#i think i drew like. well over several hundred pages of art for them and their relationship

[cosbeans]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YAHAHA u get a special one don't think i ever formally introduced my most beloved, shiye

theyre uh. yea they're the oc i made to ship with jhin HASJGASDJF theyre a vastaya (bootleg league furries) and i had written them solely as a character study to see under which circumstances love might just be possible for the man, and it kind of spiraled out of control from there <3

[focsle]

hello! i have a question: what draws you to whaling and that specific era of time in history? how long has it been an interest of yours?

Oh a much too big question for me to answer adequately in one ask. I’ve written tens of thousands of words on this history and the specific points of it that draw me. I’m pouring years of my life into a 400+ page comic about it. Catch me at 3am talking about reincarnation and how much I feel this all caught up in my soul-stuff. This will not be an answer that fully does my feelings justice. But I’ll link to some of my writings in this response that maybe do that better.

I’ve been deeply researching this history for over a decade, but I’ve always had a nautical bent to my childhood that probably sparked it. My grandfather was a Navy man. His house was covered in weird pirate sculptures and little creatures and art pieces he made out of shells and I think I inherited my sense of aesthetics from him. My mum was drawn to sea stories and things of that nature that was probably passed on to me in some way. Like most kids that sea bent manifested in an early interest in pirates, (tho the brief moby dick section of The Pagemaster was formative…it’s funny, I didn’t read Moby Dick until several years into my deeper dive into this history and then I was like ‘ohhhh….melville gets it). Learning about the Globe mutiny many years ago was a big spark to diving more specifically into said history. I first read a book about it where the writer’s (what I now consider, wobbly) thesis was that it was something about the industry itself that generated something within the perpetrator to choose a whaleship for premeditated slaughter, and the story was so rattling to me that I wanted to know what it was about that world that drove someone to something like that.

But instead I found a world that had so much humanity in it. It was one with a unique and isolated society that was unlike any other social sphere. Years on a ship that was a floating home, a floating factory, that had a relationship to the sea in a way that even other maritime trades did not. Fishing had/has some similarities, but not for the same isolating length or uniquely horrific and gruesome labor that whaling voyages held. The merchant trade had briefer voyages on more expected and well-trod routes. Even piracy followed the shipping lines of humanity more than anything else. With whaling your only destination was the sea, in a longer reach as the whaling grounds depleted and the industry stretched on to bring people to further and lonelier places. Where men would briefly touch land maybe every six months, and have liberty in port maybe even fewer times than that. That they were to go out there, and they weren’t to come back until they got enough oil to make the voyage worth it. It was an industry that drew men of so many different backgrounds and motivations, but the common thread tended to be that they were all very young, and that many of them were trying to find something in themselves or for themselves. An industry full of contradictions that I feel is most poetically expressed in scrimshaw, and one of the few places to see a preserved piece of art from an ordinary man. To see a small window into his emotional world and where his heart was in those long stretches of boredom. It was a space of brutal work, demoralizing work, and repulsive work, one where death was a constant shadow for both men and whales in a way that their lives were always inseparably on the same uncertain coin. But within that world, maybe despite that world, there was also a great deal of humanity, be it their music and sense of play, their whaler-specific social functions, their vulnerability. 

That whaling history luxuriously is a field where the words of hundreds of ordinary working class men have been preserved in diaries and logbooks means I get to know so many of them beyond statistics or names in a database. I get to learn about them on a personal level. I know what they worry about, what their favorite foods are, who they care about, when they have fun, when they’re miserable, sometimes what they find sexy, what makes them cry, and what makes them laugh, and what sort of man they hoped to be. In some of them I was reminded so much of myself, but in all of them I saw their unique and individual humanity, for better or for worse. So many of them carried a societal self consciousness within them that made me understand and feel for them. They often weren’t sure where they fit in a world that wasn’t a whaleship, even if that whaleship was a point of great hardship for them. So many of them wanted to be remembered in ways that they necessarily weren’t—few of them became historically important men, many of them died young or didn’t live to see home again, many of them may not have felt like they had anyone who cared about them, but they all had an existence they still clung to, that I feel compelled to try to honor and remember because I feel so much of them within me through that common thread of humanity.

This is a long answer, but as I said I still can’t express this in any way that isn’t shallow in this small space I have. It’s an interest that is both a personal, academic, and daresay spiritual one. I think to fully understand what draws me to it, you just gotta continually lurk in my awhalin tag and that ongoing comic of mine @goingtoweather. But hopefully this is a satisfying enough summary.

[detectivehannibal]

Pretty as a Picture

__

Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of smut.

A/N: Why do I keep disappearing from this blog?? I’ve had this idea for FOREVER. Fun fact about me, I sometimes recycle my works from other blogs. So if you’re curious, this is from my Harry Potter blog @seriouslysnape and here’s the original work.

Word Count: 1,738

“It’s not much...just a little something for your birthday.”

__

On the surface, surprises don’t really seem to come to mind when you think about Hannibal Lecter. The esteemed psychiatrist always came off to you as an open book. He was usually willing to share all aspects of his life with you, which naturally left you believing that there weren’t any secrets lurking further within himself. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

Despite all the things that you didn’t know about Hannibal, you knew him well enough to know the sorts of things that he has a fancy for and the things he doesn’t. As high maintenance and temperamental as he is, he is shockingly easy to please. It’s a bit of an ironic statement, but still the truth nonetheless. 

You could gift Hannibal with something as simple as a pair of socks or with something as extravagant as a brand new luxury suit, and he’d always have the same genuine, appreciative reaction. If something came from you, he would surely love it with his whole heart. 

This gift, however, was on a whole new level.

The idea had honestly come to you at random when you were brainstorming birthday present possibilities. Even though he would never admit it, he was a bit bored of you buying him a new tie for every occasion. He had a tie for every color, pattern, and even he could ever dream of. You wanted to think outside of the box this time. You wanted to come up with something that he would never ever think of. 

On the flip side, you also wanted to be sure that it was something that he could have for a long time and something that would have some real meaning to him. You could always go down the culinary appliance route, but he already had absolutely everything he’d ever possibly want or need. You were in a bit of a rut, but that’s when you got a wonderful thought.

Hannibal didn’t own many personal pictures. Most of the photos in his house were custom made art pieces that were worth more than the price of your left leg alone. Hannibal never struck you as the kind of man to have plethoras of pictures of loved ones, but you still found it odd. It’d be a win-win in your eyes. You’d supply Hannibal with some photos to hold on to, and it’d be a thoughtful gift.

Then your plan took a sultry turn.

You had picked out a large photo album that would match the aesthetic of his house, and an album that would have plenty of pages to fill up. You kept it stashed away in your closet until you were ready to put pictures inside of it when another idea came to mind. 

What if you made a sexy photo album for him?

At first, you were a little sheepish at the idea. Boudoir style pictures showing off only the dirtiest of contents? It seemed like that might be too much and even a bit weird. The longer you thought about it, though, the more and more the idea sounded good. Maybe Hannibal wouldn’t necessarily jump at the gift, but at least he’d have something to jerk off to when you weren’t around.

You assembled as many outfits as you could, some coming from your personal collection and some were purchased as a specialty to the production of the photos. You’d need some help actually having the photos taken, which is why you recruited one of your closest friends.

You could’ve had them professionally done, but you weren’t sure how comfortable you were with a photographer and group of modeling experts studying over your naked body for an entire day. Your friend was stoked for the project and dedicated a whole afternoon while Hannibal was at work to help you out. 

You took probably about a hundred pictures, all with varying poses, outfits, and locations around the house. You even took a few more innocent photos of you just smiling or doing candid things. You figured that you needed some sweet to balance out the spicy. 

You decorated the pages to add some pop and flare, ultimately thrilled with the final product. Hannibal’s birthday was only a few days away, and you were itching to show him what you had made for him. 

“You’re fidgety tonight.” Hannibal spoke from where he was laid out underneath you on the living room sofa. 

It was true, you had been extremely jittery for the last hour and a half, trying to compose yourself. Hannibal had told you that he had wanted nothing more than to have a quiet evening in for his birthday, which you found as a blessing because he’d definitely want to stay around the house after seeing his gift.

“Sorry. Just excited.” You admitted, seeing this as the perfect opportunity.

He raised a brow, looking down at your frame that was practically trembling with explosive animation. 

“I feel as if I don’t need to inform you that my birthday comes around every year,” He joked; “What’s gotten you so elated?”

You smiled up at him with a brightness that was almost blinding. You scrambled off of the sofa at your cue.

“Wait right here. I’ll be back.” You announced as you dashed up the stairs.

Hannibal chuckled to himself, already guessing as to what you were plotting. You returned shortly after with the picture book in hand, complete with a bow on top. You sat with your legs crossed in front of him, eagerly handing it to him.

“It’s not much...just a little something for your birthday.” You explained.

Hannibal sat up from where he was settled into the cushions, eyeing over the cover carefully. It was a beautifully crafted book, the dark leather was absolutely gorgeous. He pushed the bow off of the sides, opening to the very first page to see a sweet note you had written him, signed with your signature and all. He turned to the first page to actually contain photos on it, and a smile of pure joy spread on his face.

You had put all of the non-sexual pictures in the first two pages to disguise the actual reason for the book. You were smiling happily in each of the first several photos, wearing different casual outfits and in different places. 

“Darling, these are wonderful,” He complimented; “They’re stunning, they-”

His heartbeat quickened when he made it to the third page, and he noticed they had taken on a new theme. The scandalous photos were enough to knock him speechless. For the first time ever, you saw Hannibal’s cheeks break out into a deep blush. His fingertips trailed over one in particular where you were wearing one of his white work shirts with all the buttons undone. The only thing you were wearing underneath was one of his ties settled between your breasts. 

In other photos, you were wearing different sets of lingerie. There was one lacy, red colored set that almost made him faint right then and there.

He was knocked speechless, unable to string together a single sentence. You were beginning to feel a little self conscious, and you went back to your original worry that this was a bad idea. You had honestly expected him to completely attack you with feverish kisses or fuck you right then and there. The fact that he was completely silent was unsettling, because Hannibal Lecter always had something to say. 

Your voice was thick with uncertainty as you spoke to break the silence.

“Hannibal, do you...like them?” You wondered aloud.

His eyes never steered clear from the book in his hands and the photos presented in front of him. He turned to the next page, a rush of arousal flushing over him at one in particular where you were completely naked, stretched out on the massive kitchen counter and giving a look so seductive that it made his belly flutter. The sight of you naked in his culinary world where he spent so much time was a sight to behold.

“[Y/N], I love them. These photographs...they’re beautiful, well produced, and so, so sexy.” He breathed out.

You exhaled a breath of relief, feeling a sense of anticipation as he continued to rake over them. He turned to a new set of pictures, his hot blush growing even deeper onto his cheeks. He couldn’t look away from the scandalous photos, each one becoming dirtier than the last. He was riled up and he was already looking forward to having this book at his disposal.

His lips parted slightly ajar as he loomed over them. Your waiting was patient as he finished looking through them, his pupils dilating more and more by the minute. He closed the book once he was finished, his eyes finally flickering up to you. He had grown a very prevalent erection, and his eyes were filled with an intense amount of lust. Your suspicions had been correct after all. 

He was going to rock your world.

Hannibal usually didn’t try to make the first move. He always wanted you to initiate sex first. He believed that sex was a passionate, romantic connection that shouldn’t always be fueled by burning want and desire from outside resources. Based on the way he was looking at you though, you could tell that he wanted you BADLY. 

He nonchalantly rolled his hips forward to create some kind of friction. The sneaky grin on your face was almost maddening. The way that your body leaned in and your lips brushed over his just ever so was intoxicating. Your lips traveled to his ear as you purposefully let out a wanton moan to tantalize him. 

“Touch me, Hanni. I know you want to.” You coaxed.

That was all he needed. 

Hannibal lunged forward, smothering your body with his and suffocating you with hot kisses. He kept your hands pinned above your head, leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as he intentionally drew the most wonderful sounds out of you. 

“What are the chances of you wearing one of those outfits under this sweater?” He said in a steamy voice.

You squirmed against his hands, but to no avail. When Hannibal didn’t want you to go anywhere, then you wouldn’t. You bit down on your lip in a seductive way, breathing out your response to send him into full on love making mode.

“Why don’t you find out?”

[missjanjie]

Better Than Revenge | Chapter 3

Title: Better Than Revenge Summary: Karma Inc.’s business structure is simple - clients hire them when they’ve been grievously wronged and they send one of their revenge mercenaries to right them. As painstaking as their efforts to remain ethical may be, that may be tested when former detective, Rosé, enlists the squad to pick up where she couldn’t on a much higher scale, with potentially greater consequences. Word Count: ~2.7k (this chapter) | ~8k (total) Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx), Jankie (Jackie Cox/Jan Sport), Halldoll (Nicky Doll/Jaida Essence Hall), Gimone (Gigi Goode/Symone), Gottlux (Gottmik/Olivia Lux) Rating: T

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Gigi, Symone, and Denali's revenge origin stories

-

Woodstock, IL — 2016

Gigi took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could do this, it was fine. Every time her suspicions or confusion would bubble up, she forced them back down. Hannah was nice, she was different from the other popular girls. She didn’t see the ‘weird art lesbian’ with the braces and thick-rimmed glasses, who rarely got pop culture references post-1989, at least, that’s how she made her feel.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she assured her mother as she threw her bag over her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I’m just hanging out with a friend.” She was out to her mom, of course, that was her biggest ally. But she wasn’t ready to tell her that the head cheerleader had taken an interest in her. Maybe when and if they became official. Until then, she shook off the last of her nerves and drove to her house, only pulled from her thoughts by the time she was sitting on Hannah’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Hannah cooed, batting her lashes and resting her hand on Gigi’s thigh.

If Gigi hadn’t been so blinded by her crush, she might’ve thought Hannah was laying it on a little thick, but she couldn’t act like she didn’t enjoy the attention. “Me too, a-about you, I mean. Sorry, I’m just nervous…”

“How come? I didn’t come on too strong over text, did I?”

“No, no I liked it, it’s just… I’m a virgin, like, I’ve only ever kissed before,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. She had talked a big game over text, but being faced with the chance of starting a physical relationship brought her back to reality.

Hannah pouted, rubbing Gigi’s thigh as she thought, letting her hand inch higher. “Well, you’ve got fantasies, don’t you? I know you’ve masturbated before. What do you think about while you touch yourself?”

Gigi hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. The other girl wasn’t wrong, she did know what she liked, could conjure up vivid imagery to get herself aroused, but she had never said any of it out loud. “I like powerful, confident women. I guess that’s something that drew me to you,” she started, “I wanna just… give up control, be dominated.”

“Really? Tell me more,” Hannah prompted, kissing along her neck and jaw and slowly tugging Gigi’s shirt off in an attempt to coax her to continue.

When Hannah didn’t seem deterred by her confession, Gigi started to relax. “It’s just, I don’t know, I always feel the need to be in control of my life and with sex, I just wanna let go and give up that power.”

“So like, what would you want someone to do to you?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She bit down on her lip. “Um… tie me up, spank me, choke me, and I know it’s kind of intense but maybe something like cnc or—” the incessant buzzing of her phone distracted her and, concerned it might be an urgent call or text from home, she took her phone out. “Sorry, one sec.”

It wasn’t from home, she had two missed calls from her best friend, Crystal, followed by several texts.

Crystal: GIGI STOP Crystal: SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Crystal: She’s broadcasting you on IG live! Crystal: We can see and hear everything…

Gigi’s face fell, her first instinct to pull her shirt back on. Then she slowly looked up and in front of her, that’s when she saw it, nestled between stuffed animals — Hannah’s phone with an instagram live going. She didn’t say anything, just ran out of the house as fast as her legs would take her and through her tears drove right to Crystal’s house. That was when the two of them formed their plot.

In and of itself, it was simple. Gigi waited one day until Hannah was away for a cheer competition and went to her house. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Andrews, but I think I left some of my homework in Hannah’s room, she just said to let you know so I can run in and grab it.” Once inside, she found exactly what she was looking for, sliding Hannah’s diary into her backpack and went right back out.

“This feels very Mean Girls, I love it,” Crystal remarked as they taped page after page of the diary on lockers, walls, anywhere they could.

