a gift.  If others found out, they’d read into it and then rumors would start to fly.  The last thing he wanted was for people to be prying into his personal affairs.

He willed his feet to move, to put these silly thoughts out of his head and continue down the street. He’d find something else for Ginger and he’d meet back up with Albert at the exhibition hall.  They’d charm investors and showcase the wonderful projects he’d spent months working on, then they’d come home.  He’d act like nothing had happened because it hadn’t.  Simple.  A moment passed, then another.  People pushed past him on the streets and for the first time he felt smothered by the city crowd.  Another moment passed and he swore under his breath. He reached for the gols in his pocket, and before he could stop himself, he was waving the shopkeeper over.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sun had just broken over the horizon when Gust slipped out into the quiet streets of Portia that morning.  He wanted to catch Piper before she made her rounds through town, away from prying eyes.  In order to do this, he knew he had to get to her workshop at the crack of dawn. He had no idea how Piper did this every day.  He often saw her milling about during his late night strolls with Ginger, so he knew she worked into the late hours of the night.  There were rumors of her passing out on more than one occasion.  Yet, without fail, she managed to roll out of bed each morning with a smile on her face.

He muffled a yawn in his hand as he watched the sun peek over the front gates. Sunrises were never really his thing.  He preferred the calm that came with a sunset and the promise of night.  The rich pinks and oranges of a sunset were richer than the pale hues that currently colored the sky overhead.

As he approached the town gates, he placed a hand protectively over his pocket.  The brooch shifted under his fingers as he walked.  He was only slightly embarrassed that he’d practiced what he was going to say this morning while he was getting ready.  He saw the brooch while traveling in Atara and thought it would suit her.  Simple, easy to remember, there was no way he could mess it up.

The soft, ceaseless, hum of her machines filled the air as he approached Pipes & Bricks.  Piper was currently bent over her skiver, unloading several bolts of fine leather.  Today, she’d traded her usual top knot for a simple braid.  Small wispy curls had already come loose and framed her face.  It was a surprisingly delicate look for her.  He willed his heart to stop racing as he cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Piper.”

She looked up from her machine and he noted the smudged grease across the bridge of her nose. “Gust?” The surprise on her face was quickly replaced by an amused smile.  “Do my eyes deceive me or is Mr. Clean Freak coming to my workshop of his own freewill?  Surely, the Dark Ages are back upon us.”

Gust teased his lower lip between his teeth.  This was out of character for him.  He realized that now, standing on the other side of her gate.  Her surprise was warranted.  He never went out of his way to visit anyone, yet, here he was at an ungodly hour just to give her a present.  Panic began to fester in the pit of his stomach.  He hadn’t even considered what this would look like to Piper.

If she had suspicions, she didn’t let it show as she continued, “What can I do for you?  Got a commission for me?  That’s normally why people stop by these days.”  She sighed wistfully.  “You know, I’d love it if someone stopped by just to say hello.”

“Albert and I went to Atara last week.” Gust wanted to kick himself.

Piper gave him an owlish look.  “Yeah, I know,” she said slowly, “you’ve been raving about your exhibition for months.  Did it go well?”

“It went surprisingly well,” he tried to play it cool but the excitement in his voice was undeniable, “We had a lot of interest from investors, so we’ll see what happens.”  Gust and Albert were pretty happy about this development.  Sure, Albert was still nursing the remnants of a hangover after all the schmoozing and Gust had locked himself away for a few days to recover himself.  People were draining in general, but those events always killed him.  Their hard work paid off though.  Albert had a meeting with an investor later this week.

“Well, that’s great to hear.  I told you everything would be fine.”

“I guess you were.”  He gave her a soft smile and she returned it.  “Oh right,” he tugged the brooch out of his pocket and offered it to her, “I got this.”

Piper set the bolts aside and crossed the yard to get a closer look.  Her eyes widened and there was the faintest hitch in her breath.  The panic in his chest was quickly replaced with a sense of pride.  She liked it.  He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes.  “It’s gorgeous,” she sounded breathless, “is it for Ginger?  Her birthday is coming up in a few months, isn’t it?”

Gust’s expression fell.  She thought it was for Ginger.  It was obviously for her.  The jewels matched the blue flecks in her eyes and the gold inlay complimented her sun kissed complexion.  It was practically made to be worn by her.  That’s why he bought it.

“W-What no, this isn’t herーwhy would Iー”  His brief bout of confidence was waning fast.  He hadn’t anticipated the confusion, but he could still save this.  He just needed to get the conversation back on track and stick to the facts.  “Actually, Albert gave it to me.”  The lie tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.  He sucked in his breath through gritted teeth.  Gust was a lot of things.  Crass, rude, more than a little evasive and standoffish, but he wasn’t a liar.  In fact, he considered himself truthful to a fault.  Still, he found himself lying.  The worst part, there was no need to lie in this situation, but his mouth refused to listen as he continued to spout bullshit. “I have no need for it.  So, you should take it.”  He offered it to her.  “Consider it payment for the book.”

Piper looked taken aback by his abruptness.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she scratched sheepishly at the nape of her neck, “but you do realize the concept of a gift, right?”  Gust’s brain was short-circuiting, he tried to respond, but he could only stare at her.  This was a quickly sinking ship and he needed to get away, but his feet wouldn’t move.  He wanted to scream.  “The book I gave you was a gift,” she continued slowly, “you don’t have to pay me back.  I wanted you to have it.”

And he wanted her to have this brooch.  Wasn’t that much obvious?  He narrowed his eyes at her.  “I understand that,” he said tersely, “I’m just trying toー” He paused.  What was he trying to do?  At the moment, he was trying to end this conversation so he could go and sulk somewhere far away from her, but he couldn’t even manage that. His fingers closed around the brooch, its sharp edges digging into his palm.  “Nevermind, if you don’t want it, I’ll find someoneー”

“Woah there buddy,” Piper reached forward and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  Her grip was surprisingly strong as she tugged him closer.  “I never said I wouldn’t take the brooch.  I just wanted to clarify that what I gave you was a gift.”  She offered him a small smile.  “I appreciate that you thought of me.  It’s beautiful, so I’d be happy to take it off your hands, as a gift.”

Gust stared at her.  She was able to say what he couldn’t.  He’d come to her workshop to give her a gift and he couldn’t even articulate his true intentions.  He’d lied to her.  Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach, but there was something else in the mix.  It was a feeling he felt in the quiet hours of the night or when one of his concepts was ripped apart by a client.  Shame.  He was ashamed of himself.  It had taken a brooch to make him see how socially stunted he’d become.  Now he really wanted to go home and sulk.

“Payment, gift, whatever.  Just take it.”

Piper plucked the brooch from his hand and fastened it to the front of her coveralls.  The jewels glistened faintly in the early morning sun. “What do you think?” her tone was bright as she placed a hand on her hip, “I think it brings out the grease stains on these things, but in a cute way, ya know?”

Gust swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.  He wanted to feel good.  He’d given her the brooch after all.  But this entire ordeal made him feel empty.  He forced a smile across his face, but he knew it came out more like a sneer.   “You’re hopeless.”  There was a brittle edge to his voice and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was calling Piper hopeless.  Or himself?  He needed to leave before he made things worse.  “I should go,” he spun on his heel and hurried back up the path, “try not to visit the office today.  You’re loud and distracting.”

“I make no promises.”

“Goodbye Piper.”

“Hey Gust.”  He paused and turned back over his shoulder.  She offered him a small wave.  “Thanks for stopping by to say hi.  Don’t be a stranger.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

It’s November, but I still want you part 3

Genre: Drama, romance, smut (eventually), werewolf AU, art school AU

Pairing: Artist!Jimin / Werewolf!Jimin x Reader

Warning: Mention of mating and knotting, toxic relationships

Summary: A first love is always bittersweet, but this time it is perchance the hardest pill to swallow. Especially when the aftermath can still be felt years after.

In the month of November.

Author’s Note: I sincerely apologize for the long period of waiting for this fanfic to finally update or announce it is discontinued. However, as you can see, the latter does, fortunately, not apply. Henceforth, I would like to say this fic is still up and running with this chapter likely being the second-to-last one. It is time to wrap up some old projects.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (yet to be written)

Masterlist

Two autumns without sketching the falling dying leaves together, three winters without sharing warm beverages in the usual spot in the same coffee shop every day, three springs eyes beheld the fall of cherry blossom without him and three summers passed with so much as a word.

Ever since the young artist left, nobody closely connected to him has seen the lad. Classes went by unattended, fingers nervously and softly ticking a pencil against the table surface in the exact spot that would have formed the workspace of the one who walked away for the safety of the heart it hurt. However, what was not given a thought at the time, was that the flight inflicted more harm than when everything had been as of old and the night we first laid down as lovers remained cloaked in silence.

Stayed our forbidden fruit.

Even during graduation, the raven-haired creator was not there to celebrate the end of endless study hours stained with paint, charcoal and cramped digits. Not even the six guys with whom a group of brothers was formed had the knowledge concerning the whereabouts of the wolf boy. Nevertheless, something had tainted sincerity for the older ones’ attitude stirred up a deep-rooted sense of suspicion within, but it could also have meant nothing at all. Regardless of the truth, they tried to remain in contact and lighten the mood as much as possible, elevating the gloom left behind by the dear friend turned lover turned... away.

Limits were pushed too much, the warnings and pleads should have been heeded but the mind was too naive to notice the danger lurking beneath the mask of a familiar face, skin flushed with the anticipation to have fingertips grab it tightly and possessively by the small hands that had held even smaller ones throughout many sleepless nights. The animalistic behaviour that needed to be repressed was foolishly underestimated, leading us to ruin.

Jimin has never had to carry the blame for the situation because the mistake is entirely that of the individual who thought to be able to handle what clearly could not be. The mirror shows the reminder of devastating stubbornness daily, still adorning the neck in the form of two pieces of jewellery. The gift that has become the last physical memory of a beautiful moment in life. One thin bronze chain with a crescent moon pendant made of the same metal hanging from it and one chain that is a tad longer and made of a mixture between silver and gold with a handcrafted wolf pendant crafted from tiger's eye matrix.

Only once have they been forgotten, when it was the youngest among the broken band of comrades - Jungkook - who held a soul devoid of love and craving it so badly it gripped the first source of simulacrum tightly to have a taste of it again. The morning brought the shame of having used the sweet guy’s hidden sentiments portrayed by gentle kisses and careful movements between the thighs wrapped around a slim waist after coming undone twice before even starting in earnest. The whined and panted ‘I love you’s were already a vague memory when the sun rose over haphazard sheets partially concealing a thoroughly dishevelled dark bedhead and back engraved with scratches that likely caused more pain than pleasure. Nevertheless, perchance it is because of the guilt of having played a sick game with genuine emotions that the decision to stay by the youth’s side was made.

Eventually, the self-loathing blame turned to a non-sustainable yet believable form of affection reserved for lovers. Almost akin to what was only temporarily had with Jimin.

Until he, too, walked away for the same reasons.

Funny.

History repeats itself.

But not today after finding a pamphlet for an art exhibition near the marketing office where a fortunate job as a graphic designer was picked up soon after graduation, the grand opening of which is tonight. Normally, similar events would have been evaded since too many bodies occupy a space which cannot possibly handle them all at once and the gallery visited at a later date when the hype has died down enough to allow for calmly enjoying the art. However, the default course of action does not form an option in this case due to the artist presenting his piece of art.

Because it is the work of an old friend who gave two beautiful necklaces as a gift a long time ago.

A refugee lover who bound a reckless girl to him with the jewellery.

An onyx wolf to whom an apology is in order and the guilt more than justified.

Park Jimin.

The low heels of ballerinas click on the marble linoleum floor of the bare brick space after finding a sign outside pointing towards the entrance of the grand creative event, eyes wavering to the sides to observe the sketches of faceless women while also frantically searching for the grand master himself. Shreds of murmured conversation compose a rumbling radiating flood when entering the edifice, making the discovery of the wanted man that much more difficult since a familiar voice could not possibly be recognized in this chaotic mess of speakers.

The quest is halted when the gaze wanders to the side entirely, the attention of the panicked thoughts about coming in vain and being rejected from the beginning of the conversation suddenly focusing on a grand featureless portrait. To any other person, it might signify the blank canvas an individual essentially forms, smithing yet another temporary identity to go by until it loses its beauty like its predecessors and repeating the process each time. Withal, the shape of the face is undeniable and cannot be unseen as its familiarity is unavoidable.

Self-hatred, unintended hurt, past mistakes and various trips of guilt are depicted in the simple though meaningful drawing.

It is mine.

My face.

‘It’s the biggest piece of the collection. I wanted to give this person an expression yet couldn’t because I didn’t know what it should look like. Hence, I settled for this.’ The casual tone betrays not knowing who the listener is or the artist is beating around the bush because he, too, cannot handle the strangeness of the circumstances caused by a mayhaps unwelcome visitor in the way it perhaps should be.

‘Your lines are still off.’ A slim index finger points to the traced shape of the jaw, indicating inherently nothing although the turn to bad humour somehow seems a logical direction to take in the situation. Just as it has always been since it functions as a shield against overwhelming emotions. An old habit rooted in days gone by which dies hard, as those kinds of things tend to do. ‘I thought you’d gotten better at drawing by now, Park Jimin.’

‘Y/N.’ The manner of speech indicates having recognized the admirer far before the conversation even started, relieved delight mixed with agonized graveness.

The scars still hurt.

The fumbling digits reaching out brush against those of the individual who remains focused on the image in front. Eventually, they entwine with those that had to be let go after fully committing to the steadfast faith of being a wolf, but after more hesitation upon noticing the awkward gesture than had ever been the case in the past. ‘Can you look at me?’

‘I’m sorry, Chim. For everything. I push- pushed you too far.’ The burning tears slowly begin to create small brooks over the cheeks, the unoccupied hand wiping them away as the other tries to free itself in order to make an escape. A plan that already comes too late. ‘I shou- shouldn’t even be here. I have to go.’

But the fingers of the once intimately loved beloved remain strongly wrapped around the others, their counterparts coming to rest where frantic digits endeavoured to stop the water, thumb gently continuing the attempts with affectionate sweeps. Gazes meet by means of forceful albeit kind-hearted compelling, the palm on the face of an unworthy mistress turning the head to do so and fulfil the earlier disregarded request. ‘That’s not how you apologize to someone, Y/N. You’re raised knowing better.’

Jimin has changed, not only on the inside - if there has been no help in the form of therapy to drive the insane beast out - but on the outside as well. Onyx has made place for pale sandstone which resembles limestone if the light falls on it in a specific angle, paint-stained shirts and jeans are replaced by a stylish nightly black outfit of which the shirt lights up in the purplish lilac shades of twilight whenever it is illuminated directly. Of course, this style has merely been chosen to conform to the formality of the event, though there is a suspicion former characteristic clothes and their sentiments have been abandoned aside from the casual ones that were often worn during a happening like this back in college.

The past has clearly been endeavoured to be erased.

Good.

I was not the only one trying.

Nonetheless, the most obvious physical change makes eyes widen in astonishment due to the uncharacteristic feature.

Purple flowing over in sickly yellow on cheekbones, a scar marring the left side of a sympathetic expression as full lips speak so kindly in spite of the immense wrongdoing three years ago, the bottom split in the middle by a healing scarlet wound.

Hurt.

Actual clear signs of pain.