“Well, plan B was to go the Heathers route, so let’s just hope it works.”

And to say it worked was an understatement. As it turned out, Hannah had written things far more incriminating, and because it came from someone of her social ranking, it made everyone immediately lose interest in Gigi’s livestream scandal, and she graduated with the anonymity she needed for survival.

Present Day

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rosé remarked, “it’s kinda hard to picture you as an ugly duckling, especially the way you described it.” Gigi was too pretty, too perfect. Something didn’t add up.

Gigi got out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found one from her senior year. “Believe it, doll,” she said as she held her phone up. She watched with an amused expression as Rosé looked from her phone, to her, and back with her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Braces off, lasik, learned a lot about how to dress while going to FIDM, which is where I met Symone, who helped fill in the blanks.”

“And made sure she got to do all them things she listed to that bitch without feeling ashamed about it,” Symone added with a smirk, draping her arm around Gigi and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why don’t you tell her your story next, baby?” Gigi prompted.

Conway, AR — 2014

Symone watched her sister throw her bag over her shoulder and start to sneak out the window. “Look, I ain’t snitching or nothing, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

She and her sister, Lala, were close, sometimes referring to themselves as twins – they were only ten months apart, in the same grade at school. And until the summer after sophomore year, they had the same group of friends. But the crowd Lala ran with now just rubbed her the wrong way.

“You worry too much,” Lala brushed it off. “I’ll be fine, in bed by morning like nothing happened.”

But when Symone got a collect call two hours later, she found out things were far from fine. She drove down to the county jail as fast as she could without getting pulled over herself. Luckily bail was a mere fifty dollars, but once she got her sister back in the car, she looked at her incredulously. “What the fuck happened?”

“One of ‘em brought weed, another brought booze, but when the cops rolled up on us, they said it all was mine. And who was they gonna believe, me or three white kids?” Lala sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Symone admitted quietly, frustrated at her inability to come up with an immediate solution. “But we’re gonna do our best to get you out of this, okay?”

The best they could do wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of legal maneuvering, meetings with one person in a suit after another. The end result wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what could have been. Lala was fined three hundred dollars and put on thirty days of probation. In and of itself, it didn’t seem so bad, but the residual consequences took their toll.

“I lost my scholarship, ‘mone. That was my ticket into college,” Lala sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting off with a slap on the wrist, but I really ain’t thrilled about taking out student loans,” she sat down on the floor beside the bed, head leaning against it. “Or maybe I’ll start with community college, I dunno. It just fucking sucks that they all got off with warnings.”

Symone’s brows knitted together, her lips pressed into a fine line. “Don’t you worry baby,” she said after a moment, “they gon’ face consequences one way or another.”

It had taken most of spring break, but Symone finally had all of the pieces for her plan. “Not the most convoluted thing in the world, but it’ll get the job done,” she mused.

Lala looked at her sister, then at her desk and back. “Do I even wanna know where the hell you got coke from?”

“No, you do not.”

Getting the drugs was the hard part. Getting into school early to plant the drugs in the lockers of Lala’s former friends was far easier, as was leaving an ‘anonymous tip’ from a ‘concerned student’ on the principal’s desk.

“God, I wish I could’ve seen them get hauled off in cop cars,” Lala remarked as she and Symone drove home from school. The three students were quietly escorted out of class and arrested, the school wanting to bring as little attention as possible. “Shame that they rich daddies will still get them off lightly.”

Symone sighed and nodded. “Sure, but they’re still gonna get something, which is more than what they got when they threw you under the bus. Bet they’re gonna think twice before they let someone else take the fall for them.”

Her sister smiled softly and shook her head. “You really ain’t gotta do all that for me, you know?”

“I know,” she hummed, “not gonna stop me, though.”

Present Day

“Wow, that’s both selfless and hardcore,” Rosé remarked with an impressed nod. “Did she ever find out where you got the coke from?”

Symone laughed and shook her head. “Nah, that secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Rosé jokingly put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she chuckled. After a moment, she turned her attention to Denali. “That just leaves you, princess,” she remarked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s your claim to infamy?”

Denali tossed her hair off her shoulder and grinned softly. “Who, me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes. “Well, it is kind of an interesting story…”

Nicky rolled her eyes and tossed one of the couch pillows at her head. “Stop flirting and get on with it already.”

Fairbanks, AK — 2011

Denali groaned when the sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs pulled her from her quasi-asleep state, then pulled a pillow over her head when the door swung open.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed when the qualifiers are in two hours?” her friend, Kahmora, asked with incredulous horror. She yanked the covers off of her, but stepped back in concern when she finally caught sight of Denali’s face. “Oh god, you look like shit.”

She frowned and rolled over to face away from her. “I feel like I died and was in the process of being reanimated, then killed again,” she lamented. “It’s probably food poisoning… or maybe swine flu came back, I dunno.”

“Did you eat anything unusual?”

Denali furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “I mean, Tara gave me those brownies and I had one, but when she said they were ‘special’, I just thought she meant they had weed in them, but that sure as hell isn’t it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she sat upright. “Oh my god, do you think she poisoned me?”

Kahmora arched her brow. “I think that’s a bit much, even for her. Do I think she put something like a laxative in there so it’d take you out long enough that you couldn’t beat her out in the international qualifiers? Yeah, probably. She’s a cunt.”

The skater scowled, her jaw clenched. “She’s a dead cunt,” she corrected, then suddenly shot out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she raced to the bathroom yet again.

There wasn’t an obvious revenge plan for Denali. She knew that nothing she did would get her spot in the competition, and she wondered if it was even worth it. But her pettiness and spite won out and she began planning out her course of action.

“Remember,” she was saying, “if all else fails, we go the Tonya Harding route.”

Kahmora sighed. “For the last time, you are not whacking Tara’s kneecaps, now let’s go.” Despite some pouting from Denali, they went to get the gears turning in their plan. They got to the ice rink and slipped into the locker room without being noticed by Tara, who was in the middle of practice.

Denali picked the lock and took out Tara’s change of clothes. Then she reached into her own bag and pulled on latex gloves and a plastic bag containing several leaves of poison ivy. She turned the shirt, pants, and socks inside out and firmly rubbed the leaves against the fabric, making sure she left as little fabric uncovered as possible. “She’s lucky I’m merciful or I’d rub it on her panties too,” she remarked offhandedly.

Kahmora tilted her head as she watched her. “Do you actually think it’ll take her out of the competition?” she asked as her friend put the leaves and gloves into the ziploc bag.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s possible, probable really, that the constant itching might make it too difficult for her to skate. But this is more about getting even with her. I might not ever get another chance to compete for internationals. She’s lucky the only retribution she’s getting is a few weeks of itchy blisters.”

“Otherwise you’d Tonya Harding her?”

Denali nodded brightly. “Exactly! Now come on, we have to get rid of the evidence.” And with that, they scurried out of the locker room as inconspicuously as they’d entered it and threw out the evidence in a trash can several blocks over.

When the news broke that Tara had withdrawn from the competition due to ‘unexpected physical problems’, Denali did her best to feign shock and didn’t celebrate until she and Kahmora were alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Kahmora asked.

Denali tilted her head in thought, then smirked. “Let’s go get brownies.”

Present Day

“Personally, I still think you should’ve busted her knees,” Mik mused offhandedly. “Like, I bet you would’ve figured out a way to get away with it, you conniving bitch,” he teased.

Denali shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not very original and it’d look a lot more suspicious on my end.”

“I think it was pretty badass,” Rosé offered, making the other woman smile which, in turn, made her heart flutter — something she chose to actively ignore. Instead, she let all of their stories sink in. None of their reasons for revenge were out of line, none of their victims undeserving. And none of the consequences were as severe as some of the things she had seen in her time. “You all really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for three years if we didn’t,” Jan replied. “We had all of the potential on our own, but we make a difference together, and then we added Jackie to tie up the loose ends. It’s been smooth sailing from there.”

“Yeah, and now Jackie ties you up instead,” Nicky teased, earning an eye roll in response.

Rosé watched the group interact with a fond smile. She had assumed they all got along to be working together for as long as they have been, but she hadn’t anticipated them truly behaving like a family. It was a stark contrast to the constant coldness and curtness she had grown accustomed to, both in her previous career and in the environment she grew up in. She only hoped it would make the tasks ahead that much easier for them.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Do You Want To?

A/N The second prompt-inspired Metric Universe fic, this time in response to a request for Jealous Jamie/Claire by @stellarpuffin. Often we see Jamie being the jealous one, but this idea came to me fully formed. Set way back at the beginning of the Metric timeline, sometime between Breathing Underwater and Lost Kitten. Claire POV, and also just a hint of Jamie/John. Inspired by the Franz Ferdinand song and video referenced in the title, which is gloriously sexually ambiguous and can be seen here.

The entire Metric Universe is available on my AO3 page.

November 14, 2015

Village Underground, Shoreditch, London, England

"Are ye gonna bid on something?" Geillis asked as they made their way through a Tube car converted into an art installation space.

The friends stopped in front of a nine foot pastiche of rubber hoses, protrusions of oil paint and copper plating that seemed to be the artist's interpretation of what it might look like if a factory puked.

"I made my donation when I paid for my ticket," Claire replied. "Intriguing as these pieces are, if I don't mind every penny I'll end up homeless myself."

"Like I'd ever let that happen tae ye," her friend scoffed. "Let's head back tae the main buildin' then and make certain ye get yer money's worth in free food, at least."

Crisis UK's semi-annual fundraiser was a charity auction. Despite her jest, Claire was a regular contributor, having seen the physical and social toll of homelessness first-hand through her work at the hospital. The venue was a converted coal storage warehouse, renovated to the height of Functional Industrial Disrepair, and it echoed with the voices of patrons from all walks of life. Signature cocktails in hand, the two women stood to one side of the room and gossiped between morsels of finger food lifted from passing servers.

"Weeeel, if it isn't the wee fox cub," Geillis remarked with evil glee.

Muddled by several drinks downed in quick succession, Claire looked about for a stray forest animal. What she saw was nearly as unexpected. Standing out amongst the crowd of black dresses and expensive distressed jeans, Jamie Fraser's defiantly chaotic curls and trim navy blue uniform drew her eyes like a magnet. He was leaning down, listening in apparent rapt attention to a petite blonde woman with eyes take took up half her face and a crop top that started its life as a handkerchief.

"Thas' Leery Mackenzie," Geillis noted. "A more persistent flirt ye ne'er did meet, an' thas' comin' from me. Puir lad is in need of rescue."

In truth she barely knew the young fireman, besides having once been the only obstacle standing between his mangled body and the afterlife, but she found herself vaguely disappointed in his choice of company. But who was she to judge? Even heroes were entitled to an easy piece of tail now and then. After all, hadn't he dated Geillis once?

"Don't let me stop you, Duncan. I'll just stand here and hold up this derelict wall."

"Och, nah. Been there, done that. I think ye're the right woman fer the job, Beauchamp."

"Me?" she began to protest, but just then the background music ceased and a well-dressed man called for everyone to take their seats so that the auction could begin.

In addition to the art on display, a number of companies had donated services and experiences to be bid upon. Claire found herself wishing she could afford to indulge in the spa getaway package or a weekend for two in Margate. But then again, who would she take? Instead, she sipped on her drink and observed the crowd as item after item went on the block. Jamie was nowhere to be seen, but his blond friend sat in the front row, her bare shoulders glimmering under the bright lights. Who wore glitter to a charity auction, even in Shoreditch, she wondered uncharitably.

"Our next item on offer is sure to bring a smile to some lucky lady's face," the announcer intoned. "Lot 23 is an all-expenses paid night on the town with one of London Fire Brigade's bright young stars, Mister April himself, James Fraser. And here he is now. I'll start the bidding at fifty pounds."

Claire didn't know where to look first. Next to her, Geillis let out an abbreviated cry, sounding like a strangled goat. On the stage, Jamie had sauntered into the limelight, copperplate curls alight and tall, broad form neatly sheathed in navy blue. And in the front row, a glitter-strewn arm shot skyward before the auctioneer even named his starting price.

"Excellent, I have fifty pounds from the enthusiastic young lady in the front row. Do I hear sixty pounds?"

Hands were raised from elsewhere in the audience, but each time Leery answered with a higher bid.   Soon it was only the blonde tart and a slim dark-haired man with astonishingly long eyelashes who were bidding against each other.  

Claire watched to see if Jamie appeared uneasy with the idea of going on a date with another man, but he smiled easily any time the rivals outbid each other.  He wasn’t a vain man, in her estimation, but he wore his striking looks with an easy confidence that was undeniably sexy.  If you were into that sort of thing, that is.

“I have one hundred and sixty pounds from the young lady in front.  Do I hear one hundred and seventy pounds?”

The dark haired man shook his head, looking sincerely disappointed.  Claire felt a pang of sympathetic compassion.

“...once. Going twice. Final call.  I have one hundred and seventy pounds from a new bidder in the back!”

Every head swiveled around to where Claire sat, her arm raised on high.  Leery narrowed her eyes as though Claire had just cursed her lineage.  From the stage, Jamie made eye contact, instantly recognizing her. Perhaps she was deluding herself, but she felt he looked relieved.

“What happened tae livin’ on the streets?” Geillis snickered as the auctioneer recommenced the bidding.

“I’m banking on the fact that you took me in as a stray once before,” Claire retorted as she lifted her hand a second time.

When all was said and done, she ended up paying two hundred and ten pounds to go out on a date with a man she barely knew.  For reasons she couldn’t fathom, saving Jamie from Leery’s avid clutches was more important than her own ambivalence and enforced frugality.

“Ye never cease tae amaze me, Claire,” Geillis laughed after the auction concluded.  “Never in a million years would I have predicted ye had a crush on yon fox cub.”

“That’s because I don’t have a crush on him,” she denied.  “I just find the whole idea of a man, or a woman, mind you, selling himself like a piece of meat incredibly distasteful.”

“Oh, aye,” her friend grinned.  “Tis a noble deed ye’ve done, tae be sure.  An’ now that ye’ve saved him from the butcher’s block, whatever are ye tae do wit’ him?”

“I haven’t the faintest...”

“Good evenin’ tae ye, Nurse Beauchamp.  Geillis.”

The piece of meat in question stood before them, even more impressive at close range.  Just over his left shoulder she could see Leery looking on in disgust, a moue of despair painted on her ample lips.

After a few casual pleasantries, Jamie said, “Sae, Ms. Beauchamp, shall I give ye my number so we can arrange a time fer our wee outing?  I was thinking dinner an’ a show, but if ye prefer live music we could...”

“There won’t be any need to exchange numbers, Mr. Fraser.  Save your money, or better yet, donate it to the fundraiser.”

The look Leery gave her as she and a hysterical Geillis left to grab their coats was worth every penny.

[sstrongstyle]

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Adam Cole x OC, mentions of Seth Rollins x OC 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After nearly a decade of being the golden girl of WWE, Adaline Marin wants out. Their ring was no longer home, haunted by her first love and upon reaching her thirties, the face behind "Aspen Glory" wonders if the passion she once had was still ablaze. Instead, she gets sent down to NXT to join the Undisputed Era. The next three hundred and sixty-five days, all captured by cameras for the history books, become a year of revival, reinvention, and realization with her legacy at stake and a new flame from the past emerging. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: All characters are referred to by their real life names (for the most part) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I love feedback! Please send some my way! <3 Very background heavy chapter, no real fun, but more to come. If you’re interested in being added to a tag list, let me know!

CHAPTER THREE.

June 8th, 2019

Adaline couldn't believe that she didn't just agree to this, but agreed for it to be done for an entire year. It wasn't like she cared about being in management's good graces and volunteered to do it, but she somehow got hoodwinked into agreeing to a 365 special on herself. She was the last person in the world to enjoy having cameras on her when she was out of the ring and no longer Aspen Glory. Doing interviews out of character for Adaline felt like pulling teeth. She avoided Total Divas at all costs. Even appearing on stuff like Ride Along and UpUpDownDown was difficult for her.

"Just call me the modern day Undertaker," Adaline rolled her eyes, but she smiled a bit, as she sat down for the camera.

She liked her privacy as much as any other wrestler that had cameras constantly on them, but especially since fans liked to pay extra attention to her life for whatever reason. Adaline attributed it to her once long term relationship with Colby, highly publicized at several points because of whatever dirt sheet rumours and private leaks that were thrown their way. She was quiet at all times, her Wikipedia page only covering her wrestling career, as she had been as vague about her childhood as possible in the past.

Raising an eyebrow at the producer, Craig, a few feet away, Adaline wasn't sure where to begin. "I can just talk about anything?"

Anything but the few things on the "no mention" list. Most were contributed by WWE, but a lot of other things were provided by Adaline. This included her past relationship with Colby outside of kayfabe and especially anything to do with Nikki Bella.

"Start with talking about your career so far. You can name drop companies and non-contracted performers, but only because we'll be editing whatever we don't want aired, anyway."

"Right," she shifted slightly, unsurprised. "Well, I'm turning thirty-two this fall, so this will be into my sixteenth year of doing this thing."

She wasn't exactly sure why the Network executives wanted to give her a 365 special. As far as she knew, most of the episodes were focused on wrestlers overcoming serious injuries or taking the next great step in their careers. Was this what NXT was supposed to be for her?

Craig's expression remained blank, as he pushed his semi rimless glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "You started at sixteen years old?" His eyes never left the clipboard in front of him, where she assumed was a list of prompts to ask.

"Yeah, I dropped out of high school in the tenth grade and I worked retail and other random part time jobs for two years while training and working local shows in Toronto. Bingo halls, high school gyms, random parking lots, you know," Adaline explained further, still trying to loosen up her tense shoulders. "When I turned eighteen, I dropped everything and moved to the United States because I knew I was limited, wrestling where I was wrestling. I was an illegal alien with no plan and just a few hundred dollars—the dumb indie wrestler dream."

It'd been so long since she looked back at that time in her life. Once embarrassed by her roots, Adaline felt a warm, fuzzy feeling at the pit of her stomach and couldn't ignore the swelling of pride in her heart. She'd come far.

The look on Craig's face induced Adaline to continue, so she took a deep breath. "My early work happened in Pennsylvania, where I fought my way into gyms and I mean fought. It was really hard at that time for a woman to be taken seriously. It was guys like Drew Gulak and Jon—" Although Craig said that she was allowed to name drop non-contracted performers, she was positive that uttering the former Dean Ambrose's name wasn't worth it. "—um, who helped me learn the ropes and culture in that area. Chikara's Wrestling Factory really helped me out and I did stuff for them and other places like CZW. Drew was the head trainer at the CZW at the time and was one of the first mentor figures I had."

If Adaline had to put her money on it, she would have said that Craig was bored out of his damn mind, but then again, he had the same expression on his face ever since he walked into the room. "Did you just stay in the northeast for that portion of your career?"

"I ventured a bit more west as time went by. Definitely lingered around Illinois for a while, since it's where the top independent women's promotions were at the time. Funnily enough, I ended up living in Chicago for about ten years after that." To be with her boyfriend, but she didn't mention that. "I did some time on the west coast, not as much as I wish I did, but I definitely had some fun doing stuff in California and for a split second, Mexico. Three years into working in the States and I somehow, by a miracle, land myself in the locker room of Florida Championship Wrestling."

To this day, Adaline wasn't exactly sure how she got in. The tape that she sent the developmental recruits was god-awful and her tryout promo was more than cringy. However, looking at other people in her recruitment class, it was clear that officials and scouts looked at potential over everything—how well could they be molded into the WWE standard, the ceiling of their entertainment value. She wasn't sure if she should feel flattered that they saw that in her or not or if they simply saw that she could be easily manipulated.

"It was definitely a time down there. Difficult, yes, but I learned so much." Adaline could recall nights crying into her pillow out of frustration for where her training was going and how she was treated by the other talent. Girls often claimed how hard they were judged for being models and dancers before coming to FCW, but it was just as hard being an "arrogant indie schmuck." There weren't many women from back then who could relate to the garbage that she went through.

Craig asked, "Do you think performers then had a harder time in FCW than the recruits down in the PC and NXT today?"

She paused, taking the question in. "Not a harder time, per say, but the process is much smoother now, while being more of a burden. We have the state of the art Performance Center now, compared to that warehouse we used to train in. NXT gets so much more exposure now that it's harder to reinvent yourself at your own pace." Adaline said. "In a way, because NXT is now its own brand, I would say that talent from the FCW era were much more catty in the sense of starting drama and wanting to move up to get on the road with the main roster talent. The divas division back then was a very different culture to the women's locker room here at Full Sail, which is now very welcoming. Everyone wants to help each other, not drag them down."

There was nothing Adaline wanted to do more than expose certain names, but she held herself back. The catty environment, the hazing, the drama and sabotage, was too much for her. She was just glad that she move on from there quickly, as her memories in developmental hurt her as much as they did help her.

"And after FCW?"

Adaline grinned. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows what happened after that."

For the first few years, she was afraid that the only reason she got lumped in with The Shield was because she was Colby's long term girlfriend and that they assumed he would be most comfortable with her as their valet. After all, Adaline wasn't exactly progressing as a character in FCW. She was scared of that, and only being considered as eye candy and a side item for the boys. It took years of understanding from other people and seeing the product in the eye of the executives that they truly must have seen potential in her.

And if all of the above were true anyway, then Adaline made damn sure to prove herself to be otherwise in the past few years.

"My time with The Shield was everything I could ask for and more. I'm glad I spent that portion of my career with those guys, I don't think I could have found my way around without them. We were all definitely kind of lost, but we had each other, and we were really family." She wanted to say are family, but things were different these days.

Adaline talked to Joe the most, at least up until her move to the yellow and black brand. He texted and checked up on her often while she was off TV. Jon came here and there, but things were different. She only kept up with him through Renee, since the man clearly had yet to discover how to reply to a text.

Then, there was Colby.

Things were good the first couple months after the big finale. As fine as they could be, really. They were on different brands leading up to Wrestlemania, which contributed tremendously to the smooth sailing. After the Royal Rumble, though, things got. . . weird and of course, she hadn't known it yet, but it was around the time he started seeing Becky.

"Hey, Becks, some of the girls are going back to my hotel room after the show," Adaline had tapped Becky on the shoulder after catching her outside of the trainer's room during the later hours of Elimination Chamber. "You gonna come and kick my ass in Mario Kart?"

For whatever reason, Becky's expression dropped. "Oh, uh, actually, I'm just gonna head back to mine. Call it in early, y'know?" Tripping over her words, the fluster in her voice was a tad suspicious to Adaline, but she brushed it off.

She'd proceeded with her plans with Pamela and Leah, playing video games into the early morning. Adaline didn't even think of Becky and her obvious excuse until Leah mentioned that she ran into Becky on her way back to her own room.

"It was written all over her face! Someone definitely got lucky that night," Leah mused at the makeup table, two days later at Smackdown. "Who do you think the guy is? She's definitely not one for random hookups."

Adaline knew that she wasn't owed an explanation to Colby's new love life, but she was a little disappointed that she figured it out on her own. The little things, the rumours she heard backstage, all pieced together for her to realize what was going on between the two of them. Maybe Adaline wouldn't have felt so ruffled about it if it wasn't made to be so weird and secretive. She didn't tell anyone what she found out, keeping it to herself until they announced it themselves.

"Stop making excuses for him, I know why he's late." She didn't even look up from her phone, as she waited in the passenger's seat of the group's rental car. "He's with her, right?"

This was at the tail end of The Shield's farewell era in February earlier that year. Though, Adaline was not heavily involved in the storyline as some expected her to be—the escalation to her own Wrestlemania feud had been going on and she had duties to fulfill on the Smackdown brand. She wasn't there for the buildup throughout the month on Raw, but she was able to join the reunion at Fastlane. It was the group's last match together and the group begged personnel to let her be apart of at least the final moments.

Joe and Jon simply exchanged looks with each other in response. They clearly knew about the couple and probably found out from Colby himself. While nobody said anything to Adaline about it, deep down, they all knew that nobody needed to. She knew Colby more than possibly any other person in the world and the two weren't surprised that she figured it all out.

"Right." Jon was the one who chose to break the awkward silence. "Well, he can meet us there. Let's get this show on the road, we got some beautiful people waiting to see my beautiful face at that bar." It felt a little wrong to not wait for Colby on their way to the roster's "Goodbye Shield" party at a local watering hole, but even Joe was sick of waiting and started the engine.

"We had the time of our lives in that initial run. There's just too memories that I'll cherish forever, you know. But, my memory of all time is surprising the fans at Fastlane, when I showed up to accompany the boys to the ring one last time and having that farewell embrace as the show went off air." Adaline quickly blinked back the tears, as sensitive as ever, but she didn't like showing that side of her to the camera. "I swear to god, time seemed to just completely stop for those few minutes. It was out of this world, nothing like it."

The most magical part of wrestling was the crowd, there's no denying that. On the eve of Fastlane, Adaline felt mountains of love and excitement from the fans, knowing that they were witnessing the end of an era. All four of them knew it was the end of an era, in many ways more than one. Adaline and Colby, who were always known as a collective, rather than individually, were now apart and were now moving on from each other. Mox chose to chase his dreams elsewhere, away from the three that became his family. Joe's legacy in the industry was building and building, year by year. They were no longer the people they were in 2012, having finally gotten a taste of wealth and glory after early years of struggle when the four used to share a single hotel room to save costs.

She'll always be grateful for her run with The Shield. At the beginning, she was just happy to be in a main roster storyline. She was just happy to be able to maximize her time with Colby. Beyond that, Jon and Joe became her family. Bickering over who's turn it was to drive after long house shows, getting to know Joe's kids, playing video games in the locker rooms and every hotel room, and nobody leaving the trainer's room until everybody was clear. No one got left behind.

Back then, it was like that. Now? Adaline can't help but feel like she's come to that point, without any of the three by her side for the first time in a decade.

Craig sighed a little too loudly, rolling up his sleeve and glancing at the shiny watch on his wrist. "We're running out of time. We'll touch on your time with The Authority and everything since then for our next interview day, maybe also dig a little deeper into your new alliance with Undisputed Era." Adaline tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, already worn out from the questions. "Last thing. What are your expectations going into NXT, considering all that you've gone through in sixteen years?"

A question that she didn't know the answer to.

"It's good catching up with you. You have your locker number?" Coach Bloom stood up from his chair from across the desk, extending his hand for Adaline to shake.

She nodded, taking his hand. "Yes, sir. I'll be on my way, then."

Being called into the head trainer's office was similar to the feeling of being called into the principal's office and she had more fear in her body than someone who had just arrived should have had. That was the feeling that Bloom gave off to all NXT residents, but she knew that there was always care behind his tough demeanour. He simply wanted to welcome her properly to the PC on her first official day.

Meanwhile, Serena had been sitting to the side of the two of them and she couldn't confine the grin stretching across her face. When they had shook hands, she instead pulled her old friend into a tight embrace.

"I'm so happy you're here," she whispered into her ear, not caring that Bloom was rolling his eyes at them, mumbling about something for the two women to take it outside of his office.

They had only reunited so few times since Serena signed on as a coach for the Centre a year ago and it only made the moment feel so much sweeter. At the very beginning of Adaline's career, Serena had served as such a helpful mentor figure, even going into their short lived time in the FCW women's locker room together. To have their paths intersect once again, at yet another pivotal part in Adaline's life, seemed poetic in a sense.

Adaline walked out of the office, in tow with Serena. "I guess I'll be responding to your drills again, huh?"

"And you better do it damn well," she raised an eyebrow at the younger woman. "I'm still in shock that you're here. They really didn't want you going anywhere else, huh?"

Shrugging in response, the Canadian sighed. "I'm in shock, too—considering that NXT wasn't apart of the plan." Adaline was getting tired complaining about how the wool was pulled over her eyes during her contract negotiations, but it was starting to fully settle in. Meeting the guys in Hunter's office softened the blow. It was time to shut up and accept the facts.

"People everywhere watched what you did all over the world during those two years that you were gone. You don't need this company to be a star, they need you," Serena said. "Have you maybe considered that you're here because you did all you could do on RAW and Smackdown?"

Those words echoed in Adaline's head, as she trudged into the women's locker room.

It had almost ten years since she started this journey in this company and it seemed like almost everybody that started with her had already grown tired of it. Her first road wives, April and Celeste, were long gone. Danielle decided that she was worn out and was gone. Trinity had recently taken time off and wasn't sure when she was coming back to the ring. Saraya, someone who Adaline thought would be wrestling in her sixties, was retired. Even the goddamn Bellas weren't around anymore. Ninety percent of the division from a decade ago was gone. Wasn't she exhausted, too?

She envied women like Becky and Pamela, who were still hungry for more. There were others who had just made the main roster and some down with her in NXT now, who suffered through the struggles of the indies and were still ready to claw up to the top. Adaline wondered where that drive was for her.

Every locker was labelled by ring name, some with more long-standing plates—mainstays like Io Shirai and Bianca Belair. Meanwhile, others simply had a laminated piece of paper slapped on top of the metal. These were the recruits who had yet to prove themselves, the names that Adaline couldn't recognize.

A shiny, new plate shone on the locker that sat at the corner of the room. Aspen Glory, it read, in all of its permanent lustre.

She slammed her gym bag onto the bench, the impact echoing throughout the empty room. The process felt foreign, making a locker home when Adaline spent so many years travelling to probably hundreds of different arenas and treating each space and moment as temporary. She wasn't sure where to begin, as she unlocked the door and was met with a clean, baby blue interior.

There were some basic things that she brought, like extra socks, a water bottle, and shower shoes. Adaline quickly filled the locker up with these contents and it still appeared so barren to her. What the hell else was she supposed to put in it? She shrugged, not thinking too much about it. Then, she heard the door creak open.

Somewhat hidden away from the front of the locker room, Adaline could hear a distinct voice that seemed to be talking to someone over the phone and a smile formed, hoping it was who she thought it was.

"Yeah, that sounds good for dinner. I just got into the PC, I think Cheree's already waiting for me. You know how she is, she's always early. Alright, bye, Johnny, I love you. See you."

A flash of blonde hair only confirmed Adaline's suspicions. It was Candice LeRae, who hummed the melody of a 90s pop song and chewed bubblegum, as she strolled over without noticing the other female in the room. She easily unlocked her name plated locker, which was across from Adaline's, and nearly everything spilled out from it being too full.

She groaned. "Oh, crap," Candice said, trying to chase a bottle of dry shampoo that had begun rolling across the floor, only to be met with Adaline's bemused expression.

"Hi."

"Hey," Candice replied with a grin, a little perplexed.

Almost instantaneously, they pulled each other into a hug. Knowing that she would be diving head first into the unknown, Adaline was aware that she couldn't navigate all on her own. The two Breezango idiots were too busy figuring their own things out and she couldn't voice her anxiety to her new stable mates, wanting to give off a confident face. There were only so many people that Adaline could turn to outside of them, so she gave Candice a heads up that she was now reporting to the Performance Centre.

Adaline bent down and reached out for the lavender can for her shorter friend, passing it to her. "Your shit's a mess, girl."

"Yours will be, too. Give it a month," she rolled her eyes and peeked over her shoulder at Adaline's belongings on the bench. "You're moving in today?! I honestly did not expect to see you here so soon."

"I told you that I landed a few days ago, didn't I? I've been in meetings all weekend," Adaline replied with a groan. She had only been in Orlando for such a short amount of time and the amount of work and settling she had to do was taxing. The NXT tapings hadn't even begun, yet.

Candice said, "Yeah, it doesn't really slow down for another week or so. You'll love it here, I promise." As everyone else had promised Adaline, who clearly wasn't convinced.

The blonde turned around and put the can back into its place—if it even had one, in that mess of a locker—and began rummaging through her personal possessions. Candice let a out a soft a-ha! when she found what she was looking for at the back of the space, a Minnie Mouse hairbrush. Adaline chuckled softly at the sight and turned around, closing her own locker.

"Are you off to go workout?"

"Yeah, Cheree's wanted to get some cardio in. Any more meetings today?" Candice replied.

Adaline shook her head. "No, just moving in." She gestured to her gym bag and locker.