Afraid of the impact that may or may not still be felt, two small hands - the left one slipping easily from the grip weakened by oddly loving renewed feelings - languidly rise to remove those framing a face the artist idiotically seems to adore still and trace the trail of inflicted harm with a slightly opened mouth. ‘What happened?’

A spark lights up the warm dark brown gaze of the lad who was thought never to even kill a fly, moved by the concern and showing this by the tiniest hasty smile. ‘It’s alright, Y/N. Just...’ Lashes flutter shut as the gesture is leaned into, briefly forgetting whatever coverup is created to not ignite any type of worry akin to the sort that has been tainting living in general since the first and last bittersweet night together. ‘Just business... nothing... serious.’

A warm teardrop slides down the wrist enveloped by the fingers which were good-naturedly removed, the narrow surface of skin snuggled against regardless of the barely audible pained whines the motions evoke. Teeth lightly grazing over the surface, just tangible enough to send shivers down the spine in a paradoxical mixture of pleasure and worry about the wolfish behaviour that essentially drove us apart. Furthermore, what circumstances could have asked for bodily harm, form the root for obvious pain? ‘Jimin, what’s going on? Talk to me.’

You never fought, bodily nor verbally. Did you get beat up? What happened to you? On the other hand, we both changed and know nothing anymore. Notwithstanding, just tell me. Tell me what caused this, what took place and of which the visible aftermath is so damn painful to witness without knowing the background.

The soft kiss on the pulse evokes a hitched breath, astonished by the blatant display of wishing for intimacy once more even though it brought nothing but misfortune in the past. ‘I still want you. I wish... I wish you could stay.’ The last word is a mere whisper, only audible to the ears of the listener and the speaker in the ocean of murmurs. ‘Stay with me, be mine again.’

More tears roll down the smooth skin of the forearm before watery solemn dark irises quickly turn from the former point of focus to two staring in wonder when the wrist manages to slip from the novel fairly firm hold, having made use of the temporary weak spot caused by sadness. Fast as lightning hands pull the artist into a tight embrace at seeing a quivering pillowy bottom lip, determined to keep the sobs dimmed as much as possible and to not lose face to any potential buyers or investors.

‘Don’t cry, Chim. You’re not at fault, never have been. You were right to walk away and I’m not even mad at you for doing it. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.’ Kindly, bleak sandy locks are affectionately stroked while nuzzling the old lover’s warm neck, growing drowsy, no, getting hypnotized by the heat radiating from the body still built like a dancer’s and the musky alluring scent containing hints of turpentine and summer flowers. ‘As I said, I pushed you too much and should’ve listened. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

The hug tightens, star-crossed lovers holding on to one another as if the only way to stay afloat in the turbulent sea of life is by clinging to the buoy in the shape of the other beloved.

And just for a split second, all seems well. Exactly like the old days, filled with hope for a future together.

However, the girl who ruined everything might as well drown in spite of the lifeline because the blonde lad lets go too soon, arms untangling and keeping the adored soul at bay by creating a new distance with shaking hands, just enough not to touch directly. The voice has gained a ghastly tone, speaking as if this time the farewell is permanent. ‘Let’s agree to disagree.’

A foot sweeps uncertainly over the alabaster marbled linoleum, acting as if removing a stain on it as locked gazes are briefly broken up while a hand combs through the strands that were lovingly caressed a split second ago. Withal, like is the case with the entire body, they shortly find each other again afterwards. ‘I really wish we could have a second chance, Y/N.’

‘If- If you want, we can still-’

A solitary head shake cuts off the desperate argument that was about to be given, nullifying every spark of hope which had collected and started a grand bright foolish fire within. ‘We can’t. You’re better off without me. Vice versa it’s not the case, but even though I still long for you, I know that a part of loving you comes with sacrifice and the desire for you to be happy.’

‘I was with you! In fact, I was the most cheery whenever we went out to the park to draw the flowers in the flowerbed or to the coffee shop. The most restful nights were those when you were lying beside me. Now, all that remains of those beautiful moments are these.’ Fingers clearly display the thin bronze chain with a crescent moon pendant and one that is a tad longer and made of a mixture between silver and gold with a tiger's eye matrix wolf pendant. ‘A daily reminder of what we had. Of you.’

A melancholic grin carves itself onto full plush roseate lips, an almost invisible nod acknowledging the meaning behind the jewellery which clearly does not add any convincing nor credible reason to change a stubborn mind set on its own opinion. ‘You still have them. I’m glad because I thought you’d have thrown them away. Or, if not you... never mind, I don’t want to think about that.’

‘Think about what? Jimin, you’re not making any sense. The last time you spoke in riddles, there was clearly something going on.’ The old Self awakens, having pushed aside the pathetic contemporary ego out of the overwhelming determination to not let things remain unresolved upon being compelled to part ways like before. To leave behind loose ends. ‘At least honestly tell me if everything is alright this time. Or just the reason for why you look like you fought a war and lost. Anything. Don’t send me away without a proper goodbye, fill up the distance with making this fucking lingering concern about you I’ve been living with for the past three years a heavier burden than it already is. Yes, I understand you don’t want me by your side anymore. But, I beg of you, grant me this last favour.’

‘I never said that, that I don’t want you by my side anymore so don’t put words in my mouth. Besides, if I did I wouldn’t wish for you to be mine again, would I? I can’t tell you what happened when I was gone, merely that it has to do with what caused our goodbye in the first place. As for the wounds, it’s nothing to be worried about. I’m fine.’ Hands mould into trembling fists, the emitted heat turning to menacing rage.

The made point is justified because the used wording which is reacted to never had any valid worth, to begin with. Rashness can push one’s own opinion despite the nullifications which are or are not already present, making the individual solely focused on their hellbent desire to drive their own beliefs through.

The realization of this calms the raging storm within, knowing that more yelling and arguing will lead nowhere. Instead, a deep steadying breath is taken and a new attempt at making amends undertaken. ‘Chim...’

A careful step forward is rewarded with a petrifying glance, feet immediately stuck in the place of the last retraced track. Stare wavers for a moment to the spot which was nuzzled against and kissed longingly, imagining what could have happened had the gesture advanced. Memories of the first and last night as more than friends resurface.

Even the worst event is no longer regarded in a negative light, a hidden absurd persona craving for it to happen again.

Get knotted, feel him again.

He is not a senseless beast, but a caring young man. Why do I long for that side of him, thinking in such terms? Furthermore, how did I get so carried away by just hugging? That’s never happened.

Nevertheless, the contemplating train of thoughts inherently boils down to the same wanton wish.

To be his.

‘Go.’

Simply have him back.

Resume our tale.

‘Please-’

We can work this out. We can get you help. Therapy. You’re not an animal, Jimin. You don’t have to hold back because of it. Come back. Come back to me.

‘Go!’ The command is growled like a wolf grown sick with the obligation to wait for a dumb opposing party to leave and giving a warning shot that any further provocation has consequences. The sternness rapidly fades, softening into sweet stained nostalgia when realizing what the hurtful impact of the chosen attitude is. ‘Go, Y/N. Just go. It’s better for us. For you. I have nothing to offer, nothing to be better than the man you belong to.’

‘I belong to nobody. I’m my own person.’ It is weird to hear the statement of essentially being some individual’s property being said with so much certainty when the speaker initially was the one to say a person should never be subject to another. ‘That’s what we artists are, independent and stubbornly liberated.’

A weak bubbly chuckle, no extravagant motions that express amusement as per habit. Instead, composure portrays not wanting this outcome to the circumstances either and come closer to make resume making amends as intended by the graphic designer who was once a free-spirited artist like him, continue where the mutual story abruptly ended. Yet, behaviour obviously gives away that the alternate route is not possible if it ever has been. ‘Goodbye.’

End of the line.

Don’t. Don’t do this, you bastard!

But the tongue is rendered silent, paralyzed with grieving shock and the ability to speak abandons the mute girl with the leaving footsteps of a sandstone wolf clad in black like the starry night sky.

The same heaven above a lonely head wandering the street again after leaving the gallery, fighting to tune out the repeating material of the emotional conversation while low heels click against the concrete. Regardless, the words are resonating as if freshly spoken and fingers have the remnants of touches by other ones clearly engraved in muscle memory.

But they have to take a moment to remember the hand grabbing them now for, although more recent than Jimin’s, it seems a longer period of time has passed since it was held by this particular one. Even longer so for the voice accompanying it, containing a strange sort of confidence that would have been quite uncharacteristic up until last January. ‘He left you again, didn’t he?’

Raven locks partially shroud feverish yet trusted doe eyes above a cute nose, a paradoxical bunny-like smile playing on pale pink lips seemingly belonging to a predator. But the person in front after accidentally bumping into them after being pulled flush against a well-trained chest is known to be better than that, never having had the aura of cunning dominance. Henceforth, looking down is the kind gentle boy with the scratched back who disappeared because of the reasons another had already given three years prior.

But Time has the ability to evoke a transformation in every aspect of and being in existence and it forms the cause for this grown-up version of a shy comic artist whose creative persona is a pink muscly rabbit. Although all former anticipating illusions are forever erased by the reflection, it is still a grand comfort to see a familiar face which holds the credible promise of staying. Thus, there is a glad surrender to the intoxicating heat scented with a delicious potion of peppermint, blue ink, markers, lily and jasmine.

To the hands framing the face perfectly and body pressing against one drunk on the temporary happiness offered by the situation.

To Jungkook.

[3431jessica]

A Road to Tomorrow

In homage to the recently released “Paw of Destiny.” I reshare my old fic that seemed to be suiting to the occasion. 

Complete set could be found here. (dedicated to my fellow KFP lovers @pixarchan @m4dg4rl @7oy7iger @ani-dragmire  @gsmith1030)

Po's very favourite thing about his daughter was.. - well, to be fair, there's really not just one thing. It's more of a list. A long list.

Of everything about her, basically.

After over a decade married to the love of his life and raising a number of orphaned panda and turned their life around, it was finally their turn to taste another facet of parenthood.

Ping Ying Yue - as the name meant: the reflection of the moon - she was a revelation to him almost every day. He saw his father's kind eyes, his mother's selflessness, his own regrettable clumsiness, and, most endearingly, the sparkling intellect of his wife, Tigress, all packed into the small form of his daughter.

She's also so amazingly herself, somehow - a four-year-old dynamo that exhausted him more than most of the things he'd faced during his time serving the valley. Ying Yue wasn't the natural Kung Fu Master that Tigress was at her age, but she loved the art anyway. She'd got his curious nature, an irrepressible energy level, and her mother's fierce ability to focus when she's doing something she loved.

Like right now.

She was on the floor, adorably folded in half so that she could colour the picture of grandpa Shifu she'd drawn for Tigress. His fur was - unfortunately - discoloured into blue and green - the colours of crayons she could find, and his ears appeared massively disproportional to his body (well, it never was!). Ying Yue was so intent on her work that she didn't hear the door open, or the familiar pad of Tigress paws as she approached, offloading her sack, training vest, and house keys as she went.

Po looked up from his spot on the couch, grinning as his wife reached the living room doorway and stepped out of her shoes, continuing towards them on bare feet. She's wearing a flirty blue qipao that showed off her curves (slightly snug in the right places), and Po let his appreciative gaze linger. She still seemed troubled, some days, by the changes to her tight figure after childbearing, but Po saw her strength and the creation of their child in her body and was at least as attracted to her as he'd always been. She's still sexy as hell, but he's even more worshipful now that he'd seen her carry his child - the child that he had never thought would ever arrive after ten years of their marriage.

Tigress approached, dropping down beside him with a groan. "Hi," she told him softly, leaning in for a lingering kiss. It's not until she settled in beside him and raised her voice that Ying Yue noticed her presence. "Hey, kiddo, come give your mom a kiss."

Ying Yue's little stripey head whipped around, traces of dumpling still bore evident around her maw. "Mommy!" She pushed herself up, literally leapt to the small empty gap on the couch only to rush flying back to grab her drawing. She ran full tilt around the edge of the coffee table, ignoring her parents' admonitions to slow down, and hurled herself for the second time onto the couch. With a giggle, she settled in against Tigress, her arms around her mother's neck. "Hi, Mommy. Miss you."

"Hi, baby girl," Tigress answered, and Po grinned at the pet name. It was both funny and endearing to see the fearsome Master Tigress used that kind appellative on anyone. He thought he would never live to see that day.

"How was your day?"

"Good, Mommy," Ying Yue chirped, climbing over Tigress's lap to resettle between her parents. "Daddy and I went to the park and played on the swings, and there was a really loud fight between the croc bandits..-" She dropped her drawing in favour of broad hand gestures meant to, Po assumed, sketch just how big the croc bandit was- "and daddy was about to stop them when grandpa Shifu suddenly appeared and froze them with just one finger," she beamed with pride. "One. Finger. I bet the stick he used for walking was just a decoy," she concluded to both Po and Tigress' amusement. "And then I draw you this!" She picked the picture up and presents it to Tigress proudly. "Perhaps you can give this to him tomorrow?"

"Of course," Tigress' eyes light up, and her smile was delighted as she accepted the slightly crumpled paper with a rough sketch of big-eared creature - that was Shifu alright. "Good job, Yue. Is this…-?"

"It's nerve attack!" Ying Yue interrupted, "pointing at the yellow blob she coloured on the tip of Shifu's finger. "Daddy said he used chi, the power to one's soul. So even when grampa is small, his chi can be as big as an elephant! That's how he beats Daddy and throws him all around the Training Hall like a rag doll. So, if I meditate more to make my chi stronger, I can beat Daddy too!"

Po rolled his eyes. Ying Yue had always had a crazy way in deriving and analysing phenomena around her; it fascinated Po, even when she's asking twenty minutes' worth of absurd questions that made connect to each other only in that amazing brain of hers.

"Oh," Ying Yue breathed, her eyes wide, "I need to show my picture to grampa Ping! Who knows he would want me to draw him too."

She wriggled out from between them and scampered off to her room to grab her drawing supplies.

Tigress huffed a laugh, leaning more heavily into Po as she traced the lines of Ying Yue's drawing. "This is pretty good," she observed.

She's not wrong - Ying Yue had trouble colouring in the lines, but the basic shape was recognisably a red panda, featuring large ears, small body, bushy tail, and four semi-proportional limbs. It's the fact that Shifu was gliding in the air with a gigantic ball of chi on his skinny hands had really made it clear that this version of Shifu had sprung from the bright imagination of a four-year-old. Tigress smoothed the paper a bit. "Shifu would be glad if he could fly."

"He almost could fly," Po remarked at his Master's gravity-defying ability. "I can't imagine what will happen if he were born with wings. And so were you."

Her forehead crinkled. The "Am I?" was silent, but he saw it plastered on her face.

"You flew from the Jade Palace rooftop to the ground and zipped right across Valley of Peace to the Thread of Hope. That was..-"

"Bodaciously Awesome?" she finished with a chuckle.

"Yep," he nodded. A large grin split his face when he caught a glimpse of Ying Yue dashed in impossible speed crossing the living room to the bathroom and back into her bedroom. "And you know where our feisty princess got her energy from, see?"

Tigress tilted her head and crossed her arms in faux annoyance.

"She's your daughter," he said as an explanation.

Tigress scoffed but snuggled closer. "She inhaled for a bowl of dumpling yesterday - literally. She's your kid, Po."