"Well, while you're here, the taping schedule is posted up by the west wing double doors, you know, the ones to the main gym. We can check it out together. Actually, would your name even be on there?" Candice thought to herself, considering that she was one of the few people who were made aware of Adaline's presence. The taping schedule wasn't usually subject to the change unless there was an injury, but producers were known edited the cards last minute to accommodate random returns and debuts before, at least once the talent found out.

The woman in question just shrugged in response. "Beats me. It doesn't hurt to look, right?"

"Then, we can check out the travel schedule. Ooh, I hope you're coming with us to the midwest loop at the end of the month!" Candice became giddy. "We'll hit the road together, no men! I wish we got to do that more often when you were in Cali."

Adaline didn't get the opportunity to do so often, but she loved wrestling in The Golden State and especially in PWG. When she worked with them in the past, she always travelled and hung out with Candice.

"I don't think so, but probably the next one?" she shrugged.

The two began chatting more for the next few minutes, mostly about Adaline settling in and her new house. Always the lazy type, she'd been procrastinating and the boxes in her home were left untouched, despite her promising herself that she would get it all out. The small talk about something other than wrestling for once settled the restlessness in Adaline, a small distract of sorts.

It wasn't like she disliked talking about wrestling, rather it was all that seemed to be on her mind for the past while since Wrestlemania. Somehow, it was the first time Adaline really took notice of that, considering she lived, breathed, and ate wrestling for the past sixteen years of her life. A part of her felt worrisome for the sudden awareness of it, wondering it had any relation to her other career concerns.

Unfortunately, the brief, sweet wrestling-free moment was cut short when the locker room door slammed open.

Everyone knew who Shayna Baszler was, or at least, every woman in the company did. After all, the current NXT Women's Champion was probably next in line to overtake your spot in the animal kingdom. Management wanted to push her to lead the division once she would inevitably leave NXT and become a box office draw for all of the big pay-per-views and tours and media.

Some said that Shayna was one of, if not, the most intimidating women on the NXT roster and bore a vicious gaze. Even upon entering the locker room that was nearly empty, her presence demanded attention. All eyes drew to her so naturally and so quickly as they tore away from her out of fear.

"Out of my way," was all she had to say to Adaline, not even flinching at the sight of the veteran and former women's champion.

Adaline zoned out for a moment, completely baffled by the attitude that she was just given. She couldn't help but scoff, trying to process the disrespect that was being shown to her.

She narrowed her eyes at Shayna. "The hell did you just say to me?"

In between them, Candice just sighed. It seemed like that she wanted to end what was going to be an ugly dispute early, but something held her back. Adaline hoped it wasn't out of intimidation by the former mixed martial artist.

Shayna stared back at the woman in front of her. "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you got this brand on lock? They get tired of you on the main roster and Japan couldn't offer you enough money, so you come down here to fuck around?"

Adaline wanted to find out how Shayna found out that she was going to be here, but that wasn't the main concern of hers. Her jaw nearly dropped to the ground, hearing Shayna's words. Clearly, she didn't like her or some rumours already began to float around backstage. Regardless, Adaline was already on the bad side of the de facto locker room leader.

With the fury running through her body, though, she didn't give a damn.

"I'm going to say this once, so you better listen up," Shayna began, "I think you're entitled. I think that you've ridden on the coattails of your ex-boyfriend for your entire career. So, I don't like you. Plain and simple."

"You think you know me?" Adaline's voice began to rise, but Shayna held up a hand and didn't let her finish.

She said, "Maybe for you, being here is like a little vacation before someone like Ashley Flair gets injured and creative will need another spoiled brat to bury their women's division with on Smackdown. For some of us, NXT is our entire lives. Don't mess that up for us."

With that, Shayna bumped Adaline's shoulder when she walked away to the other side of the room and behind a wall to another area of lockers. All she could hear after was the stomping of boots and the slamming of a metal door open. Meanwhile, she was in complete shock of the conversation that just happened, wondering if she just imagined it.

Looking at Candice's sheepish expression, though, it confirmed that Shayna Baszler did indeed strut right up to Adaline and cussed out one of the scariest warnings that the latter had ever heard in her life.

"Honestly, she gives that talk to every new girl," Candice said in a low voice, as she ushered Adaline out of the locker room.

"You can't be serious," Adaline shot back, still worked up over what happened. It took all the will in her body to not barge right back in and swing at Shayna's smug face.

The target was now on her back and she had yet to even step into the yellow brand's ring. If she was being honest, it was definitely a wake up call to where she was now and the expectations weighing down on her shoulders. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. She didn't even want to be here. Adaline wouldn't admit it out loud, but she was terrified for the first time in years.

[keelywolfe]

SOS Drabbles: Part 2

Note: Three more short drabbles for our boys! Our funny, sweet, spicy boys who are so much in love. I hope y’all enjoy them!

Part of the ‘By Any Other Name’ series

Read the first three here

~~*~~

For Part 2:

Starting here on AO3

or

Read them here!

~~*~~

Chapter 4: Science!

Ebay could be an incredible thing when it worked as it should.

Edge didn’t generally have much difficulty in dealing with it. After all, he’d spend the first part of his life learning how to handle cheapskates and swindlers, and that was only dealing with his brother. Underfell was a fine teacher in the art of brutal negotiation, a skill Edge brought with him to the Embassy and put to good use.

Today, however, Ebay brought him something on the more relaxing end of the spectrum. A package filled with old, broken action figures, ready to be cleaned up and repaired, returned to their former glory. A different kind of puzzle to be solved and he was sincerely looking forward to it.

Not even the fact that he needed to set up on the coffee table dampened his mood, although he did need to take an extra moment to find a way to situate his injured leg comfortably. Some judicious use of pillows solved that, along with one under him to cushion his coccyx from the hard floor, ah, he truly was getting soft. Once he was able spend hours sitting on the hard ground, even sleeping on it when necessary. It seemed those days were past and Red might have a few venom-laced words about it, but frankly, that wasn’t a skill Edge was interest in cultivating any longer.

There was room in life for being prepared for any eventuality and for keeping from having a sore ass.

The coffee table wasn’t quite a large enough space and Edge was forced to spread his tools next to him on the floor. He laid out a lint-free cloth across the coffee table and carefully set the action figure he was working on upon it, readying it for plastic surgery.

Heh. He’d need to remember that one for Stretch.

The arrangement worked, though it would have been easier if his tools were on the table. One of these days, he needed to set up a workbench, perhaps in the basement alongside Stretch’s laboratory tables, that was where he was right now and—

As if summoned by his thoughts, the basement door suddenly burst open and through it came Stretch along with an alarmingly acrid smell. He was wearing a pair of oversize goggles, a protective apron, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves that went all the way up to his elbows, giving him the appearance of a deranged mortician or perhaps Doctor Frankenstein in his post ‘building a creature’ phase.

“absolutely nothing to worry about, no problems here, i’ve got it all under control!” Stretch said brightly, even as he heaved the fire extinguisher out of the closet, trundling back to the basement door with it. “it’s just a precaution, no need to panic! the overheads got it all, vents at a hundred percent, babe, promise!”

He disappeared back through the door and into the faint wisp of smoke that was starting to gather at the top step, before Edge could even say that worry and panic were both looking like very viable options and under control not nearly as much. The door slammed behind Stretch and left Edge sitting alone.

The entire exchange took perhaps thirty seconds.

Edge stared at the closed door. He looked back down at the much-abused action figure spread out on the towel, awaiting his care, his much safer form of mad science that only required a few small screwdrivers and a paintbrush.

Then he sighed and struggled to his feet, limping to the kitchen to fetch a fire extinguisher of his own.

As Stretch often said, science waited for no one. In Edge’s experience, neither did flames, but the coffee table would.

And when he did end up getting his own workbench, smart money was on keeping it upstairs.

-finis

Chapter 5: Ridiculous

It was ridiculous for Edge to be restless whenever Stretch went into Ebott these days and he knew it. Absolutely ridiculous. His husband went into town often, several times a week in fact, and had for years now.

To the Beanery to spend some time with two of his favorite kind of companions, disgustingly sugary coffee and friendly baristas. To the bookstore, where Jeff no longer worked but Thomas still did, and the old Human still had Edge’s email address from the first time Edge contacted him as a representative of the Embassy to verify his business was Monster-friendly and to inquire if he would be willing to display an official logo stating it as such. That was before he and Stretch were involved; Edge learned some time later that Stretch frequented the place and if he called for a more extensive background check after he did, not a single member of the Security team question him about it, although his brother did radiated a sort of smug approval that Edge refused to acknowledge. Thomas still emailed him occasionally, mostly around holidays with gift suggestions and once with information about a former employee of his that showed worrying tendencies towards prejudice against Monsters. He was an ally of the kind Edge preferred, friendly and useful.

Stretch also went to thrift stores in search of revolting finds to sneak into their home and to the small store by the University that sold laboratory supplies, ventured everywhere, anywhere, by way of the bus route, and aside from one attack incident, Stretch always returned home to him.

Absolutely ridiculous to be fretting about him now simply because Edge was at home rather than at work, with nothing to think about except that his husband was out there in the world where unfriendly Humans existed and Edge wouldn’t even be able to go to him if Stretch needed help, nevermind that he could call an entire Security team to him if necessary or that fact that most Humans were not only friendly but often fond of Stretch and easy laughter, along with his social media accounts. The lingering ache in Edge's leg was a reminder than most was not all and every week he was sent accounting of any incidents within the city involving Monsters. He knew all too well what could happen and the what if's and could be's were buzzing around his skull like angry bees.

Edge was reading a page in his book for perhaps the third time without the faintest idea what it said when the front door opened and Stretch walked in. All six feet plus of him, wearing one of the sweatshirts Edge gave him for Gyftmas last year, the one with an orange body and black arms, discreetly chosen to be slightly more fitted than he normally wore. There were two large cups from the Beanery in his hands, one half drunk, and a collection of bags hanging from his arm.

He managed to drop the bags in a messy pile by the front door without spilling either, toeing off his shoes and making a beeline to Edge to offer him the filled cup. Edge took it wordlessly, the cold sides damp with condensation and the ice dwindled from the long bus ride.

“hey, babe,” Stretch leaned down to give him a light kiss. “miss me?”

Then he let out a startled squeak as Edge pulled him down into his lap. A small wave of iced coffee splashed over his fingers as Stretch struggled not to spill it, dripping down on Edge’s trousers and he didn’t care, didn’t care that his husband was sitting on the book he’d been reading, crinkling the pages, didn’t care about anything but pulling his love closer to take a better kiss. When he finally drew away, Stretch looked dazedly pleased if a little confused.

“Yes,” Edge admitted quietly. “I did.”

That confusion softened, a smile lighting his pretty face and Stretch snuggled in closer, both their coffee cups carelessly set on the side table as Edge chose holding his husband close over the temptation of caffeine for the moment.

Perhaps it was Stretch’s understanding of physics coupled with his ability to teleport that made it easier for him to fold his tall, slender form so comfortably into Edge’s lap. He sighed contentedly and squirmed briefly, somehow finding a way to get even closer. “don’t need to miss me anymore, baby, i’m right here.”

“You are,” Edge murmured. Right here, safe in his arms, and those lingering, ridiculous worries evaporated under the warmth of his husband’s embrace.

They could stay like this, he thought, for a little while yet.

-fin

Chapter 6: Chores

Note: This one gets a little spicy, but nothing too adult!

Stretch generally kept up with most of the daily chores over the course of the week when Edge was at work. Not that Edge ever specifically asked for Stretch to do so; his assumption when he first asked Stretch to move in with him was honestly that it would be similar circumstances as living with his brother, taking on extra laundry and various trash removal. Even then he’d loved Stretch enough to willingly take on that burden and it was with no little shame that Edge learned very quickly that his assumptions were not only wrong but completely the opposite.

There was no question that Stretch’s housework wasn’t up to Edge’s exacting standards, but then, few would be. That he did it at all was welcome and humbling as he made the bed each morning, washing the breakfast dishes by hand, even taking care of what laundry he could, leaving aside anything that needed dry cleaning.

Once, Stretch admitted sheepishly that he’d learned very quickly to check labels when he accidentally put one of Blue’s wool sweaters in the dryer.

“should’ve kept it,” Stretch had said philosophically. “by the time i took it out, it would have fit one of the chickens.”

On Saturdays, Edge still did his own cleaning, following a mental list of things that needed done. for his own peace of mind. Part of him always wanted to apologize, to explain that it wasn’t that he didn’t think Stretch did a good job, but the one time he’d tried, Stretch only kissed him quiet.

“babe, you don’t need to explain,” Stretch told him, gently. “i get it. do what you need to do, okay?”

There were times that the word love was inadequate to describe his feelings for Stretch.

Like today. Edge finished scrubbing the shower stall and was heading back downstairs when he heard Stretch moving around in the bedroom. He looked in, absently thinking of asking what he was thinking about for dinner but he was barely inside the door when he froze.

What Stretch was doing was folding towels, but it wasn’t the chore that had Edge’s attention.

Stretch was wearing a set of oversized headphones and Edge distantly made a mental note to double check that he was not wearing that particular set on the bus, because the noise dampening effect seemed entirely too effective. That thought couldn’t hold his attention for long, not when his eye lights were firmly resting on Stretch’s hips.

For someone who had a unique ability to trip over his feet at any given time, Stretch could certainly dance when he wanted to. Edge leaned against the doorjamb, watching the sway of his husband’s pelvis with hooded sockets as Stretch gyrated to whatever song he was listening to, towels folded along with the beat.

He was humming along almost absently, Stretch had a lovely singing voice, but that didn’t catch Edge’s interest, not with the glimpses of pale, smooth bone winking out from beneath the hem of his sweatshirt every time he moved. That was, until Edge heard the lyrics.

“…sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…” All sung throatily in Stretch’s deep, smoky voice and the sudden surge of heat that quickly gathered at Edge’s pelvis might have embarrassed him if Stretch hadn’t turned at just that moment and caught sight of him, startling so badly the towels in his hands were flung into the air, falling to the floor in drifts of terrycloth.

“holy shit!” Stretch blurted out, slumping back to sit on the bed. He yanked off the headset and tossed it on the nightstand, wheezing, “you scared the blue fuck out of me!”

“Did I?” Edge asked silkily. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “Well, we can’t have that.”

There was only time for Stretch’s sockets to widen before Edge caught hold of his soul with a gentle grip of blue magic, pushing him backwards and mussing the rest of the towels. Stretch didn’t seem to care about the loss of the fruits of his labors, wriggling around in the nest of cotton until he was comfortable.

Edge prowled over to stand over him, drinking in the sight. Halfway on the bed, his long legs braced against the floor with his bare toes already digging into the carpet. His sweatshirt was riding up, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the upper crests of his pelvis and the beginning of the line of his spine. Whatever greedy expression was surely on his face, Stretch only smirked, wriggling again and that sinuous movement was a temptation all its own. His voice was a low, husky purr as he asked, “and what do you think you’re doing?”

A demonstration seemed to be in order and Edge settled between Stretch’s spread legs, catching most of his weight on his elbows as he nestled their pelvises together. “You said I scared the fuck out of you. It’s only fair that I put it back where it belongs.”

Stretch’s laughter caught on a curse as Edge deliberately rolled their hips together, that low swearing breaking into a gasp as his hands scrabbled against the sheets.

A clean house was well and good, but as Edge leaned in to take his husband’s mouth in an eager kiss, his last coherent thought was that chores could wait.

-fin

[bymyside-fic]

Jinx (~1150 words) read on AO3 // AFF

- February 26, 2010 - 

Rain drizzled down the windows of the Great Hall, making everything seem colder than it actually was. The fire was roaring in the hearth behind Minho, Kibum, and Analecia, but even then, a shiver ran down Minho’s spine as he glanced back at the gray sky visible through the raindrops racing down the windowpane. He grabbed a still-warm scone and the butter dish, slathering it on the scone before he reached for the dirigible plum marmalade. 

Analecia and Callum were bickering about something, but Minho didn’t care enough to figure out what about. It was way too early for that shit. He let out a sigh that drew Kibum’s attention, and his eyebrow rose in question. Minho smiled back with a slight shake of his head, and after nodding, Kibum returned his attention to the argument. 