Po laughed, but before he can argue, Ying Yue came tearing back into the living room, a sack full of painting equipment clutched in one hand and Tigress action figure that she inherited from her big sister, Lei Lei. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, can we fix Daddy's marks now?"

Po leaned forward, and Ying Yue redirected, launching herself at him. She grinned up at him. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, Little Dumpling." Po dipped his head to kiss his daughter's tiny nose, which made her laugh and wriggle in a fake attempt to avoid him. She loved the scratch of his rough panda stubble but liked to pretend she didn't.

Her hand landed on his cheek, and she patted his jaw. "Daddy, can we fix your marks now?" She's grinning up at him, and her enthusiasm made his chest ache.

He glanced at Tigress with a wordless question. He could tell she's had a long day - the Valley had suffered from a few bandit attacks and she's been putting in long, tough hours to try to make sure the situation and normalcy rebounded quickly. It won't surprise him if she's not up for taking care of him tonight.

But Tigress was already scooting forward on the couch, reaching for Ying Yue. "Let's go get everything ready for Daddy," she told her, and Ying Yue went eagerly into her mother's arms.

Po watched them head upstairs, then pushed himself up with a little groan and made a detour for the kitchen. He grabbed some Camomile tea for Ying Yue, brew a large pot of Oolong for Tigress, and refilled his water jug before heading upstairs. He could hear their voices, Ying Yue narrating everything she's doing for her mother ("I did a split kick, Mommy!"), and Tigress praising her and occasionally correcting her as needed.

Pausing in the doorway to the master bedroom, Po watched his daughter crawling around on the bed, carefully straightening the clean bath sheet they've laid down to protect the red and grey duvet. Tigress had the hot herbal patches and the jar of solvent for his scars on a small hand towel to the side. Ying Yue tended to need more cleaning up than Po after each "mark fixing" session. It was a ritual these days, now that 40 was fast approaching and his years of injury have started to make themselves known in the form of aches and pains, for his girls to spend an hour every couple days easing his pain and healing his scars.

He couldn't believe, some days, that this was his life. Becoming Dragon Warrior was merely a small part of the adventure - a beginning of many things. He couldn't believe he had Kung Fu. He couldn't believe he made friends with his idols - the Furious Five. He couldn't believe he became the Master of Jade Palace. But mostly he couldn't believe he deserved the kind of love his daughter and his wife give him so effortlessly.

Before he could get too maudlin, Tigress spotted him and reached out her paw. "C'mon over here, mister." She noticed the Oolong tea in his paws and grinned. "I knew I married you for a reason."

"Bet ya," he said with a smile that he forced because the thought of his life without her nearly squeezed the tears out of his eyes.

Tigress handed her the cup and Ying Yue's Camomile tea - they learned early that Ying Yue - just like Tigress - was not a particularly good multitasker when she spilt scalding hot tea down Po's spine. He deposited his water jug on the bedside table, tugged off his shirt (which he wore because Tigress insisted he needed to stop being shirtless in front of other people - she was his only exception), then climbed onto the mattress, settling on his stomach. He pulled his pillow closer, then craned his neck to see Ying Yue kneeling by his ribs. "Okay, Little Dumpling."

She patted his back twice and put Tigress action figure right beside his face, making Po laugh. "Relax, Daddy," she directed. "You can snuggle with my Tigress if you need to," she added, then turned her attention to her mother. "Mommy, can I have the Wonder?" Po grinned into the pillow at Ying Yue's butchering of the complicated, pharmaceutical name of the scar cream's component.

"Of course, darling," Tigress answered.

And they got to work.

Tigress knew his tight spots, the deep tissue aches and pains that responded to the patches, so she methodically applied them. She took a few moments to work on his muscles, too, massaging when she felt a knot.

Ying Yue, meanwhile, fingerpainted the white lines and raised skin of his scars with the healing cream. She was so careful and so gentle as she worked. The first time they'd done this, by the time he'd flipped over to let them work on the scars on his chest, the sight of little Ying Yue leaning over him, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on soothing his old injuries had brought Po to tears. His baby girl - who barely graduated from wearing diapers - hadn't noticed the tears slipping down the sides of his face, but Tigress caught the way his breath hitched, cupping his face with her paws and pressing a soft kiss to his lips to ground him.

He didn't cry every time these days, but he felt it just as acutely. Ying Yue was as openly protective as Tigress, and as deeply affectionate as he was - and they both told him at least once a day that they love him. But something about these moments, something about the way he could feel the love in their careful touches, in the time and attention they put into making him feel just a little better, it hit him hard every time.

"Thank you," he murmured into the pillow, and he's honestly not sure whether he's thanking his girls, or whatever deity or fate brought him the two great loves of his life: Tigress and Ying Yue.

His wife pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, and his daughter patted him again. "You're welcome, Daddy."

Po smiles. "Thank you."

[kiyoitsukikage]

First Databook Character Sheets

Yoshi! @silalcarin asked me to do Hinata's concept art + Masashi-sensei's inteview (which, I discovered, is not really an interview, but a description of the pictures).

To be honest, I might have misinterpreted your request (maybe you just wanted the part regarding Hinata), but the interview was very interesting and I got carried away (especially after I saw that there was also something about Jiraiya). So...

Some terms you’ll meet in this interview:

- 設定 settei. I translated it with “setting”, “creation”, “design”, “character sheet” and so forth. Basically, it’s a character’s or a place’s concept art, to be used as a reference (it can be both for the artist’s staff, for the animators or for the artist himself, for later uses).

- 先生 sensei. It obviously means ‘teacher’, but it’s also the form you use when you speak to artists who became famous in their field: when they say sensei here, they mean Masashi Kishimoto.

- イメージ ime-ji. I often translated it with ‘mental image’. It’s a loanword from the English ‘image’, sometimes used as a verb meaning ‘visualise’. It has mostly to do with the author’s imagery of the world.

- 世界観 sekaikan. Literally, the ‘vision of the world’ (I translated it with various words). It’s the outlook of the fictional world, how the world of Naruto looks like. In this interview, it’s mostly used with the expression ‘slightly off’ (when Masashi-sensei decided to discard an idea because it would sound inconsistent/weird in the Narutoverse).

- 読切 yomikiri. ‘Non-serialised story’ (though I should have translated it as ‘one-shot’ or ‘pilot’ probably), as opposed to the Naruto serialisation. I guess they’re referring to this one. I think that’s something a newbie artist draws for manga editors, a sort of let’s-try-and-see-if-the-readers-like-the-story.

- 打合わせ uchiawase. I translated it as “preparatory meeting”, I guess that’s something the artist and the producers do before publishing stuff. It can also mean “previous arrangement”.

- 担当 tantou. Translated it with “the ones in charge”, maybe I should have gone with “supervisor” or something. But, ah, you get the idea.

There. The numbers correspond to the pictures. Anything between square brackets is something I added up to clarify my translation.

[Sideband:] Character sheets

The Nine-Tailed Mythological Fox Spirit

1

“This is the non-serialised Naruto”

The non-serialised Naruto had the appearance of a human, but he was a fox inside.

Though in the present setting the mythological fox spirit is sealed inside Naruto…

Before the serialisation was decided, I changed it in a preparatory meeting with the ones in charge of it.

The demon fox is intense, they said.

No matter if he takes a human shape, he’s a fox really, then the readers won’t be able to sympathise with Naruto… they said.

And I also ended up thinking something like… “that’s pretty true” (laugh).

2

“This is the Nine-Tails drawn for the first time”

This is the Nine-Tailed Mythological Fox Spirit I drew in the spur of the moment as the image expanded [in my mind].

And then, since I was pleased with it, I used it as it is also in the main event [as opposed to preparatory sketch].

I traced it with a lightbox (laugh).

For this reason, I drew nothing but that after all, the Nine-Tails (laugh).

However, also the appearance of the present world of “Naruto” spread from it in some respects. Of course, also things like the creation of the characters and the development of the story expanded.

So it’s like the concept art drawn in order to transmit the story and the setting to the staff, when you make a movie.

 [I always rejoice internally when I see an awesome artist being a lazy bum. Because retracing a previous painting is something I’d totally do.]

The faces on the Hokage Rock [lit: the Hokage Face Rock, though I couldn’t find a corresponding term in English – it’s only called the ‘Hokage Rock’]

1

“There was a dog”

That’s the only thing that could upset the present appearance of the “Naruto” world from the root (laugh).

As a matter of fact, the Third Hokage was a dog, at the beginning.

He was the dog the Second Hokage had, an exceptionally awesome dog, so I tried to make him elected as Hokage in the setting.

Though I thought “It’d be interesting if a dog stood at the summit of the village, what would happen…”

However, in the end I thought that it would be slightly off with the appearance of the world, and I gave it up.

That’s why the present Third was supposed to be a dog.

So I changed it right before the serialisation, erased only the face of the dog in a hurry and it disappeared in the trash (laugh). I used the other parts as they were though.

Hokage

[Actually I’ve read a post long ago in Tumblr where they answered exactly that question, and my greatest regret is that I haven’t saved it and now I can’t add a link here, because it was freaking hilarious]

2

“There’s a heinous face (laugh)”

My mental image of the Hokage wasn’t quite settled at first. The first and the Second… I had put an x-mark on the First, but they haven’t changed much from now since the mental image in relation to these two was good enough; however, the Third and the Fourth Hokage are impressively different.

The Fourth had a rather heinous face (laugh).

Well, I had various things going on in my mind.

Design sketches 

1

“The Grass Nin looked like a troop”

The Grass Nin looked like a troop but they couldn’t convince me and I changed them. So, I drew them again, but… this guy (on the bottom right) suddenly turned into Orochimaru, so… finally I was pleased with it and made up my mind about various things (laugh).

2

“Lovable pugs”

They are the ninja dogs I thought about when Kakashi uses the Earth Release: Tracking Fang Technique. There’s also Pakkun. I like pugs, because they’re cute (laugh). When I drew him, while I made them chat about various things in my imagination I expanded the character’s personality.

3

“The mental image had almost settled”

The jōnin I thought about before the serialisation began… I mean, the design sketch of the sensei and others. If you look at them, it’s already clear who was going to become which character. Well, if the mental image came clearly, I kinda made up my mind in one shot (laugh).

4

“I just drew it out of fun”

That’s just what I drew out of fun, right (laugh). This was what I drew once to convey my mental image of Hinata to my assistant though. I intended to draw it being aware of the appearance of the world, but… it turned into a more modern-style girl (laugh).

Discard

1

“The huge guy was deleted…”

He reached the level of rough sketch, but the just huge and unattractive guy was likely to be deleted from the moment he appeared already. In the preparatory meeting with the people in charge, we ended up saying “he doesn’t make your heart throb from a reader’s point of view, right?”.

Moreover, it was the scene that shows Gaara’s first battle, so I resolutely drew it again.

[In the first caption, it says 金太郎とペットのポチ Kintarou to petto no Pochi. I’m unsure about the meaning, I guess it’s the ‘pet called Kintarou’. Apparently, petto no Pochi is  something like ‘Spotty the pet’ (pet with a ridiculously common name).]

2

“I planned to use it in the Land of Waves volume”

Originally, there wasn’t Zabuza and I had planned to use this character. But I gave it up for the same reason of the discarded character of the page before. (Ah! It’s the character I had made earlier, haha…) I think just about the fact of making the enemy characters entry on stage, that is, how they’re likely to hurt the protagonists. [Twisted sentence here: I guess he means that when he creates villains, he also need to think how they’ll look appearing on the scene and the impact on the protagonists.]

3

“Serious taste…”

Naruto had just graduated from school so I thought it was okay even if I made him act in a funny way. However, it had turned completely like a story set in a school [学園もの gakuenmono I think it’s intended as a manga genre]… I had forgot about the whole “ninja” thing.

Sound effects lettering

Appearance pattern

1

“That’s incredibly unskilful”

That’s sound effects lettering practice. They’ve been incredibly poor from the time of the non-serialised story (laugh). I often practiced using various comic strips as a reference. Well, even now they’re not my strong suit really (laugh).

2

“Having a mental image of moving pictures”

It’s the thing in which I drew some pattern of the production of the scene where a ninja appears, or the scene where they disappear, having a mental image of moving pictures. Once inside your head, the action turns into a moving picture. Then, you draw thinking about the composition you cut out from there.

Signature

[The pictures in which he practiced his signature say (in this order): Masashi (with the ma and sa character written as one), Masashi (all linked together), Kishimoto Masashi (stand-alone characters), Kishimoto (above) Masashi (below, ma and sa together), Kishimoto Masashi (current signature).]

3

“That’s Naruto’s face together with the signature”

When I write my signature, I put the face of the protagonists. Well, that looks like the practice of that. The Naruto I drew here are all smiling, but I often thought what kind of expression I should do.

4

“I decided on the spot”

When the serialisation was decided, some friends came and saw me. So, make us an autograph, they said. That time, I ended up saying “Crap… I haven’t thought about my signature!” (laugh). I decided on the spot. Saying “Which should I choose, let’s do this” with my friends.

Jiraiya

1

“At the beginning, [I decided to] make a fatty middle-aged man”

I had decided from before the serialisation that Jiraiya would certainly appear even in “Naruto”, because of his fame in various ninja legends. At the beginning, I decided that I’d make him a fatty middle-aged man… that he’d transform in an unattractive-faced middle-aged man (like the picture at the very top) when he got angry or excited seeing pretty girls. That that’s why he got stronger when he transformed, but not good-looking. However, I thought that drawing him differently would have been troublesome (laugh). Though he was also supposed to use frogs that are carried on both his shoulders, in the same illustration.

Once, I made them do a two-man comedy act in the character sheet called “Husband and Wife Frog” (laugh).

However, it was difficult from the prospective of the design, so I also give it up…

  [I love how he dug out his old ideas, years later, to create Fukasaku and Shima and Jiraiya’s Sage Mode.]

Summoning Animals

2

“The oriental dragons and western dragons are different” [Actually, it’s “dragons and dragons are different”, with the first being ドラゴン doragon, the transliterated English word dragon, and the second being 竜 tatsu, the Chinese dragon]

This is the dragon I drew thinking that I’d make it Naruto’s summoning. In my mental image, Chinese dragons have a thin body. And western dragons are chubby and have big feet. So, that is an overly fat Chinese dragon (laugh). It became fat and looks like a western dragon…

3

“Speaking of ninjas, there’s the mental image of frogs”

That’s Gamabunta’s first design. But in the preparatory meeting, since he’s a toad I added warts and made him a toad. Then, I also decided to make him express himself in the Hiroshima dialect. So, I said “I come from the Okayama prefecture, near Hiroshima, so leave it to me” (laugh).

Frontispiece

1

“It’s a compilation of ideas”

Before the serialization, I drew some reasonable ideas for the frontispiece. I’ve almost never used them though (laugh). However, the picture in which [Naruto] is gardening appears (JC vol.3 pag.86).

2

“Imagining Naruto that makes graffiti”

That’s what I drew while thinking in what way I could make Naruto paint graffiti on the Hokage Rock.

It’s also the picture I thought I’d use in the first chapter, yes.

3

“I discarded it myself”

I drew it to use as the first chapter’s frontispiece, but when I thought that to point Naruto’s gaze towards the readers it became unnatural, so I discarded it. It was also slightly off with the appearance of the world (laugh).

Clouds

“Anyway, I love clouds”

That’s the thing in which I just drew Naruto and clouds imagining a moving picture, not to use or not use it.

I’ve liked clouds since I was a child, and also the sky (laugh). That’s why I love things like comics where there are clouds and the sky, and fantasy in which the clouds are whirly like the “Neverending Story” (laugh). I think I want to draw something like that once, too, though. It’d be nice one more whole chapter, a story in which they fly among the clouds (laugh).

...phew, that was long. But very interesting (artistically speaking)~

EDIT (CLARIFYING TRANSLATION)

So, @silalcarin asked me to include in this post something we've discussed about.

Her question was: Were Ibiki, Iruka, Kakashi, Hinata, Anko, etc., were all of these character sketches the earliest concept art? Were these characters the earliest characters Kishimoto created after Naruto himself?

(Apparently, there's a dispute about whether Sakura was created before Hinata or not. Silalcarin also provided me with a translation, made by Koshej back in 2013, which you can read here)

My answer: First of all: yes, they are early sketches. The first line of the paragraph says 連載が始まる前に, which is literally “before the serialization began”. I don’t know where that “I have designed the characters at a very early stage." comes from, to be honest: the Japanese raw of the title says イメージはほぼ決まってました, “the mental image had almost settled/I had almost made up my mind”. So, the other translation is not *wrong*, content-wise, but it’s not what the text says (more like a free interpretation of it). As for the order of creation, I admit I have no idea. The text doesn’t clearly say if they’re the very first characters, or if they’ve been created early in general. I think it’s difficult to say which characters he created first… because I remember I’ve seen other character sketches, which Kishimoto provided at the end of some Naruto chapters (I remember there were Iruka, Konohamaru, Kakashi, Sakura and Sasuke as well), together with some other he discarded in the end. Long story short: 1) yes, Anko and co. are pre-serialized sketches, 2) Koshej’s translation is not wrong in general, but mine is closer to the original one (that’s why I had a hard time explaining the terms, and sometimes my translation is almost unreadable), 3) there’s no way to tell which character was created first after Naruto, unless you’re Kishimoto himself I guess (or at least, this databook doesn’t clarify it here).

So, uhmm, that's what I have to say on the matter. Silalcarin also gave me this link (in which you can read further thoughts on the matter)

Last but not least, I feel like to add a link to another interview I translated, from the fourth databook, in which they talk about character creation and such (unfortunately, the part about Sasuke's creation was too difficult for me to translate, so once again I can't give an answer to the question "were Hinata and company created before Sasuke and Sakura")

[curious-minx]

A simple man accidentally joins Qanon.

I am looking for the trunklike opening of a cavern that is  promising a hermitage of monks. Instead, I accidentally got recruited by Qanon. 

I only ended up with them because I thought the rough looking recruiter woman with desperate destruction in her eyes said “Qui-Gon Jinn.” He is a real big influence on my overall look. The recruiter grabbed me by the pip of my ponytail and gave me a fierce rub down. She did not manage to extract anything from me because she wasn’t looking for anything special for me, I was basically cornmeal to her. A necessary means to an end. I try to quickly terminate my contract with the Qanoners, I’m a goner.

There is no mesh bag thrown over your head. I watch myself get dragged and kidnapped. I stand outside of myself and spit on myself. I hope I rot in Qanon mud club basement for all I care. Alas, I am very much chained to my corporeal form and rejoin back inside my raging crunching bones being dragged across an empty gymnasium. Old prom decorations are adorning the rafters; the apparent theme is Trapped In The Closet. This dates the decorations as a typical early 00’s macro-aggression. What do these people want with me? I try to remember all of the rest of the who’s, why’s, what and how I should be trying to grasp at as I continue to be dragged onwards and onwards. How large can the expanse of this gym be? Every time it looks like I am approaching a halfway full court circle the room seems to grow further in distance. A very roomy and interactive treadmill.

My assailant snaps her head around and with a tension in her throat, she croaks, “Aren’t you going to put up a fight?”

“I’ve been dragged longer.” I respond. I am not trying to be cheeky. I am stating a clear fact, but she begins dragging me faster and faster. The gymnasium becomes a bleak parking lot full of abandoned cars full of bloody empty car seats and cabbage patch doll sitting on top of smashed dash boards. The texture of the ground changes from glossy and buffed gymnasium wood flooring into typical pavement. I am starting to bleed more than I am comfortable with.

“Alright I give. Please stop. Enough.”

“Look we’ve reached our hide-out. You’ve passed, you’re a real Qtie.”

“You don’t call yourselves that.”

“Fake news to you too.” This woman with her exacting haircut sounds really tired. Maybe a tad attention starved as well. I don’t feel any sexual pleasure being dragged and humiliated by her, I just feel like she really needs a win. This is certainly not the forested idyllic hermitage haven where I could be with men who made soap and floral craft beer. I had to get out of here. The only way down is up.

“I could use a doctor. Are there any any Qute doctors.”

“No one reveals their civilian lives here. Cut that shit out. Throw those lives away when you commune with Q.”

Quetzalcoatl have mercy on my soul. I am starting to remember a vague idea of what these Qanon people about. I have been taking sketch comedy writing classes and people would occasionally mention these group. I don’t see how these people are funny anymore. These people are monsters. I hate being surrounded by only white people. And as my captor cum guide peels back the security layers of bricks and mortar sealing away their underground den I try to appreciate the outside as much as possible. I am not sure if the sky is still a simulation, but the sky is disappointing tonight. There are some parts of the country that are like this. Rarely if ever a nice night sky to look up. Clearly these safety sign orange skies add up to a lot of restless white supremacists, apparently. These people always want so many excuses for their behavior.

What kind of people are Qanon? They are not hicks. They carry glints of rolodex watches and sweaty pit stained polos. I know which way the khaki blows and it’s directly into my stake. I’m aiming for where it really hurts. I have no stake, I only have my torn and bloodied office attire and swelling inner violence. The sex cult accusations robbed me of my trust of Tom Hanks and for that they must pay. A man inside of a muscular blow up suit in the shape of a gimplike strongman is wheeled out onto stage. The woman who was dragging me tenderly injects his arm with a substance in the manner of heroin. That is if heroin is a slightly glowing gooey substance. A wet and warbling voice sputters out from inside of the man inside of the man.

“War! All out full blown war. There is no other option.”

“Yes Q!” mummers and sputters out the rest of the room. No one is saying the letter with bravado, everyone is saying it like a dirty secret for them and them alone.

A large man with the odor of bleach wearing nothing but overalls is carrying a steel suitcase and has come up to stand next to Q. Q begins to sputter and groan. The woman has begun strapping him to a chair, wrapping him so tightly that his arms immediately bruise and purple. The man opens the suitcase and begins rapidly assembling a preteen girl. The sort of tomboyish puckish preteen girl with a slight gap and whistle between her teeth, she is adorable or at least she becomes adorable once the the man snaps her head into place.

“Sp-sp-sp-spppppeak!” Q burbles he sounds like he is swallowing his own tongue back into his pinpoint shaped head.

“This man touched me! This man raped me! This woman tried to abort me! This woman helped child predators. This woman is a child predator. This man fucked me every which way. I no longer know what’s real anymore. What am I? This is so fucked up man! I’m losing my mind!” The preteen girl begins to scream and sob. With every accusation thrown out Q’s two main  assistants have thrown out portraits of Bill Clinton, Bill Gates,  AOC, Judy Blume, Oprah, and Paul Rudd. The rest of the room begins whispering the letter Q all over again, this time more confident.

Q’s two assistance look like they are going to come in for a group hug with the girl and they do, but when the man and woman meet together the girl immediately collapses into a pile of limbs. The suitcase closes and the man scurries off like a child during a panty raid. The woman begins scanning the room while she smashes chapstick across her trembling lips. Despite knowing exactly where I am standing because I have been firmly planted and transfixed in rictus horror as I try processing this spectacle she makes a big showcase with her eyes when gaze bores into me. I try to do the look side to side, “Who, me?” routine but two sausage fingered women with ballcaps pulled over their faces push me from behind and up onto the stage with Q.

“How do you do Qties and of course you too Q?”

“You don’t speak to Q!” Says the woman who is now starting to blend and blur together with the rest of these agitated pale faces. As I decent white person I can only handle being in the approximate of so many white people, the saturation point has been completely shattered.

I swear I see a greasy wide, chode tongue lick the rubber lips in the depths of Q’s costume. The suit begins squeaking and falls deflated onto the ground. There is no trace of the man called Q. I appreciate a good vanishing act by trying to throw up. The woman acts like she’s mad at me like I am some sort of noble house cat regurgitating on her Pendleton, she’s crowding up at me and getting in my face. She speaks, her breath smells like fuel.

“Your lucky he likes you fella. We don’t do this for all the boys.” Of course, the bleach man comes back this time reeking of chlorine as well. He’s riding a rolling dentist chair using his leg to push him along like a scooter. He reaches the lip of the stage and without any effort sweeps the dental operatory chair onto the stage as well. I am not liking where this is going and try to make a break for what I believe to be the exit.

The man scoops me in his wretched hairless and freckled arms.“Hold up. Q likes you.”

“There is no doubt that he likes him. Q accepts everyone who looks a little bit like Jesus.” The once tired woman now suddenly seems completely rejuvenated. The puffy bags under her eyes are glistening. The joys of dentistry. She pulls out a completely golden drill. A satin sheen gold that looks like no spray can job. My head is held back and my tooth is extracted and held up under the expectation. The rest of the crowd of Qties have more or less dispersed and are murmuring to one another over hunched over rings of phone lights. The jukebox plays Ted Nugent with pitched and slow down vocals to fit the anonymous motif.

Bleach and chlorine man takes my tooth and skips off in the manner of a fairy tale character but returns quickly this time. He is still carrying something but his hand is cupped and I cannot see if it’s my tooth.

“You’ve grown awfully quiet. Are you taking it all in? Do you see what this is truly all about?”

“Yeah you guys have a real serious project going on. This seems like an immense job. I want to help out in any way I can.”

“You won’t. You’ll forget you ever saw this place. You’re lucky to make it out alive, luckier still to not end up on a sex offender registry. Q has different plans for you. Now go follow the trail of innocent blood and open your mouth.”

“Again?” As I say this the woman sprays me with a slightly acidic and fizzy tasting spritz that makes the roof of my mouth feel dense. The feeling gradually dissipates as I stumble down through the gallery of wretches and human refuse that is populating the joint. Sure some of these people probably have legitimate struggles and a hard working background, but there’s a lot of corrupted doughiness to go around. Not chubby. Chubby people are full of joy and adventure, this was more of a kind of excessive candle wax flesh coating these people, mostly the men. The women were of more stripes. Some look like innocuous librarians or Sunday School cheerleaders or Boss bitches. The whole gambit.

I reach the exit. The bleach chlorine man is already waiting for me. He wrings out a blindfold that was bunched up uncomfortably close to his groin. I am not a homophobic man. I appreciate the smell of a musk, there is a refined strain of dick cheese out there, and a man this overwhelming chemical should have a sterile blindfold. Except he is wringing this blindfold out. Some kind of liquid is dropping on the floor, but before I can make out what drips have dropped my eyes have been folded into the blinds. There is no graceful exit.

After much leaves are rustled. Drivers negotiating with the bald patches of darkness dotting the byways and leeways of my swampy homeland. I purposely made a trip out of joining the monks. I didn’t want to join a local enclave so I made sure to cross several state lines. Once I can smell the odor of burning leaves do I realize I have actually been driven all the way to my backwoods home. The home I tried so hard to leave behind. A light has come on and my parents, older sister and the gentleman trying to pretend to be our maid all come out all wearing various robes and sleepwear, arms crossed in unison. I finally take off my blind fold.

“Christ almighty I didn’t think you were alive. I thought I was doing another corpse drop off. Get the fuck outta here. Cant afford any bad luck, fuck!” He drives his miserable reliable fiat as fast as it will go and when my family discerns that I am more or less in one piece they march single file back inside. I  sit outside on the perpetually damp cushioned porch swing and sway myself into a woozy and necessary sleep.

///

My tooth, my back right molar is sprouting sinister veins of terrible pain throughout my jaw. I cannot speak. I am rendered a strong, silent handsome type. I refuse to accept these parameters. People love my reedy and oaty mellifluous voice. Remember how much I look up to Qui-Gon Jinn? Good, it should give you idea of what I’m dealing with. I am in my basement bathroom. Always the basement dweller never the chic chateau bachelor. I take a bottle of vodka, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of mineral water. I slosh them together in a plastic watering can that I use to sustain my miserable array of jungle flowers.

My older sister, Cottontail, has arrived with my mail and more. She says this unlabeled package was delivered by a woman that could only be described as a real Karen. My sister then reminds me how much she hates using that sexist phrase but she calls them like she sees them. Cottontail gives me an overly long slab of sustained eye contact, and then she asks about the violence across my face. I wave her away, I begin tearing into the envelope. The jutting dental pain makes the process of opening the envelope feel like a real superhero pal adventure, an overly long and painful slog. After several bouts of muffled screams of agony and several miles of drool streaks of blood I get into the envelope. How do I have so much blood in my body? Inside the envelope’s interior flap is bold and American flag covered Q. There’s a sugar and carmel dusted pretzel shaped as a Q inside of the envelope and a note that says, “Take a bite out of this.”

Merely reading the word bite causes a castanet snap of bile in my throat, but I hold the pretzel up to my mouth. I realize that it is not a pretzel and that the brown coloring is made from the dark brown crystal sugars. The entire Q is made out of  sugar. Maybe one bite will give me the quick and lethal kind of diabetes? I chomp down and am met with a surge of relief as soon as the sugar crystals sing and fizzle in my mouth pooling around the suspect molar. All pain has been wiped clear as long as I keep the sugar flowing.

I must have all the candy under God’s gaseous and toxic land. I run up to the candy striper and shake her by the shoulders and tell her I need my sugar rush! Q has sent me! My face and a negative circle of the banned lines nearly every location sugary confections are sold.

[stanprokopenko]

Assignment

To do this exercise at home, find some subjects to draw who are really distinct character types. People with unique looks or strongly defined personalities will lend themselves more easily to comparison with some kind of animal, plant or object. And start by drawing the shape of the spirit animal first. Then try your best to fit your exaggeration around it. If you end up getting crazy non-human head shapes, even better still. This exercise is designed to push your skills and expand your caricature consciousness.

Finding and Using a Spirit Animal to Draw the Face

There are certain people – certain faces, that when you look at them, make you think of something or someone else. The person could have physical traits that remind you of a particular type of animal because of their head construction, features or just a particular facial expression you find in one photo. Or it may not be an animal at all. They could remind you of a plant, or an object or even another person. So I use the term spirit “animal” loosely. And sometimes, there doesn’t even need to be a physical resemblance between the two. Their spirit animal could simply be something that’s associated with their personality or public persona.

Once you’ve figured out the spirit animal for your subject, try to work that creature or object into the exaggeration. But remember, you’re not necessarily trying to create a human/animal hybrid, the spirit animal or object should just influence the design and inspire you to exaggerate in ways you would never have thought of on your own. And the animal doesn’t necessarily need to be obvious in the final drawing as it is in this caricature of P.T. Barnum.

Just let it inspire the initial shapes in an abstract way. This technique helps me a lot, personally. Because normally, I tend to exaggerate my subjects with a very literal and realistic approach. But whenever I assign the right spirit animal to my subject, it helps me draw more exaggerated and interesting caricatures.