“I don’t see why it’s a big deal,” he said, scooping up more of his eggs. “It’s just decorations, right? Who cares where it came from?” 

“Thank you!” Analecia said. 

Callum shook his head, and once he finished chewing, he swallowed and said, “I mean, I guess, but it’s just weird, that’s all.” 

Minho sighed. “What’s this about again?” 

“One of the fourth year boys has some weird art hanging up in his room. I think his little sister made it, and the other fourth years don’t like it and want him to take it down. There was a whole shouting match this morning. Woke me up.”

“Yeah, it was quite the row.” 

“Is it offensive?” Minho asked.

Kibum and Analecia shook their heads, and she said, “It’s just weird. Very clear that some little kid did it.” 

“I don’t see what the problem is then,” Minho said at the exact same time Kibum did. “Jinx!” Kibum called out before Minho could, then laughed when Minho grimaced. “You owe me a butterbeer!” 

Fuck… He bit his lip, sighing and rolling his eyes when Kibum wagged a finger at him, and Minho scrunched up his nose in response, which only made Kibum grin wider. “Let’s be sure to include Minho in the conversation, guys,” Kibum said, laughing as he turned back to the others after Minho flipped him off.

For the rest of breakfast, Kibum, Aaron, Callum, and even Analecia continued to ask Minho questions while he silently ate, all highly amused that he couldn’t talk now. It was a Friday, which meant that a trip to Hogsmeade for butterbeer was off the table...unless he used the secret passageway. He’d rather not, though, and Kibum knew it, so he continued this onslaught of teasing after they had adjourned to the library to study before their Defense lesson. 

“Minho?” Kibum asked, his voice dripping with faux innocence. Minho’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t even glance Kibum’s way. Instead, he turned the page of his textbook and tried very hard not to smile. “Can you find where Inferi are mentioned in Confronting the Faceless and read it out loud? I’d like to check our notes.” Across the table, Callum snickered, but Minho just continued to ignore him, though he couldn’t hide his growing smile.

The gang of Slytherins kept hounding him until O’Neely descended from his office, all grinning at him as he shook his head with an ill-concealed smile. “Where’d we leave off?”

Priyasha raised her hand several rows ahead of them. “With imps, sir!” 

“Imps…” He unrolled his scroll a little further, nodding before he set it back down. “Let’s open Confronting the Faceless to page two-hundred forty-seven, please? We’ll begin our review on what we know about acromantula.” Minho turned, reaching for his backpack to grab his book. “Yes, Mr. Kim?” 

He sat back up, turning to Kibum, who was definitely suppressing a smile as he lowered his hand. “Sir, I was wondering if it’d be okay for Minho to tell us about his experience with the acromantula, given that he’s probably the only one here who has actually dealt with them.” 

Aaron let out a muffled snort when Minho scoffed and stared incredulously at Kibum. 

O’Neely seemed to be none the wiser, given how his response was: “Minho, if you’re comfortable with that, you can go ahead?” 

Kibum, somehow, held his mirth back behind a mask of quiet encouragement, belied only by the twinkle in his eye. Minho, trying not to smile, turned away and slowly stood. He ignored Analecia, Callum, and Aaron’s expressions as he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth but didn’t utter so much as a squeak. Instead, he snapped it back closed again, furrowing his brow as his bottom lip trembled. He covered his face with his hand, shaking his head as he sat back down. 

“It’s okay, Minho,” O’Neely said, his voice soft and comforting. Minho almost felt bad, but the shocked looks of the others were making up for it. “I think all of us can understand why you can’t talk about it yet.” There were some nods and murmurs from the rest of the class before everyone returned their attention to O’Neely.

Everyone aside from Kibum. 

Minho waited a few more minutes before he looked over at his boyfriend. His dimples were showing as he pursed his lips to keep from smiling, then he picked up the quill and pulled their notes closer to him. 

Well played was all he said, and Minho couldn’t stop smiling until the bell rang, dismissing them for lunch. 

In the hurry to get downstairs, Minho didn’t notice that Kibum wasn’t with them until they arrived at Slytherin’s table. He looked around, confused at where he could be, but when he looked back at Analecia, she looked confused too. Until, that is, Kibum appeared in the threshold, a bottle of...was that butterbeer?.. in his hand. He sat beside Minho, setting the butterbeer in front of him and raising his eyebrows expectantly. Slowly, Minho slid the bottle back over to him, 

“Fake crying? Really?” Minho burst out laughing. “The game is over now, you can talk now.” 

Minho sobered up enough to say, “I think you just missed the sound of my voice,” as he picked up the sandwich off of his plate.

Kibum scoffed and unscrewed the cap off the bottle as he muttered in Korean, “You’re saying shit that would stab the king in the ass.” 

Minho nearly choked on his bite of sandwich, but he managed to swallow it before he started laughing again. 

“Merlin’s beard, you two are noisy,” Analecia said, shaking her head in amusement. 

“How about this?” Callum said, leaning toward them. “I know how competitive you two are. Let’s see who can stay quiet between you the longest.” 

Kibum stared at him while Minho shrugged. He’d done it for a few hours already, what were a few more? “I lose,” Kibum said immediately, which only started Minho laughing again.

[ask-de-writer]

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

//////////////

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

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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These had been made with fine, supple leathers taken from the destroyed village of the Marquosts. They had originally held pictographs of things that the Shamans and Totem Society leaders had thought worth recording. Their pictograms, like Egyptian hieroglyph or Chinese ideograms were a genuine written language. That was one of the ways that the Marquost society had been more than a little different from that of the Indians about them.

The men had a Society of Shamans lead by the Great Shaman. They had the charge to do the mighty magics that needed the Blackwall and its power. I was descended from that tradition.

The women had charge of the assorted Totem Societies. Most Indians drew inspiration from their totem animals. The Marquost women did more than draw inspiration from their totems. They became them. They were not lycanthropes, cursed to change with the moon. Marquost women were skin-turners. They donned the skin of the totem animal and became that creature in truth but with a guiding human intelligence and cunning. They were lead by a woman known as the Mother of Change, who could become any animal from any of the Totem Societies — and if rumor be true — any other beast as well.

The High Shaman and the Mother of Change were the ones who wrote and decided what to write.

After three hundred years, their wisdom and spells were coming to light again on my computer monitor. As the English writing was subtracted from the Darkmoon palimpsests, I began to notice something else.

My hackles rose the way that they will when you find that something is very wrong. When I examined the original photographs of the book pages more closely, I found the cause. The originals were genuinely ancient. That was almost beyond doubt. When you are a Shaman, as I am, you get a feel for such things. The problem was in the handwriting. I had a three hundred year span of books open to me. Everywhere that I sampled the Darkmoon Dairies I found the same thing.

The Darkmoon Diaries were a forgery. A unique forgery. I was willing to give long odds that there was no other such forgery in the world.

Efforts to make the handwriting different from writer to purported writer had grossly succeeded. It was the little things that betrayed the forgery. The downstroke of the f’s and s’s. The loop form of the e’s. They were common throughout. It appeared that one person had written all three hundred years worth of dairies.

The most recent volume revealed the likely author.

Just as I was pondering the diaries, Allison delivered a note from Laelia inquiring about my progress and inviting me to assist with cataloging the Hilstrom house. I put aside my problem with the dairies for the more immediate one of helping with Hilstrom house and seeing what might be of use. A Shaman may benefit from much that the ordinary person might not even find interesting. There might be things in there that could lead me to other surviving descendants of the ‘Founding Fathers’ of Flocking Bay.

Because of the age of the Hilstrom House and the contents it was known to have, it was necessary to catalog everything. We would assess what to include in the sale or even if the place should be sold at all. Some of the contents, at least, would have to be auctioned off and some kept for the library and the Historical Society museum.

The Hilstrom House was worth putting aside my petty mysteries. It would be an easy restoration to bring the house back to its original state. Most of the original hand hewn planks and timbers were still there and in place. The electricity and gas had been put in with no attempt to hide the wires and pipes inside the walls.

The fireplace still had the original hand made crane to hang cooking pots over the flames. The andirons were a recent addition. The originals we found later, cast out into a bramble thicket behind the house.

The whole place could easily become a colonial museum. When I breached the idea to Laelia she agreed that it could be done at little cost. The only problem that she foresaw was the simple one of maintenance cost. Such museums rarely paid their way and the township was simply too poor to support another one in addition to the Historical Society museum.

“Don’t give up, though,” she said, patting my hand. “You can propose it at the township meeting. If it is approved, they will find a way to do it.”

I felt that odd hackle-raising twisting that tells you where magic is. It led me to a corner of the living room. There, in a window seat made to serve as a storage chest, were many papers and books … and the source of my feeling.

The old matchlock musket appeared to be in near perfect condition. It was mounted to a plaque with an engraved brass plate just as the diary had said. It read, “This gun won us the town now called Flocking Bay. Eben Hilstrom shot and killed the Shaman with it. The gun would never fire again after.”

Laelia reached past me and took the old gun. “The Historical Society will want this testament to the shameful deed that founded this town.”

I looked at her strangely. I was beginning to fear that Laelia might be a descendant of one of the Founders. A check of ship passenger manifests from 1645 through the end of 1648 showed none who could be Laelia or her ‘ancestress.’ Something would have been in those records even if she had been a stowaway. What did she have to hide? Several things that she had said before flitted through my mind. The unique forgery of the Darkmoon diaries. The Darkmoon crest. The timing of her ancestress’ arrival in Flocking Bay. The low price of the indenture.

With a winning smile, I said, “Laelia, I think that these papers will be enough to keep us busy for the rest of the day.” “Let’s take them back to your place where we can catalog them over some of your wonderful tea.”

We strolled back to Changer’s Court in a pleasant afternoon, with the wind playing with leaves and trying to steal our booty of history.

Back at Laelia’s cottage, I breached a different topic as she puttered about her modern kitchen with its gas range, making tea for us. “Laelia, I have some of the palimpsests done. I think that you will be interested. I found your indenture contract. You can even see where Eben Hilstrom altered it.”

The puttering in the kitchen stopped for a moment. You could hear the strained smile in her voice as she see replied, “You mean the indenture of my ancestress. I’m not THAT old.” She resumed puttering purposefully about and emerged with the tea tray.

As she set it down on the coffee table, I said, “I’m afraid that you’re not telling me the whole truth, Laelia. I can prove that you wrote all of the Darkmoon dairies and I can also prove their age.

“I need to ask you some questions about your origins. I can only think of a few reasons that a person might live so long.”

She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. Resignedly she said, “Have some tea and ask what you will. It was a long run from Poland for my sister and I. She was killed in France. The Crest says it all, to those perceptive enough to read it, as you seem to be.”

I raised my tea to my lips and smelled the aroma. My hackles rose again. I could smell and feel the power. It was a familiar power, like my mother’s but stronger. I had my answer.

“No,” I said, putting down the cup untasted. “You have lied long enough. You are not a werewolf and you are not Polish either. Though being one would account for your age. I know who you are.”

I spoke in Marquost, the old Indian tongue of the area when I said, “Ask me what you want to know, Mother of Change. This Shaman will tell you truthfully what you wish to know without the power of that.” I pointed at the tea.

For a second, she appeared startled. Then she let out the same laugh that I had heard and liked earlier. She replied in the same language, “Your accent is abominable! Still, I haven’t heard anyone use this language at all for years!” Her speech was the utterly relaxed, easy flow of a native speaker.

“Near enough to three hundred years, I expect,” I said softly. “You must have been lonely, living among your enemies for so long.”

“Not so lonely as you might imagine,” said Laelia with that calm that comes only from utter assurance. “I have been stalking my prey. I have got to know them and listen to their Councils and give them advice. When the time is right I take one of my skins and turn it. Then an enemy suffers. That is when proper vengeance comes. They have suffered and must suffer for a long time yet to come. That is why your killing them is not to be accepted. Do not do that. It may put them on their guard.”

Startled, and just a bit guilty, I said, “Mr. Hilstrom was the last of his line. He was old and a bachelor. The Hilstroms are gone.”

Her cheerful laugh interrupted me. “Where did you get that silly idea? That was only the end of the male line. What is the true line of descent?”

I was dumbfounded. I had forgotten, been taken in by the white man’s patrilineal lines of descent. So proud of my own matrilineal descent from the last Shaman, I had used the white man’s genealogical rules to track my enemies! I would have to start my genealogical work all over.

I hung my head in shame. Determined, I raised my head looking Laelia in the eye. “A Shaman must acknowledge his error and try to remedy it. I must begin to search for the neglected lines of descent. Our enemies must die!” I said firmly.

She rebuked me gently but with absolute certainty. “They must NOT die! Death is the END of vengeance. I swore ETERNAL revenge to the Blackwall, pouring on it the blood of my foes. When the last of them dies, so do I!”

Smiling, Laelia said, “I help them in their need and see to it that they stay within my reach.” Her eyes going lupine, she added, “I stalk them down the trail of time. In each generation, they all suffer. A few die. They go on. And so do I.”

I looked at Laelia with new eyes and a heightened respect. I said softly, “Mother of Change, I am sure that your eternal vengeance is more suitable than my slaying. This Shaman opens to you the whole power of the Blackwall.”

—THE END—

<==Previous

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Return to Flocking Bay

This completes Met by Moonlight. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr

[bangtan-gal]

Wet Cement

Wet Cement

Yang Jeongin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, pretty basic, his is like, the most normal one, crack

Word Count:6.2k

Abilities: Empath, Charmer

Art wasn’t your thing, but you found yourself in the class when your best friend, Remi, dragged you into the slightly broken down studio. The first several classes sucked; the teacher droning on and on about different techniques, old couples slowing down the class as they had the instructor repeat the easy instructions, and all in all, you were forced to act like you liked something that you despised. Remi ignored your complaints and whines, telling you that it was a “learning experience.”

Yeah right.

When you stepped into class today, Remi was nowhere to be seen. Figuring she was late, you sat down at your usual table and drummed your fingers noisily on the desk as you waited. The class started and she was still nowhere to be seen. You frowned, half-heartedly accepting the piece of paper the instructor handed you. If she ditched you, there would definitely be a bloody mess somewhere.

Five minutes into the class, the door obnoxiously dinged. You ignored it as you stared at the paper and only looked up when the chair beside you became occupied. Instead of long, light brown hair, chubby cheeks, and shiny blue eyes, you were greeted by short and red-dyed hair, sharp cheekbones, and deeply colored eyes. Your gazes met for a moment and then you quickly looked away, cursing your stupid friend. Now you’d have to take this miserable class with some stranger beside you.

As you sat there, thinking of a million different ways you could murder Remi, the instructor talked to the newcomer.

“Yang Jeongin.”

His voice was sweet and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flash a quick smile. Heat spread over your cheeks and you tried your best to focus on the paper before you. As class went by, your elbows kept bumping, knees kept knocking, and fingers would brush each time the two of you reached for the same tool. Neither one of you said a thing as you scratched and scribbled aimlessly on your papers.

“Well, good job everyone, I’ll see you on Thursday!” The lady chirped, clasping her hands together and sporting a smile that was way too big. You sighed and grabbed your purse, ready to dart for the door.

A tap on your arm stopped you.

“Is this class… like actually worth it?” Jeongin whispered, side-eyeing the teacher who was barely five feet away. You glanced at her and then back to him, shrugging. You were the last person to ask—you still hated art. You hated looking at it, attempting it, or just in general, thinking about it.

You loudly sighed, trying to embrace your inner Positive Polly.

“Y-yes?”

Well, that worked.

The red-haired boy raised an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips together in an awkward smile and then started backing away. You maintained eye contact until you ran into a table, tripped, and then tried (and failed) to regain your footing. Your eyes pinched shut as you sat on your ass, on the cold, nasty art floor that was covered in dried paints, eraser shavings, and other shit.

It didn’t help that when you opened your eyes and saw that everyone who was left was staring at you. Jeongin’s face was squished up as he tried to keep his mouth closed and the laughter inside. When your gaze’s met, he looked away and a small bubble of laughter escaped which then turned into a whole fit.