Example

Our first example is one where there is a strong physical resemblance to a particular animal. American Senator Mitch McConnell’s spirit animal is a turtle, or more precisely a Galápagos giant tortoise. Comedian Jon Stewart of The Daily Show famously had a long running gag about McConnell looking and even sounding like a turtle. But that’s something I had thought on my own when I first saw the senator on TV years earlier. So I’ve always wanted to do a turtle caricature of him. If you look at the senator from different angles, it’s an easy comparison to make. The puffy face, long tapering neck, bulging, widely spaced eyes, weak chin, long philtrum and lipless mouth all contribute to the tortoise look.

So to start, I do a quick thumbnail sketch of the tortoise. I’m not doing an exact copy of the tortoise as I see it in the photo – but a slightly anthropomorphic version of it so it’s proportions are more human.

Then, I begin my sketch of Senator McConnell on top of the reptile. I try to find points on the senator’s face that correspond to the tortoise’s anatomy at first. But if the tortoise anatomy doesn’t help the likeness, I’ll just adjust the proportions on my drawing and move away from the tortoise influence. Remember, the spirit animal is only a guide. You don’t have to literally make your subject look like an animal. Just let the animal’s shapes provide the jumping off point. The idea behind using the spirit animal is to inspire a different way to solve the problem of finding a funny exaggerated likeness. If I had never made a tortoise connection, and just used the average head diagram as my basis of comparison, I would have made different, and perhaps, less interesting exaggeration choices.

But as you can see with the finished result, there is still a strong tortoise element to the caricature. And it’s a pretty good likeness. If I were to take this drawing to a finish, I would next trace over this rough sketch with the abstraction to fix any errors or asymmetrical distortions.

Also, remember, the spirit animal doesn’t have to be an animal at all. It can even be an inanimate object. Check out the premium version of this video where I do a second demonstration, using Dirty Harry’s gun as Clint Eastwood’s spirit animal.

This spirit animal technique can’t really be used for everybody you’re going to draw. It’s much harder finding a spirit animal for average-looking or typical pretty people. I find it works best on those who are very interesting or unique looking — people who are already good potential subjects for caricature. Associating them with a spirit animal is just a way of pushing the exaggeration in a different and unexpected way.

[gcncsxs]

Stay With Me

Where: Kael’s room Who: Kael Ryker & Abigail Willburgh What: Kael asks Abi to stay the night.

tagging @ofpersephone​, thread taken from discord

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abigail didn't want to leave the bed; she was finally getting comfortable, and it was warm. But she had to; the girl had to keep up appearances and this was the perfect time to. Even Kael's hand wasn't going to distract her. Hopefully.

KAEL RYKER

It was the early hours of the morning, the morning after the night before and the night before had been a rager. Yet another frat party, yet another night of drinking too much and ending up in bed with the tiny brunette who was making moves to leave. That was the norm, that's what usually happened. Morning would come and she would leave, and they'd pretend like nothing had happened. This time she moved, and he watched her like he often did, but a thought crossed his mind. "Abi."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abi sat up, gathering her hair up into a messy bun before letting it go because she couldn't a hairpin. This was the part where she'd get up and put on her clothes. But his voice...she just had to respond to it. "Yeah, Kael?" His sheets were gathered at her lap, an arm around her breasts, modestly covering up before turning to face him.

KAEL RYKER

"Stay." The word had tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, maybe it was the lingering remnants of whatever he'd drank the night before, but they say you speak what you mean when under the influence; so maybe he meant it.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Her eyebrows furrowed; was he drunk? This wasn't how they worked. Abi didn't stay the night, she left as soon as she could. She had the perfect cover story for her roommate too, and it was under control. But of course, Kael just had to go on ask her to stay. Abi was weak, she would nor could say no to him. And right then, he looked so...innocent, the girl didn't have that much resolve in her to leave. Swinging her legs onto the bed, she got under the sheets. Reaching out for him, Abi's legs tangled with his. "One good reason why I should."

KAEL RYKER

It didn't take as much as he thought to convince her to stay, and soon enough she was tangled back up under the sheets with him. Kael had never been known for being affectionate, he was renowned for his hit and run tactic when it came to women, but he had craved the feeling of her flesh pressed against his for a little longer. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in closer, hand on her bare thigh. "Is this not a good enough reason?" He muttered into her hair.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

There was something about him; Abi found herself gravitating towards him. It wasn't the normal attraction that almost every girl felt for him. It wasn't even lust, although their close proximity was changing her mind. His breath tickled and she tried to stifle a giggle. "Try harder, Ryker." Her own fingers traced shapes on his skin, the desire to just hold onto him for a little longer.

KAEL RYKER

He pulled her thigh higher, tucking his between her legs. He could feel her warmth resting against his skin, but that wasn't what he was after right now. Kael just longed to hold her, to be close to her. To feel her skin against his and feel her fingers sketch invisible patterns along his skin. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. "One good reason. You don't want to leave."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"Nuh uh, you cannot pin this on me." Abi felt so content though, in the moment. She liked this moment; the silence in the room was comfortable, their breathing being the only noises. The warmth was comforting and Kael was reassuring. Abi absently played with his hair now, loving how they felt under palm. She didn't want to talk, just wanted to hold him close and not let go for the night.

KAEL RYKER

He nuzzled into her, as if he was trying to burrow into her neck. Like he was trying to melt into her, and make them one whole. His palm swept up her thigh, resting on her bared ass cheek. "Okay, how about I don't want you to leave." It wasn't a drunken confession, but it'd be one he might not have said outloud if it weren't for the influence of the drink. Sometimes even Kael craved the touch of someone else in more than just a sexual manner. Sometimes he wanted to be held, to feel the gentle brushing of someone's fingers against his skin. That was human nature, right?

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"See? You look cute when you're not hiding the truth." Abi was more than happy to accomodate. She had her arm around him, kissing the top of his head.  He looked so...there was no idea how to describe him, except she just wanted to keep him close, just stroke his hair and feel his warmth against  her skin. There was a sense of calm, as she held onto Kael, the warmth and everything it stood for. Abigail never wanted to leave, definitely not now. Or ever. The girl snuggled tight against him, smiling. "Hey..." She whispered. God help her, he looked so peaceful.

KAEL RYKER

He chuckled against her skin, letting his hand trail up her waist. To think a couple of weeks ago they had been nothing more than friends, the kind that knew each other from that one class they shared and the occasional party they'd attend. And now here they were, wrapped up in each other like lovers. He still barely knew anything about her, they didn't usually leave much time for talking, but he felt like he knew her. He looked up as she spoke, "Yeah?"

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Maybe there was more to him than just a pretty face, Abi reckoned with herself as they stayed in an embrace. Maybe Kael had an interesting story to tell, something that would make him real. Not just some guy she got into bed with because he was good at what he did. And then there was also an ever-remaining curiosity to know more about him. "Tell me about yourself. I'll take anything..." She asked him casually, fingers stroking down his forearm, "...or do you want me to go first?"

KAEL RYKER

He pulled back even further, looking at her. It had almost been like she had read his mind - but then in that moment his went blank. He couldn't remember who he was, or what he liked, or where he'd been. He could remember anything. "Uh - you go first..."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abi giggled at his surprise, which she found a little funny. "Okay...where do I begin? Well, I was adopted by these two absolutely wonderful women who loved me like I was their own." After a beat, "That is literally the most interesting thing about me, my two mothers." There were fond memories, that Abi smiled at it, in her head. "I grew up in the North side. Washington, mostly. We used to move around because of my mom's job." She then decided to stop, before she bored Kael with her childhood stories. "Your turn."

KAEL RYKER

He listen to her talk, actually listened. Took on ever word and found it genuinely fascinating. Kael wasn't one for paying much attention to anyone or anything, unless it benefited him directly, yet he hung on every word. Eyes drifted down to her lips, watching them as they formed the words - rosy pink and slightly swollen thanks to his hungry kisses from earlier. "Two moms, I can't imagine - one mom was suffocating enough!" He laughed, thinking about his own mom, "I grew up in Arizona. Desert state. One mom, one no good dad replaced by a try hard step-dad, and an annoying older sister." He listed, skipping right over the fact his dad had left when he was little and only called once a year for his birthday, usually a couple of days late.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"Oh yeah, it was definitely an adventure. One mom taught me to be fashionable and love myself. The other one taught me to...well, let's just say she mothered me. She actually cried when she dropped me at the airport on freshman year. It would make sense, I have never been this far from home." Abi realised that she liked seeing him laugh, and that she loved the sound from his mouth. She was transfixed by his laughter, her own smile growing bigger. "Describe annoying and sister. I never had one, growing up. I'm simply fascinated by the idea of siblings." Abi was quick to skip the parts about his parents; her own real parents were pieces of work anyway.

KAEL RYKER

He could have listened to her talk for hours, his eyes drifted as she spoke and he fought to keep them open. He didn't want to miss a thing, not a word. "My mom cried almost the entire drive. On and off, like they were driving me to my death or something." He replied, chuckling again. "I have to call her at least twice a week or I'm sure she'd call the police and report me missing or something." He ran his fingers through her hair, playing with the dark strands, letting them fall through his fingertips. "Don't be. They're more hassle than they're worth! Carly always had to be better than me, and like to rub it in my face when she was. Still does; she's getting married in the summer, and she even acts like that was a competition."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

By this time, Abi had repositioned herself, half propped by an elbow so she could see Kael better. "You know moms, they just care so much. And I love them for it, I really do. But like...maybe for once, a little distance would probably make the heart grow fonder. Twice a week? Try nightly Skype calls, except for the weekends, because that is when mummy has friends over for dinner. The double standard is unreal." It wasn't that Abi was complaining, most night she really didn't have anything to do but talk to them, but still. She smiled at the description of his sister, eyebrows furrowing just the littlest bit. "Wow, she sounds like me around my best friends. I was always way too competitive about stuff too. Aww, congratulations to her! Who's the lucky guy? Summer weddings are beautiful, if I'm being honest. How is being married a competition? But if you want to win, count me in." She hadn't realised how much she had to say to him, like kind of barrier had been broken and she was talking to a friend. Except, Abi didn't feel about him that way; a deeper feeling, one she couldn't put her finger on.

KAEL RYKER

"If my mom had it her way, she'd probably call me every night. She tried when I first moved out here, but she's let go of the reigns a little now - so to speak. Think she realised that now I was gone she could have her own life too - she's out as much as I am from the sound of things. Always doing something with her girlfriends" Kael rolled onto his back, tucking both hands behind his head. Just from the sound of things his upbringing and family life was completely different from Abi's - they'd probably never have even met if it hadn't of been for college. "Some jerk she met at college, he's the son of a millionaire or something. Owns a fancy car - that's all he's really got going for him." Karl's face blushed red as he turned to look at Abi with a look of surprise on his face. She'd probably not meant it the way it sounded - she's probably misunderstood - but a slight panic settled in his stomach that things were moving too fast! "Oh uh - I meant in that she got married first! There's only a year between us - she see's it as a triumph. I'm not ready to get married - unless you meant, oh wait ... you meant count you in as my date?"

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"Please, tell me your secrets. Only if my mom and mummy will listen to me having my own life. It's nice though, knowing that they care and everything." God, he was ridiculously good looking, laying down like that. There was a moment where she wanted to straddle him, her legs rubbing against his. His surprise had her rethinking her original statement and even her cheeks had turned red. "God no, that was so not what I meant! I'm so sorry, jeez nope, not at all what I meant." She was flustered, sitting up in a panic, and then a nervous giggle escaped her lips. "Sorry, sorry. I just got carried away in the sense of competition. I mean, I love helping people win, if I am not the one competing. Otherwise, I don't spare anyone." She shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. "I thought you might have...uhh, I mean, I just assumed you already...you know, had a date or whatever. I dunno." Abi answered meekly, going red all over again. This was foreign to her; she liked him, sure. But this wasn't about having a relationship. "Getting married is more fuss than it's actually worth."

KAEL RYKER

"I mean, it started by not answering the phone." He answered with a shrug, it really had been as simple as that. Mostly because most nights when she called he was drunk, and if she tried again in the morning he was usually hungover. "Yeah, I guess. But I knew that before I left, I don't need her reminding me everyday." Kael relaxed a little as she seemed as mortified at what she'd said as he had been. He even laughed, full belly laughed, at the ridiculousness of the whole misunderstanding. He sat up as she did, leaning in to kiss her shoulder. "If I ever need back up in a competition, I know who to call." He said, leaning back himself as she scooted back to lean against the headboard. "I hadn't really thought about taking a date. You probably wouldn't want to go anyway. It'll be totally obnoxious and over kill."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abigail laughed, shaking her head. Jeez, if she didn't answer to her mother's texts, it would be followed by a barrage of calls that she couldn't field. Like tonight. What would she even tell them? Hey mom, I was busy having great sex with a boy. Yeah no, maybe she'd just let them know she was out making friends. Abi liked the little gesture, the red in her cheeks not fading as she looked at him. "You know it. It's usually my default setting. And if you went to a magnet school like I did, it becomes second nature to want to be the best." Then she realised that wasn't really a bragworthy statement, with a shake of her head. "Aren't all weddings like that? I'm not a big fan of the whole institution that marriage is based upon. The construct of monogamy that the law has a say in feels invasive and spending forever with just one person is a scary thought. What if I never find someone like that? The stigma around divorce is another bone I'd pick with society, thank you." She wasn't quite sure where the vitriol stemmed from, her aversion to commitment and really connecting with people.

KAEL RYKER

"Try going to an Ivy League prep school, everyone had more money than sense - or should I say their daddies did." His mother had married into wealth when she'd married her second husband, Kael had never really fit in with the kids he'd gone to school with despite being among the more popular of the social standing. He'd always found them a bit snobby, hated the superiority complex they all carried around with them. "You don't wanna get married?" Kael asked, genuinely curious. He'd only ever known and dated girls that dreamed of getting married, having huge weddings and living out the rest of their lives as trophy wives.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"Eww, that's awful. But there is a difference in being snobbish and not knowing any different, ya know? But yeah, I totally get how awful it must have been. But you, being Ivy League and all? That's so refreshing to see. All the Ivy people I know are boring pencil pushers and not the friendliest people I have known." Abi came from a higher middle class family, and money wasn't something she worried about. She rubbed shoulders with her moms' friends and their children, and somehow Abi always felt like she still had something to prove to them. She could never win with them, so she sought her own little circle of friends. Turning to face him, why was he so surprised? "No, I don't want to marry. Unless I have truly fallen in love and mentally commited myself to loving them forever. A friend taught me that love is a fleeting feeling. And well, love didn't land my birthgiver in a good place either. Just don't want to go down the same route as her." She shrugged simply, pursing her lips. This was the only thing Abigail ever found about her real mother, and since then, she really hadn't wanted to know more. "Do you ever wanna get married? I know guys who cannot wait to start their own football family, and it's so weird. Like, have you imagined what your wife is going to go through?"

KAEL RYKER

"Yeah, they were both in a lot of ways. Some more than others. It wasn't always bad, it had its perks. My friends always through wicked parties because their parents were just never around, or didn't care. It was fun. I wasn't raised in the same way they were, we didn't have money for a long time - guess that's what makes the difference, gotta understand the squaller to  appreciate the wealth." Kael rolled onto his side, trailing fingers in patterns up her thigh. "Yeah, I mean one day. Maybe. I hadn't really thought about it much. But that's almost the next step after college and career. Right? I don't want a whole football team of kids, but a couple would be nice - but yknow, as many she'd want." It was weird talking to Abi about all this, almost as if they were a couple trying to figure out what each other wanted from life. It seemed like they were completely incompatible, seemed like they wanted different things, but it wasn't as if they were really giving this a shot - so why should it matter to him? It shouldn't.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abi listened to him talk, and it was like she was talking to another Kael. Not the guy she saw around the hallways, not the boy she just slept with; a different Kael who was more than what she had assumed. It felt like she was connecting, it made her like him even more. "Oh, yeah." Abi couldn't relate to that; her mothers made sure she was well taken care of, always. Maybe that was all the difference, but it sure as hell didn't feel like they were not getting along. "Parties! I miss high school parties. The drinking, the antics and of course the pictures on Saturday night. Of course, I only vicariously lived through the pictures and went to one party, maybe? It was a weird time." Why did she sound like such a loser? He was definitely gonna call her a loser after this; her college life wasn't any different. "I know that I probably don't want children till I'm settled in life. Financially and mentally. But it's nice, to have this idea in your mind about having a family. It is a nice thing to look forward to, too." Kael was starting to become akin to a sounding board to her, where she bounced her ideas for the future and he said something back. This was nice.

KAEL RYKER

Kael laughed, the way she spoke about her high school years made sense - it was clear that she'd never been the overly popular kid, but that was endearing. It's what he liked about her now. In the beginning he'd been attracted to her pretty face, beautiful and classic, not like the other girls that surrounded him. "Bet you were a right nerd in high school." He teased, squeezing her thigh slightly before return to drawing patterns. "I won't say you missed out on much, honestly it was all a little dramatic now I think about it. There was always someone throwing up in the corner, or passed out in a bath, girls were always crying... so not all that different to college parties!" They'd met in class, but they'd actually got to know each other at one of those parties, slept together that same night for the first time and though he hadn't intended it to go much further than that - here they were again, several months later. "Yeah, I guess. It's nice."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abi turned red when he laughed; it wasn't the most bragworthy statement about herself, but it was true. Being a nerd kept her safe, kept her happy. But here, with Kael, she began to wonder if she had felt any different in that moment, in bed with a boy she was interested in, whom she met at a party he invited her to. "I guess I was. I still am, and it's turning into a lucrative college career." She couldn't quite picture how dramatic parties sounded; hearing Kael talk was more than enough for her though. Just listening to him talk, watching him be animated, it filled her with a naive sense of happiness. "I mean, you remember how scared I was at that party? It's like looking at humanity's worst moment, no offence. I just feel much more at home in some sort of study group. Less people, less anxiety I guess? I dunno, it's strange." She faltered, unable to explain herself. Abi found herself unable to say anything else after that, at all. Like her brain had slowed down, and words were a task. She yawned, shaking her head. "Ugh, pesky sleep schedule. Sorry, I was saying..."

KAEL RYKER

After that first party Kael hadn't invited her to anymore, well - he had, but he didn't kick up as much fuss when she said no anymore. The night usually ended the same way the first had anyway. He's either call her and she'd meet him at his dorm, or he'd make his way over to hers and stealthily sneak in. "I mean from a sober, outsiders perspective I could probably see what you mean, it's definitely not our finest of moments." He chuckled, scratching his temple. He was a frat boy, and frat boys went all out. They were out to impress and sometimes that made them do the stupidest of things. "I don't know what that feels like... I actually hate being alone, and believe it or not -- I don't like being the centre of attention. People notice you more in smaller groups, it's kinda easy to blend in to a crowd." That was probably something he hadn't told anyone before, probably something he'd never really admitted to himself either - yet here he was baring his soul to this girl at god knows what time in the morning, and all they were doing was sleeping together. "Don't worry about it... sleep. You can stay in you want... you can sneak out when everyone's gone to the game."

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

"I've never gotten straight up drunk in public, so yeah..." Abi had her rebellious phase; she had stolen from her mom's liquor cabinet, and gotten shit faced in the privacy of her room with Eliza and Mellie before. But there was just something about losing control in a public setting that Abigail was not okay with, hence her reluctance to drink, or just go to parties. Going big or going home though, it seemed to be a college thing in general, and she really couldn't blame the frat boys for wanting to live it up. It was almost endearing, the drunken memories they would make. "No way. You, and not like being the center of attention? That's so hard to picture, because everyone knows your name. I'm sure I'd tell Lizz---Dutch, or even Mellie about you and they would know who I was talking about." Maybe an exaggeration, but that was partly the reason why Abi kept their...whatever this was, on the down low. A virgin when they first met, and several months later, the girl liked the privacy and the lack of questions that followed later on. "Isn't it scary though? Blending in? I mean, when I think of crowds, I think of drowning in words and bodies that are not mine and it scares me. Genuinely terrified of losing. Myself or anything, really." She moved in closer, trying to suppress the shudder that followed her confession; fear wasn't something one wore on their sleeve, and Abigail wasn't any different. Wanting to win, that was a facade. She was scared of doing anything but winning; just as simple as that. Losing him, this thing they had...that was a fear too. So the sensations of his hands on her body relaxed her and she rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes. "Okay...are you sure about that?" She didn't want to hear anything different, but if that was how it would be, then that would be it.

KAEL RYKER

"What seriously? I mean - god for you, least you've never embarrassed yourself." Kael chuckled, he has many a horror story from drunken nights, things he wished he could undo, some that made for great stories and some that would haunt him for the rest of his life. "No. It's easier. When you stand out people notice you more, take note of things - scrutinize you more. When you're part of a group, they just see the whole. Not the individual. In a group you can stay quiet and nobody will notice you're silent. But at the same time you're never lonely." Kael was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, things were getting a little deep and it was more that he'd expected from this. When she leaned into him he wrapped an arm around her, leaning back into the pillows making himself comfortable. "Yeah, course." He mumbled, eyes suddenly starting to feel heavy. Tiredness slowly seeping in.

ABIGAIL WILLBURGH

Abigail laughed softly, now quiet and pondering on his statements. She wasn't quite able to string words together in head, and talking was becoming a chore. Snuggling up next to him, everything blended into a weight of comfort as she closed her eyes and took in the scent of him. An arm around his stomach, she mumbled something akin to liking something or someone. "Good night, Kael." Was her last clear sentence before she dozed off in his arms.

[toggle1-mrfipp]

A Collection of Pieces

Fipp: So a while ago I wrote a one-shot called “The Deep and the Dark, the Light”, and after some thinking it over I decided to turn that into part one of a series called “Salvation”, in which those who were lost make their way back home.

Also, just as I was writing the scene for a certain character, guess who I learned was present during the time of Union X? I don't know about you, but I lost it when I found that out.

A Collection of Pieces

At first, there had been white, nothing but white and it was blinding. White floors, white walls, white decoration from the vases and pillars, to stairs and windows and doors, all of it was white. Even she was white, with a white dress and pale skin, lightly colored blonde hair, and while it had all been so simple, it was overwhelming.

She sat in the corner, trying to understand, half-realized images playing in front of her eyes. Sand and sunlight, the sound of ocean lapping against the beach and the feeling of wind against her skin and the smell of salt wafting up to her. These are things she has never seen before, all she had known is white, but yet she knows of them, and recall feeling of the sand and water against her bare feet. The corner however is the only place she's been, she'd never moved from there, it was the first thing she could recall, and the only place she had ever been.

From that spot, she went over the images, and she wasn't alone, there were other people there as well, and at first they had been empty shapes to her, blurs against the background, but even at that time it did something to her, something inside her chest and it hurt. Change came, however, when a tall figure in black appeared, and when she tilted her head up to meet it, her eyes burned from the sudden change in color, this sudden darkness against the light.

“My, what do we have here?” he had said. She had given no response as he grabbed her by the arm and heaved her up.

000

She grips her weapon tightly in her hand as she stares down the figure standing in front of them, taking note of the glowing flower petals and gently floated around him.

“You?” said the man standing next to her, and already she could feel the rise in temperature. “Out of all the people to bring back into his fold, how the hell did YOU make the cut?”

“It is a surprise, is it not?” the figure says, removing their hood with a small flourish of petals in the air. “Though, I must say I am of equal shock to find you standing amongst these so-called warriors of light.”

Her hold on her weapon tightens as she sees his sights turned from her friend and to her, and she can feel his eye burrow deep into her as a sly smile appears on his lips.

“So, it is you, is it not? One of the seven Princesses of Heart, if I am correct,” he then said. “I must say, but it very good to meet you again, Naminé.”

“I'm not Naminé,” she said, raising he weapon defensively. She'd never met this man before, but something about him sent chills down her spine, had her heart beginning to race, and despite how much she's trying to keep steady, there's a slight shake in her hands.

“Are you not?” the man asked. “You say that, but by simply looking at you, all I can see is that witch.”

“Well I'm still not her, and don't call her a witch like that!”

“You seem to be getting defensive over her for some reason, but I suppose your reasons are your own. A type of narcissism if I had to guess.” The air around him began to pick up, the wind blowing as more petals began to appear, scattering around him. “I suppose I should take this time to appreciate this irony of this moment, the last time the three of us were together like this, you were more than willing to slice through our dear little friend, weren't you Axel?”

A flurry of heat flashes to life beside her as the same kind of weapon she has appears in his hand. “Yeah, funny how things change,” her friend replies, his voice steady as he keeps his eyes on the man.

“A Keyblade for you as well?” the man said, his eyes lingering between the two weapons. “How so very quaint.” He raises his arm into the air, palm open, as a small petal gently drifts downwards, landing on in, and in a flash of light a weapon appears.

Neither she, nor her friend, were expecting him to have the same weapon as well.

000

The crayons were the first colors she had seen, a multitude of vibrant shades that gave off a faint smell that she did not dislike, and for whatever reason, she took to them nearly instantly, she rolled them in her hand, the feeling of wax and paper between her fingers was pleasant. It did something to the inside of her, and the cold numbness had be almost drifted away, leaving room for something else, something small and warm.

“Can you feel the wielder of the Keyblade?” said a soft voice to her side, and while the scent of roses is as nice as the texture of the crayons, the warmth left her and the cold returned. “His name is Sora, but you already know that, don't you Naminé?”

Memories that were never hers suddenly flooded her mind, and she had begun to image a boy, one with a bright smile and a kind heart, one that did what he could to make her feel safe, but she realized that never happened to her. Those memories belonged to someone else, the girl who she wasn't. The man's eyes were heavy on her, and she had wanted nothing more than to shrink into herself, sitting in her chair, and hoping to vanish from his sight.

“Y-yes...” she whispered, and a part of her feels uneasy since that was not the voice she had in her memories.

“I wonder how long you've been here in this castle, all alone,” he continued, slowly moving to the other side of her. “It would drive most people mad, but you are not like most people are you, Naminé?”

Her fingers gripped at the hem of her dress, trying to not look up at him and ignore him, to pretend he was not there.

“I be you would like to see him again, wouldn't you?”

She did, she really did want to see him again, all she wanted to do was to feel that warmth and safeness.

“But, I don't think he'd feel the same way, after all, why would he? You are nothing more than a stranger to him, why would he care who you are, when all you are is a shadow of someone else he knows.”

When the blank pad was slammed down onto her lap, she'd screamed, looking up to the other person, who glared down at her with piercing green eyes.

“Well then little girl,” the woman said, a finger already tracing her jaw. “If you don't want to spend the rest of your miserable and sad little existence all alone, then you better do something about it.”

She hadn't said anything, her body froze, and she couldn't move a muscle even if she wanted to.

“If you don't want to do anything,” the man continued, stepping in front of her and next to the woman. “Then fine, but there's nothing left to discuss here.” He turned around and began to walk towards the door, the woman following close behind him, each step bring them close to the doors, and she can only watch them leave.

“Please no!” she jumped up, clutching the sketch pad to her chest as the man's hand touched the door, but thankfully they both stopped. “I'll do it, I'll help you!”

She wants that light and that warmth, she wants to feel the things that other girl felt, and she doesn't want to be alone with these people anymore. Most importantly, she wants someone to want her.

“That's very good to hear from you,” he said, turning around to face her, before he and the woman began to make their way back to where she stood on shaky legs. “With this, we will both get what we want, I will obtain Sora's power, and you get what it is that all Nobodies seek and desire above all; the chance to be a Somebody, even if that role is a lie to begin with.”

Suddenly they're both standing over her, taller than her and easily too much for her.

“Oh, look at that, she's trying to look afraid, how cute,” the woman cooed, and before she had the chance to resist, the woman grabbed hold her her face, gripping her jaw in a vice as she turned her to look in her eyes. “Well stop it,” she hissed. “You and I both know you can't actually feel anything, so don't go around making it look like you can, because no one here care.” She pushed her back, letting her fall back into her chair, which rocked as she landed. “Now get to work.”

Not wanting to anger her anymore than she had, the girl had picked up the red crayon and placed it to the blank sheet of paper.

000

The moment she and the woman stare eye-to-eye, she begins to feel afraid. She knows who this woman is, her friend had told her about her after they met the pink-haired man, to prepare her in the case they were to run into anymore of his old “associates”.

The woman stared at her, glaring down at her before she let loose a shrill laughter that nearly made her freeze. She wore no black cloak, but due to the circumstance she is still an enemy, and she knows she's going to have to fight her, but without any help this time.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the woman laughed, taking long strides towards her. “I honestly never expected to see you again Naminé.”

“I'm not Naminé,” she says, trying to control the shaking in her hands.

“Right, right.” The woman waves her hand dismissively. “But honestly I don't see much difference, you have that same watery look that she had, the one that made it look like she was going to cry. That look is recognizable anywhere.”

Back when she fought the man from before, she could feel old and familiar tremors coming through her body, the desire to shrink away from him, to hope he would ignore her if she stayed silent for long enough, but she overcame those thought and fought and won. Here however, she feels afraid, she wants to avoid the woman because she know it'll hurt being near her, and part of her body begins to ache as though they had been roughly grabbed and bruised. She doesn't want to be alone with her, but that's the situation she finds herself in.

Still, she knows she has to fight, and she will.

“Now don't get me wrong, I'm actually glad that I found myself running into you again, Naminé,” she said, heels clacking against the ground. “If you recall, the last time we met you got dear little Sora to do your dirty business for you.” A sudden scowl appeared on her. “Please tell me you somehow grew a spine since then, this will be so much more enjoyable if you did.”

Her throat goes dry at the response, but she keeps strong.

“You're not getting to her anytime soon, she's safe from you. I'll make sure of that.”

The woman stares at her with an unreadable expression before she begins to cackle, throwing a hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle herself. “Oh my, don't tell me she got to you too! Did she go ahead and make you think you were some childhood friend of hers? That you had made some kind of promise to her, that you would protect her? Please, a girl like that can only form relationships through lies, manipulation, and deceit!” Sparks shoot to life around the woman, knives flashing into existence in a flash of lightning between her finger, and she can feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Try to put up more of a fight this time, okay? It's much more fun for me when they fight back.”

There's no time to prepare herself as the woman is already on her.

000

She kept trying to tell herself that it didn't hurt, how could it hurt? She was a Nobody, there was no way someone like her could suffer from a broken heart, when she wasn't supposed to have one in the first place. Even if she did have a heart, it didn't matter, this was the right thing to do; Sora had no need for a heart filled with memories that never happened, not when he had memories of people who were truly important to him, people who were more than mere shadows.