You stood up with a groan, quickly whirling around and racing for the door. Jeongin shouted hey and as you stumbled out onto the busy plaza, the boy caught up and crashed into you. He caught you before you could fall on your face and you stood there, hands over your face and grumbles coming out around them. How was your life so unfortunate that you just had to keep embarrassing yourself in front of this cute boy?

“Cute?” You mumbled, pulling your hands away from your face. Where the fuck did that come from? He was annoying. He was the one who caused you to fall the first time and almost fall the second. But he also saved you from falling the second time. “Whatever.”

“Are you okay?” The boy asked wearily, leaning around you to try and look at you. You stared at him from the corner of your eye before you coughed and nodded.

“Just allergies.”

What?

He bit his lip and a soft gasp of laughter escaped him.

“So… what you said earlier sounded more like a question. Is the class really worth it?” He asked, waving a hand in front of your face. You blinked and then turned to meet his gaze. You exhaled again.

“I hate art.” Well, that wasn’t what you meant to say.

He opened his mouth, closed it, pointed to the building you just left and then to you, and then opened his mouth again.

“Okay, bye! Good to meet you!” You shrieked and then hurried off.

➻➻➻➻➻

When you woke up Thursday morning, you really questioned if getting out of bed was worth it. Remi had gone on vacation to 127 District and wouldn’t be back for a couple weeks. You hated the class, you hated the teacher, the other students, the creaky stools, the weirdly slanted sunroof, the outdoors, people in general, socializing, sunshine, hot weather, cold weather—

You were getting carried away.

(But the only thing you really liked was your bed because nothing could go wrong there.)

As you slugged out of bed and got dressed, figuring you may as well since Remi paid for the class, you prayed that Jeongin wouldn’t be there. That your weird answers would scare him away and you could just have your own table until Remi returned. You stepped out of your apartment, groaning at the heat that hit you.

The walk to the studio was miserable. It was hot and sticky and people kept bumping into you. For once, you were actually happy when you stepped into the studio, the AC running over your body. You moved down the aisle, going for your table and then stopped. A boy with red hair sat on one of the stools, head resting in his arms. You grumbled as you threw your purse to the floor beside the available seat and then sat down. When you looked at the boy, your eyes widened. He was deadass sleeping.

You looked around, almost as if to say: “does anyone else see this shit?” but no one else seemed to care. In silence, you set up your portion of the desk, your OCD kicking in as you straightened out the paper and pencils. You bit your lip, struggling with one pencil that seemed to decide that rolling around was a good-fucking-idea.

“That’s cute.”

You jumped, your knee smacking into the bottom of the desk and sending supplies flying. Eyes darted towards you as pencils and paintbrushes noisily rolled over the floor. You grumbled an apology as you slid off the chair to pick them up. Aggression roiled through you as you slammed them back down on the table and sat down with a huff. You turned to the red-haired boy with a scowl, which only deepened when he was making the same squishy face as yesterday.

“Don’t laugh at me, this is your fault!” You hissed, pointing a finger at him.

He giggled.

“How? It wasn’t my knee that bumped the table,” he pointed out. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah but—”

You weren’t given time to rebuttal as the instructor started up class. You shot one last glare at the boy before you pretended to pay attention. When the teacher stopped talking and people picked up their pencils, you followed suit, and started doodling whatever came to mind. You’d done this the past several classes, and so far, you hadn’t been caught. Or at least, the teacher didn’t really care.

“That doesn’t look like nature,” Jeongin whispered as he leaned over to stare at your paper. You elbowed him.

“Nature can be whatever the fuck it wants to be,” you retorted.

“So you mean I could draw a dick on my paper and get away with it?”

You started choking on nothing, a mix of laughter and coughs escaping you. You hit your chest a couple times, sending an unimpressed look the boy’s way. He didn’t seem to care though as he leaned back in his chair, looking way too proud. You frowned and went back to drawing circles and sticks and other random things. You managed to ignore the boy for several minutes.

You lost your shit when you looked over at his paper by accident. There wasn’t just one dick on his paper, but a ton. Your mouth dropped open and you covered it as you tried to keep in your laughter. He finally noticed your stare and the two of you stared at one another, both of you trying to keep in your laughter. Suddenly, you didn’t have such an indifference towards the boy. You’d never met somebody with such lack of filter, such an uncaring attitude.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled and then giggled. He smirked and then chuckled as well.

You ended up surviving the rest of the class, a small smile on your face and it would widen every time you looked over at the hundreds of dicks on Jeongin’s paper. It got even better when you had to turn in your work. Jeongin proudly signed the page and then handed it into the instructor. You both watched as her eyes bugged out and then she accepted it with an unsure smile.

“So, no allergies today?” He asked, bumping his shoulder into yours as the two of you wandered along the sidewalk. You frowned.

“No.”

Jeongin snorted and then his attention was diverted to his cellphone. You shamelessly peeked over his shoulder, trying to read the text. The redhead glanced at you before he flicked your forehead. You backed up, pressing your hand to your face and sending an annoyed look his way. He typed in an answer to the next, a soft sigh escaping him, before he turned to you with a somewhat melancholy smile.

“Do… do you wanna go grab some lunch, maybe?” He asked, shoes scuffing at the cement. You raised an eyebrow.

“Is this how the boy, who drew male genitalia all over his paper and shamelessly turned it into the teacher, asks out a girl?” You scoff.

“Hey!” He huffed, “who said I was asking you out? You’re nosy and ugly!”

You wiggled your eyes and pinched his elbow before you skipped off. The boy followed you and the two of you argued over a place to eat. You blamed it on the fact that there were too many places to eat in the Upper City. He blamed you, saying that you were too stubborn for your own good.

“Whyyyyy, it’s good food though,” he whined as you dragged him away from the italian place.

“I want burgers dumbass,” you snipped.

He wrinkled his nose. “My fucking god—burgers? Why not chicken? Fish? Pork? You want a cow of all things. Fake beef is disgusting anyways. At least fake chicken is close to the real thing!”

You opened your mouth and then closed it. You tilted your head curiously at the boy, not caring that the two of you had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People grumbled curses at you as they shoved past you. He stared back at you and then scratched the back of his neck. You’d never had the luxury of real meat or fresh produce. Who was this mysterious boy, who didn’t give two fucks about others opinions, laughed at strangers, and yet, lived the life of perfection?

“Yeah,” you said sarcastically, “fake beef is totally disgusting.”

He went silent and his gaze lowered to his shoes. You pursed your lips and the two of you stood there, letting the stream of people pass by.

“Sorry, we can go get burgers. I’ll pay.”

The boy turned and then reached for your hand, pulling you along with him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as his fingers wrapped delicately around your hand. The two of you finally made it to the joint. It was mostly empty and the two of you sat down at the far corner, a perfect view of the busy street. The two of you were silent through most of the meal, not speaking until you had finished your burger and the redhead carefully poked at his.

“Are you from the Upper City?” You queried. You played mindlessly with the napkin in front of you, tearing it up and creating a little mountain on your plate.

He paused, eyes glancing down as he let his thoughts run.

“Well… I grew up in the Upper City, but I live in the Deepy City now,” he explained and when he looked up and saw your face, he rolled his eyes. “No. We don’t party there all the time. It’s actually a pretty chill place. Maybe you should come visit sometime uppity girl.”

You snorted and blew your pile of napkin at him. He swatted them away, running a hand through his hair, and then flung his straw at you. You giggled, catching the straw before it could get you.

“Isn’t the Deep City… like gang infested?” You stage-whispered, leaning across the table. The redhead sighed again, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

“What is up with people and assumptions these days?” Then he trailed off, eyes glazing over. He shrugged. “I guess you’re not wrong. There’s a constant stream of crime, fights, and… depending on the day, it’s not the safest place at night.

“But, I mean, if you’re on the main street, it’s actually really safe. Most of the fights are on the outer edge and that’s just because territory is easier to control. It’s absolutely gorgeous at night. Fairy lights, every Friday there’s a live band, and the water features look really cool at night. Plus, the street food is fucking amazing.”

You nodded as you listened. The image floated in your mind and it sounded wonderful. When you were little, a carnival came to the Upper City from JYP and it was magical. It hasn’t come back since and you’ve always wanted to relive that moment. The Upper City was the “rich people” city of District 9, but it wasn’t pretty. Some houses and apartments were gorgeous, but at the end of the day, it was plain.

“You know… today is Thursday,” Jeongin hummed.

“Oh my fucking god, no way,” you gasped, “I better go put that on my calendar.”

He wasn’t a fan of your sarcasm.

“And that means tomorrow is Friday: possibly, just possibly, you could come down to the Deep City and experience the experience?”

The offer warmed your heart, but you would never let the boy in front of you know what a sap you actually are. So you rolled your eyes as you picked at your nails, pretending to weigh the pros and cons. The honest truth was that the only thing that filled your mind was pros and in some way you were scared of them.

Specifically the part where you brain decided that a pretty big pro would be spending time with Jeongin.

➻➻➻➻➻

You felt stupid. You’d spent hours trying to put out some cute, chic outfit in order to somehow flatter the boy. And then, when the two of you met up at the Main Plaza in Upper City, he stood in jeans, a t-shirt, and an old ratty flannel. It was awful sitting there in your fancy “beach” (maybe beaches existed before the Collapse, but now they were a figment of imagination) pants, a fancy, short-cut shirt, along with your nice pair of sneakers and some carefully picked out jewelry.

If Jeongin noticed your attempts, he didn’t comment on them. Nor did he make fun of how overdressed you were. It felt even worse as the two of you sat on the bus together and you swore to god that every-fucking-one was staring at you. Was it such an odd sight, the two of you? A pretty boy, who didn’t even have to try to look like he just stepped out of a magazine and some simple, psychopath that was you.

“Does that old lady really have to stare into my soul?” You whined to him. He glanced her way and then waved, a big smile appearing on his face. The lady looked away, skin turning an ashy white. Your jaw dropped open.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Sometimes if you let people know that they’re staring, they’ll leave you alone.”

You just stared at him.

He waved at you.

You smacked his hand away. “Asshole.”

He laughed and the bus quickly came to a stop after, a scratchy voice announcing that you were in the Heart of the Deep City. Jeongin stood up, quickly grasping your hand and pulling you along with him. You stumbled off the bus behind him and glanced around.

The sun was just starting to set, casting a pink and orange glow across the towering buildings. Fairy lights were starting to flicker to life and you could see a faint glow in each of the fountains. People bustled about and you were glad to see that most of them were dressed like you. Now, it was Jeongin that looked like the idiot. You snickered to yourself, causing the boy in question to send you a weird stare.

“It doesn’t get good until real late, but until then, I can give you a quick tour,” he hummed.

The two of you made your way down the street. You passed hundreds of people and you saw a huge difference between the Upper City and the Deep City very quickly. Not just in setting, but in the people. Each one of them had something more different, more unique to them. Apparently, coloring your hair was a huge thing here. You rarely saw it in the Far Country or where you lived. You’d done it once as a kid and had been considered a sociopath, getting kicked out of class for the day, not allowed to return until it was back to its original color.

“Oooohhhh, this place is really good,” he said, pointing out a Korean grill. Then he leaned into you, “it’s run by a gang and they casually steal meat from the JYP district.”

You stared at him in disbelief and then back to the restaurant. It looked quaint—cute. You could faintly see a woman bustling around in there, looking too sweet to possibly work for a gang.

“You’re lying,” you grumbled.

“Nope,” he chirped, grinning like a maniac, “I’ll take you there someday and you’ll see: real beef. It’s a family gang, so they’re more friendly. But since you’ve already had dinner, we’re getting ice cream.”

You barely registered the last part after you heard the ‘someday’. The promise of a future had your heart stuttering and face heating up as the boy continued to drag you down the street. You didn’t fall this easy, you shouldn’t fall this easy. You didn’t know him that well—he was a total stranger—but yet, the idea of falling victim to his charms, wasn’t that bad. Because, as childish as it sounded, you could already picture a future with him.

The farther you were dragged into the city, the more shocked you were. Children ran around, dressed in bright colors and tossing around balls. Among the ocean of people, you barely spotted anyone that looked the same. There were carvings in the cement and a million apple blossom trees, that were just gorgeous. Fairy lights of various colors hung from overhangs and patios. Buildings made purely of glass sparkled in the dusk.

It actually felt… safe.

“This is crazy,” you mumbled as Jeongin stopped in front of an ice cream truck.

He grinned. “I told you. What flavor do you want?”

“Just chocolate,” you hummed.

He swiftly ordered and thanked the man once two cups were handed to you. He gave you yours and then led you down the street, where a bunch of stone benches surrounded a beautiful water feature. You quickly noted how small the bench was as you sat down. Your thighs pressed together, but you couldn’t squirm away without causing one of you to sprawl onto the ground. You tried to focus solely on your ice cream and not on the warmth that radiated from his body.

It was hard until the boy stole a scoop of your ice cream.

You blinked, mouth widening.

He sent you a cheeky grin.

“You dick!” You snapped, trying to cover your ice cream from any other attacks.

Jeongin didn’t reply as he simply dug back into his own cup, letting his eyes wander over the scenery around you. You followed his lead, watching as the world only became brighter when it should’ve become darker. As the sun sunk lower and lower into the horizon, the energy of the city went higher and higher.

It was all ruined when you noticed that Jeongin took another scoop of your ice cream, although this time some of his ice cream was on his spoon still.

You gasped, “did you just contaminate my ice cream?”

“What? Me? Never,” he exclaimed, looking around in horror.

“I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe whoever did this, either!” He mocked and then winked at you. You glared at him, grumbling as you handed him your now empty cup. Jeongin took it with a frown, mumbling something about how he wasn’t your slave. As he got up to search for a trashcan, he paused, almost as if remembering something, and then turned to you. “You gotta come with me.”

You stubbornly crossed your arms. “Why?”

“It’s a beautiful place, but don’t be fooled. People have been attacked during broad daylight here and other people won’t even bat an eyelash. Everyone’s number one priority are themselves. I’m not going to let you get jumped,” he said and held out a hand to help you up. You obliged, clasping his hand. The two of you wandered around until you found a trashcan.

As the two of you walked along, you stumbled across a part of the sidewalk that was blocked off. The redhead curiously glanced over the yellow tape and then sent a grin your way, pointing down. You walked over, noting the wet cement that lay there.

“Should I draw a dick in it?” He queried.

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but the boy was already crouching down. You huffed and bent down beside him, watching as he poked in the shape. What was up with him and dicks? What was up with YOU and dicks? You crouched down next to him, ignoring his little work of art as you pressed your hand into the wet cement. It clung to your hand for a moment and then you pulled it back, satisfaction running through you at the hand print. Jeongin watched you and then placed his hand next to yours, a bigger handprint appearing in the cement beside yours.

“The perfect signature for our first date,” he declared.

“Yeah, sure” you huffed, wiping your hand off on his flannel and dragging him away. You wandered closer towards the middle of the city, wondering when the Friday night events would start up.

“A band should be starting up anytime now,” he mentioned and then you heard the start of a song somewhere nearby. Jeongin started sprinting and you raced after him, struggling to catch your breath once you reached the stage. You didn’t recognize the song and you weren’t sure if the redhead did, but he didn’t seem to care as he softly started to sway to the beat.

The mass of people was surprising. People bounced together in groups, hands raised, and joyful cheers filling the air. You kept yourself pressed to Jeongin, your body starting to sway with his as the two of you let the feeling roll over you. The band was perfect, but yet it gave you that impression. Giggles bubbled from you as the song sped up and Jeongin grasped your hand, forcing you to start jumping with the rest of the crowd.

You were so close at this point, your faces inches apart as the two of you bobbed to the beat. His eyes sparkled under the bright city light and his hair started to fall out of place, soft strands of deep red falling along his eyebrows. The urge to brush them out of his face was strong and you didn’t fight it as you reached up, your fingers running along his smooth skin. The two of you both ceased all movement, his dark eyes boring into yours. Your cheeks were the same color as his hair as his gaze dropped to your lips.

He licked his own before meeting your stare once more.

It was sweet and soft. His lips just barely there as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. You leaned into him, deepening the kiss as you did so. His hands dropped from your face to your waist and he pulled you tightly against him. It was no longer the two of you in a crowd, but the two of you in an empty world. He tasted like vanilla and his mouth was still slightly cold, a contrast to the warm press of his chest against yours. You carded your hand through his hair and when the two of you pulled apart, your eyes stayed closed for a moment longer, a soft breath puffing out between you.