“They will return, you do know this?” said the man who called himself DiZ when he first introduced himself. “This castle is their secondary stronghold, and the members who have been assigned here have perished at Sora and Riku's hand, they will want to know what had happened here. When they send someone, they will find you, and they will take him and his friends for themselves, and eliminate you when they do. How could you not think that far ahead?”

“I-” She could say anything else, of course she knew about the Organization, but she had hoped that maybe with the properties of the castle that maybe she could be safe, and protect Sora, Donald and Goofy, at least long enough to restore their memories. As long as she had all the pieces, it wouldn't take that long, maybe a week, less than seven days even, surely enough time before the Organization sent anyone here.

But there was no progress to make, there were too many missing links, too many important memories that would otherwise leave gaps, and the result would leave someone who was not entirely Sora.

“I know of a place we can take them,” DiZ had said. “A world settled between the Realms of Light and Dark, a quaint village called Twilight Town.”

With that, she found herself living in an old, abandoned mansion on the outskirts of town with DiZ for the better part of a year.

It was quiet for the most part, nothing to disturb her from working of trying to piece together what she could, and while the décor of the mansion was nothing like Castle Oblivion, she couldn't help but feel that same numbing coldness. DiZ had spent most of his time in the basement, monitoring Sora's vitals, and when he wasn't there it was out of the mansion investigating the Organization, the movement of lesser Nobodies, and the occasional supply run. He made for very poor company, leaving her in her room for the most part and only speaking to her when he had questions he needed answers for and was quick to leave when he had gotten what he had wanted. On top of all that, his disdain for Nobodies was for the most part apparent, and at best it would come off as mere tolerance for her presence.

One day, when the temperature outside had dropped, snow began to slowly drift down from the sky and she had traded in her dress for a sweater, she had made the suggestion to maybe put up a small tree.

“Why would you want to do that?” he had asked, his one visible eye giving a piercing, amber glare.

“Well, the holidays are around the corner, so I thought it would be nice to-”

“Don't make me laugh,” he said. “You and I both know that you don't have the capacity to truly appreciate this time of year, so don't try to pretend otherwise.

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

Then that was that.

During her time there, when she was not working on Sora's memories, or drawing in her sketch pad, she would often look outside the window of her room, peaking through the curtains, where she would stare at the forest and the tops of the buildings, gazing to the distant clock tower. One day, something caught her eye; standing in front of the locked gates she could see three people, children of the town if she had to guess. They were standing around, talking amongst themselves, and occasionally pointing towards the mansion until one of them, the tall blonde boy, actually reached out and grabbed the gate, shaking the iron bars in a futile attempt to unlock them, but after a short while he gave up. It wasn't that muck longer after that did the three of them turn around and walk back into the forest and towards town, leaving her to stare at their retreating back, even long after they had gone.

The bits and pieces of memories she had from Kairi came to her, of playing on the islands with Sora and Riku, and the coldness in her chest grew more suppressing. It wasn't smart, she knew that the moment she put her sketchpad down and left her room, but she couldn't help herself, but a part of herself tried to convince herself she could do this, that DiZ had been gone for hours, and for him to be gone for days at a time were not unusual. Even as she pressed her hands against the heavy front doors, pushing them open, she kept telling herself that there was nothing wrong with this.

For the first time ever, she stood outside, the orange glow of the twilit sun shining down warmly on her skin, while a soft breeze gently blew around her and making her hair tickle her ears. She could hear the birds and the trees as they swayed in the wind, and how the grass sank beneath her sandals. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and simply allowed herself to  enjoy being outside.

“What are you doing out here, Naminé!”

Spinning on her feet she turned to the open door, where a furious-looking DiZ had already begun making his way towards her.

“D-DiZ!” she gasped. “I-” She didn't get the chance to continue when DiZ grabbed her by her arm in a vice-like grip and proceeded to drag her back into the mansion, with enough speed and force that she almost tripped over her own feet in trying to keep up with him. When they entered the threshold he all but threw her into the main hall, almost causing her to tumble to the ground as he slammed the doors behind him.

“What were you doing outside?” he growled, hands still on the doors.

“I-I-” she stuttered, a hand moving to were he grabbed her, to where she could already see light bruise marks forming. “I just wanted to go outside, at least once. I didn't think-”

“Of course you didn't think you stupid girl,” DiZ growled, turning towards her, and she shrunk before him, stepping back and trying to avoid his eye, hoping that she would turn invisible, just be anywhere but here. “If the Organization were to find you, then everything that I have worked for would be for nothing.” He took a step closer to her, and she took a step away from him. “You may lack a heart, but I was hoping that you didn't lack a brain.”

“I'm sorry,” she said in a hoarse whisper, feeling smaller and smaller with every second.

“Go back to your room and continue with your work.”

She ran up the stairs and away from him, and it wasn't until she had sat down in her chair did she realize that she was holding her breath. Her heart, the actual organ, beating rapidly in her chest and her hands shaking, tears beginning to well in the corners of her eyes, she took hold of her sketchbook and gave one last glance to the window to the outside world.

Knowing she didn't deserve it, she went back to work.

000

She had never gotten a good look at the man, once from the castle in the world of nothingness, and several times from half-remembered memories from another lifetime, but she is positive that she had never seen him look like this, so much older and tired than what she would have expected.

“I-” he started, eyes wearily blinking as he leaned against the table he was seated next too. “I cannot help but thank you enough for rescuing me from their clutches, I had almost began to fear that had rescue not come sooner, than all that would be left of me would be an empty shell of the man I once was, more so than what you see before you.”

“We were happy to help, though I can't say were knew you were going to be there,” says the boy by her side, before giving a nervous glance to the side as he scratched the back of his head. There are a lot of things she wants to say to him, to tell him, she she was never certain how to do it, but for now just being with him, fighting along side him, is more than enough for her. “He actually thought you died back at The World that Never Was, so we were all surprised to hear that you somehow ended up back in the Realm of Darkness, where you met Aqua.”

“Aqua...” the old man repeated, his voice far off. “Yes, that blue-haired girl with key in hand, so she somehow survived her encounter with Xehanort's other personas. I was deeply worried for the worst, she reminded me a lot of you.”

The boy gives a laugh, but she can't help but keep her eyes on the man. Something is building in her chest when she looks at him, and she doesn't know quiet what it is. It's something unpleasant, it's not anger or disgust though, or resentment, and she is not certain why she's feeling it at all, until she remembers that maybe she's not the one feeling it.

She then realizes it's possibly pity more than anything else.

“So what are you going to do now?” she asks, the first thing she has directly to the old man.

“What now?” he replies, carefully and slowly. “Once I said I was a servant of the world, and I do know that Xehanort must still be stopped, and I fully intend to do what I can to help, but...” He pushes himself up from his seat until he is standing, his arm shaking as he uses it to prop himself up, and she's almost worried he might fall. “However, there are a few things I feel I must first rectify.”

She and the boy exchange confused looks before they look back to the man, who now seems so much more old and tired than before, eyes  filled with a heavy sorrow.

“The last time I took up arms against the Organization, I did so from the shadows,” he began. “While my goals were for the better of the worlds, I cannot say that my desire for said goal was pure. I had wanted revenge for their actions against me, and I cared not what had happened, but as long as they were all eliminated, than I cared not what happened. However, my time in the Realm of Darkness, I reflected on my past actions, and I came to realize that in the end I was just as heartless, maybe even more so, than Xemnas himself. People were hurt because of my desire for vengeance, and lives were ruined, and you two know more than anybody as to whom I refer to to.”

“You mean Roxas and Naminé?” the boy said, a hand drifting to his chest, an action she repeats.

“Yes, Roxas and Naminé. I had done so much wrong by them, and they suffered because of me.”

“And what?” she said, the words coming out a bit more accusing in tone than what she would have wanted. “Do you intend to do something about it?”

The old man says nothing, his gaze averting itself from having to look either of them in the eye.

“I know I will never have the right to earn forgiveness for my actions, I would at the very least would like the chance to try and make things right by them.”

“How?”

“I do not know if you are aware, but the Organization had something they called the Replica Project, and while the resources here at Radiant Garden, and at my old base in Twilight Town, are not nearly as refined or advanced when compared to what the Organization had, I would like to hope that I could create suitable vessels for them, though I cannot say it will be an easy task.”

She and the boy glance at each other, both hesitant to take this chance. This is a very important thing to them, and they don't want to risk something going wrong, but at the same time they both know that something like this would be risky and possibly dangerous from the start. More so for him than her, much to the feeling of dread she has in the put of her stomach.

“Well, let's see what you can do,” he says, eventually, and despite her own fears and doubts, she nods in agreement.

000

There is light everywhere around her, it's bright and powerful, but it is not overwhelming or oppressing in anyway, but rather it is gentle, and warm, and most of all pure. Shadows and darkness are foreign here, they don't have a place here and they never did, for this place, this heart, is one of only seven like it in all the worlds. It's utterly beautiful and without flaw. She, however, is a blemish on it, an imperfection that was never meant to be here, an ugly shadow that will one day simply cease to exist, leaving this place pure again.

Most of her time here had left her feeling tired, nearly asleep and barely conscious of her own self, and the few times she was fully aware of herself and what was happening around her she wondered how much longer it would be. She was a Nobody, a creature born into nothingness, maybe even more so considering the particulars of her birth, and as with all Nobodies the only fate she had would be to one day fade back into darkness. Yes, there were the few exceptions to that rule, the ones who managed to regain the hearts they lost, but she knows that is something she cannot have, for the heart she lost already belongs to someone else, the person she used to be. All that is left for is oblivion, to fade away into nothing, but after everything that has happened to her, she is fine with that, she has to be.

“You shouldn't have to feel like that.”

Her eyes opened, and in a moment of stark clarity she can see that she is not alone.

“Kairi?” she said in surprise to seeing her original self before her in the light.

“Hello Naminé,” Kairi said back, a kind smile on her face. “It's good to see you again.”

“What are you doing here?” Naminé asked.

“I'm here to help you of course, how else could I have gotten here?”

“Help me? Oh...” Realization pours down on her, and she found that she could not look her Somebody in the eye any longer. “Kairi, I appreciate that you want to do that for me, but we've been over this before, this is how it's meant to be, I was never supposed to exist in the first place, and the only thing I can do is to go back to where I belong.”

“And where is that?”

“To go back to you, as long as I exist like I do, you can't be complete, you'll always have a piece of you missing, and this is the only way for you to become whole again.”

“Is that what you really want though? Just to vanish and just become a part of me and never really be someone on your own?”

Naminé's eyes fell down to the lower regions of the light-filled void, trying to look away from Kairi. “...It's for what's best, there can be only one Kairi.”

A heavy silence filled the air between them, Kairi herself acting as a heavy presence in it.

“You're right,” she said after a time, her voice low. “There can only be one Kairi, no one wants a second one running around.”

“I'm glad you understand, Kairi,” Naminé replied, accepting her words.

“No one wants a second Kairi, because they want only one Naminé.” With those words Naminé's head snapped back up, to meet Kairi's own eyes. “You talk about how you feel you don't have the right to exist because you're a Nobody, but then what about Lea? He came back, and so did several members of the Organization too, and if people like that could be given a second chance, than you certainly have more than any right to have your own existence.”

“Do I really, because I don't think so. I'm not exactly free of sins either...”

“You mean Sora and his memories?”

Namine nodded. “Yes, and Roxas too. I took apart their memories and rearranged them and they suffered for it, Roxas lost his individuality, and Sora, Donald and Goofy each lost a year of their lives. Worst of all, I replaced you with myself in his memories, and even though I later tried to make things right, it still doesn't change the fact that I wanted to replace you because... because...” She turned away from Kairi, unable to look at her as she wrapped her arms around her small frame. “I wanted someone to think of me, and think of someone special, someone that he wanted to see, but I get it now, I'm no one special. I'm just a...” A nobody she wanted to say, but she couldn't say it.

“Then you're wrong,” Kairi said, the tone of her voice stronger than before. “Yes, you made a mistake, but you're not alone in that; Riku made mistakes too, but Sora and I were never angry at him, and from what Master Aqua has told us, she and her friends made terrible mistakes as well, but all she wants is to be together with them again. Do you know why people are so willing to forgive?”

“...”

“Because Riku is my friend, because Master Aqua misses her friends so much, because after everything that has happened, I want us to be friends, Naminé.”

Kairi's words surprised Naminé and she couldn't help but look back to her.

“I want to get to know who you are, that you're more than some part of me, and I'm not alone in that. Riku would like to know you better, and Sora, I think more than anyone else, would love to able to call you his friend,” she said, a warm smile coming to life.

Her hands drifted down from her arm until they had reached each-other, her fingers lightly grasping at her pinkie. “He did make a promise...” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “But, if they really want to know me, then how do I be... me?”

“I don't know... From what Riku and Lea told me, that between Castle Oblivion and DiZ, you maybe haven't had much time to really figure that out for yourself. I'd like to help you with that if you'd want.” She then reached out and offered her hand out to her.

Naminé looked at the hand offered to her and hesitated. Could she do this? Was it possible to have a different kind of future for herself, a future at all? It was almost overwhelming to think about, the idea that she could have more, frightening to think about.

Hesitantly though, she reached out to Kairi, half-expecting her to pull her hand back, but instead she was able to grasp it, and she began to feel a soft warmth going through her body. Instead of coming from Kairi, like she expected, she found that it was coming from within.

000

Please be well,

Mrfipp

[wars-of-writing-blog]

Two Persons, Four Crushes

My own fan fiction is finally complete! Part 1 of 4!

Chapter 1: Have You Ever Considered…

(Notes: I was inspired by Shower by Becky G. Listen to it while reading this, or afterwards.)

TUESDAY

  Ladybug swung onto the balcony, unveiling her detransformation in a flurry of sparkles. “Here you go Tikki.” Marinette placed her kwami gently onto a platter of chocolate chip cookies, waiting on the table. Tikki smiled and took the plate down to the loft. Marinette followed her, landing on her bed and then climbing down the stairs.

  Tonight’s akuma was an especially easy one, done with in half an hour. Pied Piper, who controlled rats with her flute. It was funny seeing Chat engage in a game of literal cat and mouse. But she had been a tired old tune. Marinette giggled softly. She had been spending too much time around Chat. He was infecting her with his puns! She sat down in her rolling chair and quickly sketched out a design that had been rattling in her head since patrol. A simple v-line with strapped sleeves, a loose waist and a short narrow skirt, done in forest greens and browns. Finishing it up, Marinette leaned back in the chair, absentmindedly pushing it around. Her flashes of inspiration were getting quicker and quicker, sometimes she was only able to draw a skirt or shirt before it left. And that wasn’t counting when they came during patrol or battles.

  Blinking, Marinette shook her head. Her gaze settled on her posters of Adrien and she smiled brightly. “He really is something, isn’t he?”

  Tikki flew down from the loft, a cookie still in their paws. They settled on their chosen’s shoulder and hummed noncommittally, taking a bite. Marinette noticed immediately, turning her head to her kwami. “What?”

  “What do you see in Adrien, Marinette?” They asked bluntly, chewing the cookie. Marinette arched a brow.

  “I see everything!” She got up, gesturing to the posters as if they helped illustrate her point. “He’s amazing! He’s really kind and can actually put with Chloe. He’s really hardworking, his grades are probably way better than mine. Especially in physics.” Marinette grimaced at the mere mention of the subject.

  “Marinette…”

  “He’s selfless and considerate, remember when he let me play instead of him in the Mecha Strike III tournament? Even though I was trying to play with him, in the first place.” Marinette grinned apologetically at Tikki’s frown.

  “Marinette.”

  “And he’s absolutely gorgeous.” Marinette leaned against a bedpost, a lovestruck smile on her lips as she gazed at one of the posters. She turned back to Tikki, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “Plus, he’s really kind. Do you remember when he gave me his umbrella? But, really, he’s simply a really good person. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  “…..” Tikki gazed at their chosen. They needed to go about this the right way; Marinette didn’t see what they did. Adrien was all those things, but so much more. But how could they get Marinette to see that? And would she even wantto see it? And knowing who Adrien really was, as Chat Noir, would it be good if their chosen really saw him? “But is he really?”

  “Is he really what, Tikki?”

  How could they approach this? A nudge, maybe. “Adrien is all of those things Marinette. But doesn’t he also seem, sad to you? Lonely?” They hoped they got through to their chosen. Marinette did seem conflicted for a moment, brows furrowing at their words.

  Then she swept her arm to the side, almost displacing her kwami. “Adrien can’t be lonely, he’s surrounded by his friends! And sad?” Marinette scoffed. “Please.” She smirked at Tikki. Kwami and chosen stared at each other. It broke when Marinette plucked the half-eaten cookie from Tikki’s grasp and ate it, a little grin on her face.

  Tikki sighed, a tired half-smile on their face. “How about you just watch him tomorrow? Then maybe you’ll see what I see.” They flitted back up the loft. Marinette watched them go, her bravado fading. She tilted her head against the bedpost, lips pursed.

  Adrien couldn’t be lonely. He had tons of fans hanging off his arms every day! Well, at the beginning of the year at least. By this time in the school year, he was treated like every other student. Now that Marinette thought about it, she only sees him with Nino, who dated Alya, who hung out with her. It was either them, or Chloe and Sabrina. Adrien acted friendly with all her classmates, and hung out with them when the class was together like at Alix’s and Kim’s various races, or the Mecha Strike III tournament. But outside of those, she hadn’t seen Adrien interact with anyone in a full conversation. Marinette bit her lip. Did Adrien really not have any friends beside Nino, Alya, and her?

  And sad? He wasn’t sad. Was he? Marinette turned her gaze to the walls. Posters of Adrien in every pose and style of clothing hung from them, but one thing stood out in all of them; his smile. Sure, in some of them he smiled joyfully. But they were small and sad, never reaching his eyes. A façade, just for the cameras. “But-but, this doesn’t mean he’s sad all the time! Right?” The claim sounded weak to her own ears. “Right?” No answer came from high.

  Marinette sat down heavily in her spinning chair. She ran her hands through her hair aggressively, liking the feeling of the rough scratching. She turned back to her sketchbook and opened a new page. Picking up a pencil, Marinette hesitated. Then she dove right in. She just started drawing. Curve there, poof out the hair, underline the eyes, widen the mouth. In minutes, Marinette had sketched Adrien laughing, a full body one. But the only time she could remember him laughing that hard was at the beginning of the school year, when that stupidumbrella had snapped shut over her. Marinette closed the sketchbook. She threw it. It hit the wall with a satisfying whap. She needed to get out of her own head.

  Marinette hurried downstairs and took out a cookbook, turning it to the right page. Chocolate chip cookies. Simple, easy, perfect to bring tomorrow. The cupboard closed with a small slam. For Marinette, it sounded like a bomb went off. She cringed. Thank goodness her parents were used to her sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks. Marinette preheated the oven, recalling how Adrien had reached for them when her dad had offered some at their practice for the Mecha Strike III tournament. “Stupid!” She huffed, lightly smacking herself, “Why didn’t you just let him have some?”

  Marinette stirred the butter and sugar angrily. At least cooking helped calm her down. She went through the steps in a daze, lost in thought of all the things she had missed about her crush. Adrien was so polite, never overstepping people’s bounds or shoving Chloe off of him. Even though she always deserved it. Yet how much of that had become demanded of him? And his diligence to his grades, was probably because of how awful his father is. Or at least that’s what she heard from Nino, and saw for herself as Ladybug…

  “Face it,” Marinette muttered, putting cookie spoonfuls on pans. She shoved the pans into the oven and set a timer. Tossing dirty bowls and utensils in the sink and turning on the water, she started shook her head and started scrubbing. “You don’t know him at all.”

  Marinette set the cookies out to cool, absentmindedly whipping down the counters and grabbing a bag to pack the cookies in. Just thinking about Adrien made her remember another blond, green-eyed boy in her life. She smiled half-heartedly; Chat was sort of similar to Adrien. He was kind and selfless too. Even if it was at the cost of taking hits for her. Marinette slowly frowned. Now that she thought about it, Adrien sometimes made the same motions as Chat. He even punned sometimes…After she and Chat had fought Darkblade, “I got transformed into a knight.” “So did I! What a knight-mare!” And just yesterday,“You matter. Unless you multiply yourself by light, then you energy.” Marinette didn’t really get that one, physics wasn’t her strong suit. But judging from Nino’s muffled groans and Adrien’s delighted snickers at the time, Marinette guessed it was hilarious.

  So both boys were both selfless, Chat in a more self-destructive way; kind and caring, both punners, both were blond with adorable green eyes… Was it possible? …No. No, she-Marinette was just wishing that her crush and her partner could be. Marinette packed up the cookies in a plastic bag, twisting the top closed. Turning all the lights off, she walked back upstairs, and set the cookies gently inside her backpack. She glanced at the clock. 11:30. Too late for a school night. She climbed into the loft and crawled underneath the covers. Marinette smiled at the little Tikki-shaped ball curled up on her pillow. Then her gaze lifted up to the posters of Adrien on her wall adjacent. Sharp aquamarine eyes traced the lines in his hair, the curves of his body, the small smile and glazed eyes. Marinette gripped her sides and frowned.

  Tikki had given her a lot to think about tonight.

____________________________________________

WEDNESDAY

  Marinette played with her earrings, flicking them. She would be the first thing Adrien saw today by standing on the top of the school steps, Alya beside her. She had come in just fifteen minutes earlier to do this! Getting strange looks from classmates, but that was beside the point. She could do this! She was Ladybug, for heaven’s sake, she can give her crush cookies! But-but what if Adrien didn’t like them? What if he hated chocolate chip what if she fell and spilled-

  “Girl.” Alya grabbed her hands and lowered them, staring deep in her eyes. Marinette stilled, both in mind and action. “Take a deep breath.” Marinette did. She knew what Alya was doing; a way to let her anxiety bleed out. Then she let it out. She took another, and another. Slowly, her anxiety trickled away. “You can do this girl. It’s the first step y’know, giving your crush homemade cookies.” Alya giggled as Marinette took back her hands and punched her in the arm. “Worth it!” Marinette huffed. Leave it to Alya…

  She spotted the boys out of the corner of her eye. She can do this. Really, she didn’t need to speak, she could just hand the bag to him. Yeah, yeah! “I can do it!” Marinette walked up the steps, a little bounce in her steps. Alya stayed behind her, providing moral support. Approaching the two boys, Marinette twisted the top of the bag back and forth. She can do this, she can do this, she can-“Hey Adrien!” She can do this.

  “Hey Marinette.” Adrien brightened. He stood up taller, eyes sparkling and and smiled happily. Drawn out of her anxiety for a moment, Marinette analyzed it. Thiswas a real smile, stretched from cheek to cheek and curiosity in his eyes. She drew courage from it. “Do you need something?”

  “I, um, I wanted to-OW!” Marinette was shoved to the side. She winced at a small squeak from her purse. “Sorry Tikki.” Lying on her stomach, she gave a long-suffering sigh, already knowing who had arrived.

  “ADRIKINS!” Chloe screeched, latching onto Adrien with an unbreakable hold. She threw a vengeful smirk at Marinette and marched Adrien inside, elbows interlocked, Sabrina trailing the two blondes. “I swear, why do you keep talking to those bottomfeeders? Anyways…”

  “Chloe.” Alya growled. She held out a hand to Marinette and sneered at the backs of the disappearing blondes. “One of these days she’s going get it… Are your cookies okay?”

  “Yeah.” Marinette accepted the hand gratefully and the two started walking into the courtyard. Stopping next to the stairs, Marinette took off her backpack and stashed the cookies inside. “I guess I’ll have to give them to him later. But I think Chloe’s karma is all the akumas coming after her.” She tugged her friend’s hand and they walked up the steps.

  Alya laughed, throwing her head back. “I-I think you’re right! I’ll have to thank the next akuma for terrorizing her!” Marinette giggled. Alya’s laughs were always contagious. “But did you actually talk to him?”

  Still caught up in mid-giggles, a silly grin shone on Marinette’s face. “I only messed up one sentence.”

  “Well that’s progress! Now hurry up girl, or else we’ll be late for history.”

____________________________________________

  Marinette fumed. Why did Chloe decide today was “Cling to Adrien All The Time” Day? Every single class they had together, Chloe stuck onto him like a leech. It was a miracle that he hadn’t told her no. But, Marinette noticed, he never looked happy about it. He only ever had that model smile on.

  And she had been looking all day. Her notes were messy scribbles, only the bare bones of formulas and equations written down. She’d have to ask Alya for some new ones. But this was important! But which class was she even in right now? Marinette shook her head. “Marinette?”

  “Y-yes?” Mon dieu, why did she say something? Mrs. Bustier looked at her, a small knowing smile on her lips. Now Marinette remembered. Her least favorite class behind physics.

  “How do you spell ‘Wednesday’ in English?”

  “Um….W-i-n-d-s-d-a-y?” Marinette immediately knew she was wrong. Everyone burst out laughing, Kim’s the loudest and Chloe and Sabrina the hardest. Even Alya and Nino snickered a little. But Adrien didn’t laugh, Marinette noticed. That was something at least.

  “Almost! It’s W-E-D-N-E-s-d-a-y. Class, settle down. Wednesday isa hard word. Even native English speakers admit it themselves. Now get into groups!”

  “Ugggghhhh…” Marinette groaned, dropping her head onto her desk. She didn’t want to get up. Alya patted her back.

  “Marinette.” She looked to the side. Adrien tilted his head with a soft smile. What-what was he doing here?! Eyes widening, she flailed. Finally, she settled on one hand on the desk, holding her chin with the other. Why hadn’t he left yet?

  “Y-Yeah?” He was smiling at her why was he grinning-Marinette saw Chloe approaching behind him, furious glare in place.

  “Don’t feel bad. English is a hard language, and that was a really good try.” Still grinning, he patted her shoulder and walked down the steps. He flashed her one last smile before Chloe lunged at him.

  “ADRIKINS!” Marinette frowned. He did only hang out with Chloe and Sabrina, or Nino, Alya, and her. Sure, he spoke to a few classmates. But Chloe was possessive. She clung to his arm at all times, and almost hissed at anyone who came too close to him. Tikki was right, he was lonely. Chloe never let anyone get close to him, or rather “them”.

  The bell rang. Marinette slipped out of the seat, holding Alya’s hand. She could just glimpse the top of Adrien’s carefully brushed hair, and Chloe’s ever-present ponytail. Marinette gritted her teeth; usually they both left immediately after school. That wasn’t gong to happen today, not on her watch! They were swept up in the post-school crowd.

  Summoning just a bit of that Ladybug confidence, Marinette tugged her best friend faster. “C’mon Alya! We have catch them!” Alya quickly fell in step with a grin. Marinette was finally going to make a move! Not theone Alya was hoping for, but one step forward at least. Soon the stream of traffic lessened, and dumped the two girls at the doors.

  Marinette grinned. Luck was with her; Chloe was nowhere to be found but Adrien was still here! Here was her chance! “You go girl!” Alya pushed her towards him. Stumbling forward, Marinette flashed her an awkward smile, mentally steeling herself. Just, don’t say gibberish. Tikki patted her leg through the purse.

____________________________________________

  “Hey Adr-OMPH!” A hand clamped over Nino’s mouth. An akuma?! After him? Why not Chloe?! They dragged him behind one of the front pillars. Inwardly, Nino was freaking out. What did they want with him? But, no worries right?! Ladybug and Chat Noir would show up soon! They let him go. His cap flew off his head as Nino spun around, fists up and ready to do his best against…his girlfriend. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. Leave it to Alya. ”Babe-“

  “Not. One. Word.” Alya whispered. She peeked around the pillar. “Marinette is finally going to talk to Adrien.” She glanced back at her boyfriend, her thick locks whipping around and almost hitting him in the face. Phone in hand and an excited glint in her eye, Nino was very nervous. “And I need at least one of my ships to sail.” She looked back.

  Nino smiled softly and set his head on top of Alya’s. He personally preferred the Ladrien ship. But he knew of Marinette’s huge crush on Adrien, everyone did except for the oblivious boy himself. Good for her for making a move! The thought pricked at his heart a little bit.

  Nino ignored it.

____________________________________________

  Marinette perched on the second to last step of the school, teetering back and forth. She can do this. She can. It was just cookies! It was just-Someone shouted his name from behind her. Marinette whipped around, a growl on her lips. Chloe wasn’t going to take Adrien again. She was going to talk to Adrien! In a nice, polite way of course, not possessively. Marinette furrowed her brow; no one was there. Weird. She turned around and had to try not squeal. Adrien Agreste was right in front of her!

  “Um, h-hi A-Adrien.” Don’t stutter! Adrien smiled a model smile, his eyes a tired green. It killed her to see it.

  “Oh, hi Marinette.” He eyed the bag curiously, “What’s in the bag?”

  “I, um-ImadeyoucookiesIhopeyoulikethem.” She had meantto give it to him, nice and quick, trying to not stumble over her words. However, fate had other plans. Marinette shrieked as she fell forward, having taken a miscalculated step forward. She shut her eyes, tensing up, expecting to meet her old friend yet again. Yet, her face didn’t meet the concrete. Marinette opened her eyes. Strong, warm hands held her forearms.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” The warm, concerned voice of her crush asked. Marinette took a deep breath, trying to fight the rapidly rising heat crawling up her throat. She looked up. Wide-set emerald green eyes caught her own, glinting with something unidentifiable but familiar. Extremely familiar...Marinette nodded mutely and straightened up. She shoved the bag into his chest, deliberately not looking at him.

“Chocolate chip? Wait, this is for me?” She nodded again. She didn’t trust her own voice to not mess up. “Thank you so much!” Marinette looked up to see a megawatt smile light up his face as he got into his ride. “See you tomorrow!”

  She mirrored it. “You’re welcome!” That smile was so familiar on another green-eyed boy she knew…

____________________________________________

  “I did it!” Water sprayed on her head as Marinette danced in place, eyes squeezed shut and grinning hard. “I did it! I did-WHOA!” She slipped backwards. THUNK! Water continued steadily in the old porcelain bathtub. Marinette groaned. That was going to leave a bruise. When she was Ladybug, she was sure-footed and quick-witted. But when she was Marinette, well, her luck always abandoned her. She glared at the offending showerhead above her. Her black hair floated around her, thankfully washed.

  Her head throbbed. That was enough dancing for today. Grumbling, she turned the faucet off and got out, wrapping a towel around herself. Marinette squeezed out her hair, staring at herself in the fogged up mirror. She was able to give her crush cookies, without fumbling her sentences too much! “I did it.”