When you opened them, you were greeted by the soft smile on his face. He rubbed circles on your back and your breathing slowed as you just let yourself fall into him. The two of you stood there, barely moving or breathing as you absorbed the moment. Then a soft laugh escaped him.

When you looked up, you were surprised to see white flurries fall down around you. You reached out, letting one fall on your skin and breathed out when a cold burst through the spot. It was odd, because as the snow came down, it was so warm. People’s cheers grew louder as the flurries fell upon them.

“How crazy is that?” You mused, reaching out to catch more and watching in fascination as they melted.

“Insane,” he whispered, but he was no longer looking at the sky. You refused to meet his heated stare as you looked up into the dark sky. You stuck out your tongue, giggling when several landed and then melted. “Truly insane.”

➻➻➻➻➻

Something took off between you two that day. The two of you hung out together almost everyday. Sometimes it was just lounging around in the Upper City and other times it was wreaking havoc in the Deep City. You also went to Memory Maze for the first time and after getting lost twice in a matter of five minutes and being on the other side of Jeongin’s teasing, you decided you never wanted to go back.

Just as he said, he took you to the Korean grill. Indeed, the food was amazing, and even more so, the beef. It ruined burgers for you and now the idea of eating whatever rubbery stuff they served you was awful. Sure, cows didn’t lead the lives of fresh air that they used to (although, you struggled to imagine what the world was like before the Collapse. Did animals really roam free? Were there actually creatures that could move through the sky?)

Art class became less miserable. Of course, it really helped that Jeongin continued to draw dicks on his paper and shamelessly turn it into the teacher. It was amazing, he got more creative every time. When you were told to draw a building, he very casually drew genitalia shaped bushes. The teacher stopped being surprised every time and instead just looked down right done, but it didn’t get any less funny. Sure, it was immature, but where was the joy in life if you didn’t act your age every once in a while? It’s no fun if you don’t drink before you’re legal.

Now the two of you sat in his room, giggling as he recounted his latest interaction with the mean lady who ran the convenience store down the street.

“She fucking told me that I look stupid with my dyed hair!” He groaned, laying on his back. You snorted, playing with his hair.

“How dare she,” you huffed, shaking your head. He sighed, looking up at you.

“She must be a psychopath,” he decided.

“There is no other reasonable explanation,” you agreed.

The two of you laughed again. Your head fell on his chest, still giggling. He rested a hand a top of your head, his laughter slowly dying down along with his rapid chest movements. You played with a loose string on his sweater, humming a song. He went silent beneath you and his hand stilled in you hair.

“I love this song,” he whispered. You looked at him from under your lashes. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over. “My mom used to sing it to me.”

You continued to hum the song, drawing a pattern along his chest. As you opened your mouth to ask a question, the door opened. You sat up on your elbows, meeting the gaze of a blue-haired boy. He paused upon the sight of you two and then shrugged.

“Jeongin, there’s dinner on the table if you want some,” he said and shot you one more questioning stare before he left the room.

“That’s Jisung,” he explained as he sat up. “You hungry?”

You nodded and followed him downstairs. As you walked towards the kitchen, your head lowered. Jisung sat on the couch with another boy and you could feel both their stares tearing into you. Just as you disappeared into the kitchen, you peeked a look at them. Jisung no longer stared, but the other one did, and you were shocked by the bright silver that gleamed at you.

“I see where you get your hair dye from,” you teased as the boy pulled a pizza box from the fridge. He chuckled.

“Yeah, runs in the family I guess,” he said and then paused. He cleared his throat and you didn’t question him on what he meant. From the sounds of it, he lost his own family, and if you were him, you would go looking for another one too.

The two of you ate it silence. You feeling too awkward to talk about anything with the two other boys right on the other side of the wall. Jeongin didn’t force you to talk as he mumbled about random things and occasionally ran his hand over yours. You ate your piece and then handed him the crust, snorting when he practically downed it. He paused to stare at you.

“What? I’m still growing,” he grumbled.

You laughed.

“Sure.”

You went silent again as the silver-eyed boy stepped into the kitchen. He walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of something and a glass. You pretended that you weren’t watching him as he poured himself a quick glass. As he brought it up to his lips, his sleeve moved, and your eyes zeroed in on the tattoo that rested high on his arm. A gray tiger. You’d seen that symbol a million times before.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumbled to Jeongin.

“Down the hall and to the left,” he said as he shoveled another slice into his mouth.

You scrambled away, your heart racing and sweat starting to collect along your collar and hairline. You locked yourself in the grand bathroom, leaning up against the door. Miroh—that was a Miroh tattoo. Why was Jeongin living with someone apart of that gang? Did he know? He had to, the man didn’t try hard to conceal it.

“Most of the fights are on the outer edge and that’s just because territory is easier to control.”

“It’s a family gang, so they’re pretty friendly.”

“I won’t let you get jumped.”

“Yeah, runs in the family I guess.”

Was he apart of the gang?

You closed your eyes and placed your hand over your heart. You were impulsive and careless almost all the time, but you hated assumptions. They were one thing you tried not to commit to, because they ruined lives. You couldn’t just assume that Jeongin was apart of the gang. And if he was, it didn’t make him a bad person. If the person you’ve seen these past few weeks is true, he’s a better person than most.

So, you stepped out the bathroom. As you carefully made your way back towards the kitchen, you stopped when you heard voices. You didn’t want to eavesdrops, but you didn’t just want to walk in mid-conversation either.

“If she doesn’t know what you’re apart of, that means she definitely doesn’t know what you can do,” a voice snapped.

“Would you tell her?” It was Jeongin this time.

“If you’re going to go and fucking fall in love with her, you should!” A different voice this time, sounding a little bit like Jisung.

Was he in love with you?

“Goddammit, Jeongin, just tell her! She’s gonna find out about your abilities sooner or later, you may as well save this relationship before it all crashes and burns!” It was the first voice. You stood there, your heart stopping. Abilities? What the hell does that mean? What can Jeongin do?

Can they all do something?

As the three grew silent, you stood silently for a moment. You backed up towards the bathroom door, loudly letting it swing open. Then you padded down the hallway and slid into the kitchen, glancing around. Jisung and the other boy stood on the other side of the counter, both expressions blank. Jeongin, despite his face being completely blank, you noticed the way his fingers twitched and how his chest heaved a little faster than normal.

“Hey, let’s go upstairs to my room,” he murmured, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. You walked along with him, refusing to spare his comrades another glance.

When the door closed behind you, he sighed and sagged against it. He stared up at the ceiling for a while. You sat down on his bed, working on your lip. Then Jeongin looked down at you, a shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“We have to talk,” he sighed.

“I know,” you blurted out. He frowned. “You’re apart of Miroh, aren’t you?”

The boy stared at you and you just stared back.

Then he slowly nodded.

“Do you know… about the powers?” He whispered, approaching you. You were surprised he didn’t ask how you knew, but relieved at the same time.

“Vaguely.”

He sat down beside you, his hand reaching for yours. Nothing inside you begged to pull away and you realized that this new revelation meant nothing new. He was still the fire that burned in your lungs and you just wanted to have a future with him.

“It’s… it’s not really my place to talk of the other’s abilities and positions. I… I don’t really know how to explain it, but I um, I can sense others emotions and”—he cleared his throat, eyes searching yours—“control their emotions.”

You stiffened, but your hand didn’t move from his. If anything, it tightened. You opened your mouth, uncertainty flickering through you.

“I-I never used it on you, I fucking swear on my life,” he rushed out, “I… the weird thing about you is that I can’t even reach your emotions. Like, at all. That’s why I was so attracted to you when we first met and then afterward it was just… well just you I guess. But holy fucking shit, Y/N, I would never use my abilities on you even if I could. If I really wanted someone to love me, I’d do it the right way.”

You raised an eyebrow and then smirked.

“Do you swear on all those dicks you drew?”

He paused, eyes widening. Then he laughed loudly, nodding. “For fuck’s sake, yes.”

“Well, then, I guess I can’t question you, even if you are some unnatural thing,” you giggled and then pressed your lips to. When you pulled back, a wide smile on your face, he chuckled again.

“I’ve never fallen for others’ smiles before.”

➻➻➻➻➻

The two of you both ran away, struggling to hold in your laughter. Once you were several blocks away, you burst into loud laughter again. You slapped his chest, stumbling into him.

“I still can’t get used to you doing that, but that was amazing!” You exclaimed and then a snort of laughter escaped you. He struggled to catch his breath, leaning over.

“God, I hold too much power,” he gasped, “she actually fucking did it.”

Maybe you should’ve felt bad for the old lady the owned the convenience store that was only a couple of blocks away, but you didn’t. After endless slanted remarks at Jeongin, she finally got what she deserved. Or at least something that would make her look like a dumbass. Sure, it was immature to use Jeongin’s unicorn abilities to trick someone into dying their hair neon yellow, but who acted their age anyway? Age was like cement that was always wet.

[fantasyfandommaiden]

ML Counsellor AU: Chat’s Mentorship

Chat goes to Carmine for advice, or perhaps a kind ear a few days after Hero’s Day... however he gets so much more than that.

[[MORE]]

Carmine found herself once again enjoying the beautiful nightlife of Paris from her balcony, sipping her tea as she thought over what had happened not even two days ago. Hero’s Day had been a success, although it almost lead to Hawkmoth becoming victorious and gaining the Ladybug and Hawkmoth Miraculous.

The hero’s, along with Queen Bee, Rena Rouge, and Carapace, managed to win however and she couldn’t be prouder of them all.

Carmine felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and after a quick glance around she saw Chat Noir standing on the ruff opposite of her, pacing and periodically looking at her balcony, debating with himself.

The woman raised a brow, before raising a hand and giving him a wave. He took that as an invitation and hopped on over. Carmine noted that he seemed depressed and wasn’t even trying to hide it as he sat down on one of her balcony chairs. “Hello Chat, to what due I owe this unexpected visit?” She asked, smiling at him.

“... do you think I am a good partner to Ladybug, or a good sidekick?” He asked softly. Carmine blinked at the question, looking at the teen with a curious expression.

“... what brought this on? You guys defeated Hawkmoth again today, despite all that happened.” She told him, placing her tea cup down as she turned her body to face Chat Noir, who still did not look at her, instead down at his feet.

“... Ladybug comes up with the plans, she knows all the other hero’s identities, where I only know Queen Bee’s. She gets to talk to the Guardian, where he will only come to me when he feels ‘it is necessary’, like I am some sort of after-thought, and I know Ladybug has been seeing him outside of getting the Miraculous during battles, she’s probably getting some sort of cool training.” Chat said sadly “I know it isn’t her secret to tell, and I get that, but we are suppose to be a team! We’re partners, two halves of a whole, but the more time passes, it feels like it’s less of two halves of a whole and more like two parts with one part taking up 80%...” he looked at Carmine finally, a sad expression on his face “I know that out of the two of us, Ladybug has a bigger job, What with her Miraculous Ladybug repairing the city after the attacks, but lately... I feel more like a sidekick than a partner.”

Carmine felt her heart clench as she could almost feel Chat’s sadness and grief at the thought of not being as important as Ladybug, and it would seem that what Pollen had told her about the Guardian not being as attentive to Chat as he was to Ladybug was true. She took a deep breath to calm herself and her thoughts before speaking.

“Have you discussed these feelings with Ladybug, or the Guardian?” She asked him softly.

Chat shook his head “No. Ladybug has enough on her plate to deal with, and like I said, the Guardian will only come when he feels it is necessary. I just... I want to feel like I’m contributing more, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like a sidekick!” He said, standing up “She has two powers, I have one. She comes up with the plans, I follow them. She knows everyone’s identity, I only know Queen Bee’s. She gets a cool mentor, and I have no one! Not even in my civilian life!” Tears began to Form in the corners of his eyes.

Carmine looked at Chat, her mind racing a mile a minute. He needed structure, to feel a purpose, to feel as if he belonged somewhere, that he could help Ladybug, and he seemed to express he wanted the same sort of relationship Ladybug and the Guardian had...

She sighed, feeling as if this situation could end up flavourful, or just prove to make things worse for the boy if her idea wouldn’t work. She stood up “... come with me.” She said, opening the door of her balcony and inviting Chat inside.

The cat hero blinked slightly, following Carmine in. Once inside, she closed the door, and drew the blinds to close as well. “I want you to look around this room, and tell me if you feel anything off about it.” She instructed simply, going to on of her chairs and sitting down.

Chat looked at her with a raised brow “... something off about it? How do you mean?” He asked confused. He thought she was going to help him with his problems, not give him some sort of odd task.

Carmine looked at him with a neutral expression “Humour me, what is odd about this room?” She asked him.

Chat continued to look at her for a few moments before shrugging and looked around the room. Her apartment had an open concept, with the kitchen, living room and dinning room all being in the same main area, and it was well furnished. Chat noted it reminded him a bit of Marinette’s or Nino’s homes, where it felt lived in and loved, as opposed to his own which felt dead inside.

He continued to look around, not finding anything off about it until his eyes landed on ottoman that was in the middle of the floor. He didn’t know why he felt drawn to it, it was the same shade as her couch, a dark grey colour with a padded seat on top, but something about it seemed... weird to him. Like it drew him in closer.

He walked over to it, glancing at Carmine who continued to have a neutral expression on her face as he opened the ottoman and saw lots and lots of blankets inside. He slowly took them out, careful to not get his claws snagged in any of the fabric until it was emptied. Chat scowled slightly, the weird feeling not going away, so he went to knock the bottom of the ottoman to see if it was hollow, the moment he touched it however it opened up as if by magic.

He blinked and slowly looked down, the bottom seeming to be much larger than it should be and saw several well worn leather books inside.

“Interesting....” Carmine finally said and Chat looked at her with a raised brow.

“How did it do that? What are these?”

“Chat, during the Middle Ages, when a terrible sickness spread across the land, it was known as the Black?” She asked suddenly, looking at him.

Chat blinked, looking at Carmine confused before slowly answering.

“Plague?”

“And were birds have talons, cats have?”

“Claws?”

“The opposite of out is?”

“In-“ Chat’s eyes widened in realization as the words left his mouth, the magic quickly disappearing as Adrien appeared where Chat once was, Plagg floating beside him. The Black Cat kwami gave a large stretch, looking around, seeming momentarily surprised, and opened his mouth to speak however Carmine cut him off.

“I’m the fridge in the cheese drawer.” She said simply, looking at Adrien with an odd expression he couldn’t place, it looked like her mind was going a hundred miles a minute before she finally spoke.

“Yes I’ve known for a while, no I haven’t told anyone, yes I know who Plagg is.” She said simply before standing up and walking over to where Adrien stood, kneeling down beside him she dug into the ottoman before brining out a leather book that seemed newer compared to the others and began to look through it, closing the ottoman before sitting on it. “How did you know this was there?” She asked him, still looking at the book, flipping pages seeming to be searching for something.

“Umm....” Adrien, still in shock about all of this, spoke slowly “I felt a pull... like something was weird about it, even thought it looked normal?” He said slowly.

“Interesting...” She said slowly, finding the page she seemed to be looking for and standing up “That means you have some magical awareness at least, whether that is due to a blood line or the Miraculous we will have to wait and see.”

“Wait and see what?” Adrien asked hesitantly.

Carmine looked at him, a serious expression on her face “... You are right that the treatment you have been receiving isn’t exactly fair, even if some secrets need to be kept, it’s not fair that only Ladybug gets the benefit of seeing the Guardian all the time and you don’t.” She walked over to the kitchen and Adrien slowly followed, still in shock at being found out so easily. He noted that Plagg was sitting on the counter, eating some Camembert happily. “I am not Guardian, however I imagine we had similar training in a sense.”

“Your a Guardian too?!” Adrien asked, eyes widened.

Carmine let out a low laugh, looking over her shoulder at Adrien with a smirk “Oh no Adrien... I am a mage. Mages are the reason the Miraculous came into existence in the first place.” She turned around to face him, smiling “And if the Guardian doesn’t feel the need to train you in the magical arts, that is his loss, for if you will have me, I will train you.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, looking at Carmine in bewilderment. He would get training and a mentor, he would have someone who knew his identity, who he didn’t need to hide from. Someone who could understand what he was going through without having to lie about the reason... he would be able to help Ladybug more!

He grinned widely, a feeling of excitement washing over him for the first time since the Hero’s Day picnic. He could do this.

“When do we start?”

[flslp87]

This story and others can be found in the CSSB Vol 2

This story is a collaborative story written with @allofthismatters@flslp87 @ilovemesomekillianjones and @ohmakemeahercules and the art was created by @hopeandbeans

The Best in You

Summary: An introspective look at both Emma and Killian's thoughts from the time he leaves after not telling her anything about Ursula to the time her parents catch them. Rating - K

After leaving Pinocchio with Marco, Emma planned to make her way back to the station to continue looking through the ATM videos, but somehow her thoughts took her a different direction and she found herself at the docks. They had become a place that she gravitated toward whenever her thoughts were muddled and she needed to sort through something. Today, it seemed there were multiple situations that needed her attention, but none more so than her conversation. or lack thereof with one close-mouthed pirate. When he arrived at the station with her lunch, and she had immediately tested him about whether he was bringing her french fries or onion rings, she had wanted to kick her behind for continuing to put him through hoops; but when he had grinned and rubbed her shoulder, she had relaxed and silently promised herself to behave. Why then had she immediately put him on the spot about Ursula? Was she jealous? No, that didn't feel right, but something about his reticence to talk about Ursula immediately brought all her insecurities to the surface.

As she watched the birds fly over the water she thought about how free they looked and wished she could be as free with the giving of her trust and of her feelings. Her past still had a hold on her and those walls, while she knew they were falling down a piece at a time, and much of it was due to Killian's persistence, she also knew that there were some instances when it appeared to be one step down and two steps back up. Today's conversation with him left her feeling very unsettled as it was so different than most of their conversations had been recently. He was usually the one trying to get her to open up and this time, he had shut her down with, "I don't know what else to say." Why had she crossed her arms over her chest, her body position exuding mistrust and not shown patience with him like he has always shown with her?

~~~cs~~~

It was times like this that Killian longed for the familiarity of his ship most. He needed refuge from the onslaught of shame over the most current disaster he'd brought upon Emma, in the form of a sea witch who was only a danger because of what he did to her.

He sat on the beach and dug his nails into his scalp. He should be used to past misdeeds seeping into his present by now, but somehow, he was not.

He'd never get used to the way she shrank back into herself when she knew he was hiding something, how she stopped looking at him like he was safe, like she was preparing to be hurt beyond measure again. It undid him and made him want to hold her face and beg her to understand that he loved her so much his bones ache with it, that he'd spend his life proving he could be counted on, if only she'd be patient while he processed all this himself first.

But how could he think he was deserving of anyone's trust or patience, after what he did to Ursula?

He's committed horrors of all kinds, but his wrongdoings against the young mermaid made him feel especially unworthy of Emma's confidence. He'd made Ursula a promise, looked her in the eye and vowed that she could rely on him. And instead, he'd stolen her voice like it was nothing. He'd felt genuine respect and affection for her... her fire and ambition had reminded him of Milah a bit, and he'd turned her into nothing but a pawn in his own depraved agenda. Hardly better than the Dark One himself.

He needed to tell Emma, and he hated it. Hated that in his most recent conversation with her he'd been so evasive because she'd caught him off guard, and he simply had no excuse for what a monster he'd been in his long life. He was fairly certain she would forgive him, because she was so fiercely good, but whether he deserved it is another story. He wanted to be more for her than a constant parade of old sins needing absolution.

Sighing deeply, he stood and headed back to the station.

~~~cs~~~

A feeling of chagrin stole over her as she realized that she had treated him unfairly. He didn't deserve the brunt of her insecurities, he already had to deal with townsfolk not giving him the benefit of the doubt. She knew there was nothing going on between him and Ursula now. She also knew that no matter what had happened between them it would have no bearing on the man she knows now. It wouldn't change how she feels for him. In fact, of that she is positive, because no matter what, she's certain there is a line he wouldn't cross where a lady is concerned.

Thinking back on the conversation she'd just had with her parents it dawned on her that she needed to take a page out of their book. If they could choose to see the best in everyone, including villains, then it is the least she could do for Killian. Deep down she already saw the very best in him, she just needed him to know that. She'd let her self-doubt and emotions shake her faith in him.

Shit, she thought. She needed to fix this and fast, who knew when the next crisis was going to rear its ugly head. Emma took a deep breath of the fresh ocean air to center herself. Digging her phone out of her pocket she dialed Killian, then held her breath hoping he would answer. By the fourth ring she was losing hope that he'd accept her phone call.

"Hello."

"Killian!" she exclaimed into the phone.

"Is everything okay, love?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly. She'd held her breath a little longer than she'd intended to, and now she was feeling a little dizzy. It wasn't just the lack of oxygen though. It hit her then that she'd been more worried than she thought. Worried that this would be the time that Killian had finally run out of patience. That he was finally going to decide that her walls weren't worth scaling. She shook her head, refocusing and shooing away the negativity. "Would you be willing to meet me at the station?"

~~~cs~~~

Just as Killian resolved to set the record straight with Emma, his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. "Bloody hell," he growled. He'd never get used to the sudden interruptions phone calls caused. Especially when he was in deep thought or concentrating, like now. He survived hundreds of years without being instantaneously accessible and quite frankly could do a hundred more.

Once he'd recovered from the shock, he glanced at the caller i.d., Emma's name appeared. He sighed. This was too coincidental. How did she know he was about to confess? Could this woman read minds, too? Don't answer it. Give her a taste of her own medicine. No, she deserves to know the truth at all costs. He drew a breath and answered, "Hello?"

"Killian!" she blurted out. She never said his name that way. Something was obviously bothering her.

He frowned. "Is everything okay, love?"

"Yes," she replied.

No, it's not Swan. You're worried; the anxiety is prevalent in your tone.

She continued, "Would you be willing to meet me at the station?"

"Umm, sure. Any particular reason?"

"I've had a lot on my mind today, and need to talk about it with you."

Uh oh, the dreaded 'we need to talk' line. In all his encounters with women over the years, he'd learned that phrase rarely meant good things, and the subject matter would be serious in nature. "Like what?"

"Certain expectations and being honest about them."

Now she's playing the evasive game, huh? "Okay."

"Just come over here as soon as possible. I'd rather talk in person."

"As you wish, Swan. I'll be there shortly."

"See you then."

Killian groaned as they hung up. One step forward, five steps back with Emma. Maybe she'd decided he wasn't worthy anymore. He was too broken, too far gone, too much of a monster to consider loving. Even if this was the end, he wanted to finish on the side of good. Damn, why did he have to be honorable now? Sometimes it was much easier to burn bridges and never think about the issue again. Alas, this was the path he'd chosen. Heroes always tell the truth.

He glanced up at the night sky. I hope you're proud, Liam. I'm becoming the man you believed I was. Now was the perfect time to prove him right, and Killian didn't intend to pass it up.

~~~cs~~~

After Killian had promised to come by the station, Emma hung up the phone and shoved it in her back pocket. Her palms were sweating and her pulse was racing and just sitting behind her desk made her feel she was going to jump out of her skin. Standing, she paced. Ten steps forward, ten steps back, over and over again until she heard the front door to the station open. Needing to look busy, she hurried to the filing cabinet, grabbed a file and pretended to look through it as she listened to his footsteps coming down the hall.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Killian rounded the corner into the station, "Well, Swan, why did you summon me?"

Here goes nothing, she thought as he posed the question. Making it her motto, she repeated, don't screw this up several times in quick succession before turning to answer him. "Because I know there's something about your past with Ursula you're not telling me..." she began.

She's right, he thought, and once I tell you what it is, you will no longer wish to have anything to do with me. A possibility that had been eating at his insides since their earlier conversation.

And finished, "And that's ok." She noted the hopeful expression on his face and continued, "What's not ok, is you lying to me about it." She watched his face, seeing no change in expression except to note that whatever had happened, was not something that he seemed to want to discuss. Which when she thought about it was odd, as he had never been one to shy away from any of his villainous deeds, owning them completely.

His first thought when she said that she didn't care about this past had been that it was a trick, for that wasn't what had happened with women in the past. But then again, he should have known that Emma Swan was no ordinary woman and when you are in a relationship with a woman such as her, all rules were new, often being made up as the relationship progresses. Hearing that she is ok with my past as long as I tell her about the past is a new and unique experience. What to say?

"Aye, love, you're right."

She wasn't sure if he'd continue, and it almost startled her when he did.

"I haven't been entirely forthright with you."

Her gut churned at the mere words, an automatic response. How many times had she heard words like that only to have her life promptly uprooted and left in tatters because of someone's dishonesty? Enough that it drowned out the part of her that felt safe and sure of his devotion to her.

She fought down the cold panic creeping up her neck and wrestled away the persistent, cruel mocking in the back of her mind. You thought this one was 'different', didn't you? What good have you ever been at picking out the ones that'll stay?

"The truth is, I remember my history with Ursula. It was early." She tried to focus on his voice, but the pounding in her head only grew as he approached her. She steeled her face and threw the question at him without thinking.

"Did you break her heart?"

The question was so quick and direct that it felt like whiplash. He heard her real question: Are you about to break my heart? He hated having her look at him like that; like she was still afraid, after all they'd been through, that he'd turn on her. It left him with a sudden flare of red-hot frustration-what in hell was it going to take to make her understand how much he loved her—that was quickly quelled by compassion. If she was so willing to forgive his unspeakable deeds, he could certainly be patient with her freezing up and shutting down. In a way, yes, he did break Ursula's heart, but not in the way Emma meant right now, so he gave her the honest, plain truth.

"Worse."

He let the word linger in the air, and forced himself to meet her eyes and study her face. He looked for fear or disgust, but simply found resolve.

"Look, whatever you did, you're not that person anymore. It's not gonna change anything between us."

The enormity of her words didn't escape him. It was her heart and her blind trust, laid bare for him with a bravery that made his heart ache with pride in her. It was a gift which he both desperately wanted and wasn't sure he could ever deserve. Killian opened his mouth to speak, then paused, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "That's quite a lot of faith you're putting on me, Swan," Killian pointed out. He shook his head as though doubting himself on Emma's behalf. Did he even deserve to hope that she might actually mean it?

"I know," she answered lightly, "and there's a reason for it." Emma took her baffled pirate's hand and led him to the couch. She hated that she had put that look of self-doubt on his face, that she'd made him question his own worthiness. That's why she was going to fix this.

"What's that?" he asked, still quite certain that regardless of what she had to say, there was no way she was forgiving him this misdeed. His stomach churned with the memories of what he' done to Ursula, all in pursuit of his damned vengeance.

"My parents. I had this moment today where I doubted them… said they were going for a hike, and I actually thought they were lying to me." Emma thought back to her conversation with her parents. She chastised herself for doubting them, and doubting Killian. She had to stop this pattern.

Killian didn't miss the look of disbelief in her own actions that passed over her features, and he yearned for her to have the same faith in him. Wished he'd earned the same faith. "Were they?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Their royal highnesses were above lying, they'd have to have something to hide. Now there's a dubious concept, he thought.

"No, of course not, my parents would never lie to me," she said, almost like it had been silly to think otherwise. "But the fact that I could think that they would it reminded me that I have this tendency… to expect the worst of people." Emma couldn't help but think of just how true this was when it came to Killian. He might be the person who'd bore the brunt of her doubt in others. She'd started their entire relationship on that path when she'd handcuffed him up on the beanstalk. Even though her lie detector had told her he was genuine, she'd still chosen to believe the worst. Shame flooded when she thought about the time she'd wasted since them. Time that they could've been together, really together.

Killian heard the dejected tone she took on when she mentioned how she tended to view the world, and the people in it. It broke his heart because he knew exactly where those feelings stemmed from. He knew what it was like to feel as though you couldn't trust anyone but yourself, and that there was no one out there for you. He continued to listen as she explained herself, still in awe of her turnaround, and hopeful for what it could mean for them.

"My childhood, people were always letting me down, and I-"

"Hey," he interrupted, needing to tell her that she couldn't categorize him with those who'd broken her heart throughout her entire life. Anger coursed through him, directed at all who'd hurt this tough lass. He wasn't that man, if he did nothing else right in his long life, he'd do right by Emma Swan. It only took looking into her eyes to calm the quelling emotions. "I don't intend to let you down," he vowed.

Warmth flowed through Emma's veins. No one had told her that before; life had merely handed her one hardship after another. Killian had proved himself worthy several times over, even when she didn't give him credit. "I know. And I know whatever happened with that sea witch, you can tell me on your own time. Because no matter what, I'm gonna do what my parents always do. I am going to choose to see the best in you."

I don't deserve this amount of trust. But I'll spend my life assuring your faith in me was correctly placed. 

He bowed his head and said, "And I with you."

The couple smiled at each other and leaned in for a kiss-

CRASH! Moment lost, Emma turned toward the station front. Her bemused parents stood in the doorway. Of all times to interrupt…. we were having a relationship developing moment. Could you have arrived five minutes later?

What the…? Perplexed her lips weren't on his, Killian opened his eyes and glanced at the intruders. Snow and David. While he respected the queen and king, they were the last individuals he wanted to see at the moment. Blimey, what's a bloke have to sacrifice for some privacy around here? Their firstborn child?

Emma smiled apologetically and mouthed, "Later."

Killian nodded. I'd like to have a word. No, this relationship is too new. I don't want to cast myself in a worse light than I already am or seem demanding. He bit his lips as Emma stood up and her parents walked in the room. David blatantly cleared his throat and Snow's cheeks flushed fresh pink.

"Sorry… we didn't mean to… interrupt," Snow stammered.

Emma's eyes narrowed. "So, you stood there awkwardly and stared at us the whole time?"

David sighed. "Sorry, but we have bad news. Cruella and Ursula were up to something. They've resurrected Maleficent."

"Wait. You mean that dragon I killed and took True Love potion from?"

The conversation shifted to Storybrooke's latest villain filled emergency.

Twenty minutes later, the couple was alone again. Emma noticed Killian was filled with tension. He wasn't the only one with unresolved business. To Hell with being the Savior, I want to kiss my pirate. "You okay?"

"Sorry Swan, I'm still vexed from earlier."

"I'm really sorry about that. I didn't know they were there."

"Not your fault. You don't control other people's actions. However, I worry it'll set a precedent."

Emma stepped forward, inches from his face. "What do you mean?"

"Say things continue to go well between us, it could escalate into more intimate activities. If caught, your father would give me a fate worse than death."

Emma nodded. She pictured her and Killian naked in her bed at the loft when David opened the door with a horrified expression. "Don't worry, I'll talk to them about boundaries. I'm sure magic has spells that soundproof rooms. Now, kiss me pirate."

"If the lady insists," he replied with a devilish grin. The kiss sealed the vows previously exchanged.

Afterwards, they pushed their foreheads together. "May I come back to your room with you?" she asked.

That can't be right. She's asking me. I should be asking her. "Are you sure, lass?"

Emma smiled. "I've never wanted anything else more."

~fin

[artificialqueens]

Better Than Revenge, Chapter 3 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Gigi, Symone, and Denali’s revenge origin stories

ao3 link

Woodstock, IL — 2016

Gigi took a deep breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could do this, it was fine. Every time her suspicions or confusion would bubble up, she forced them back down. Hannah was nice, she was different from the other popular girls. She didn’t see the ‘weird art lesbian’ with the braces and thick-rimmed glasses, who rarely got pop culture references post-1989, at least, that’s how she made her feel.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she assured her mother as she threw her bag over her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I’m just hanging out with a friend.” She was out to her mom, of course, that was her biggest ally. But she wasn’t ready to tell her that the head cheerleader had taken an interest in her. Maybe when and if they became official. Until then, she shook off the last of her nerves and drove to her house, only pulled from her thoughts by the time she was sitting on Hannah’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Hannah cooed, batting her lashes and resting her hand on Gigi’s thigh.

If Gigi hadn’t been so blinded by her crush, she might’ve thought Hannah was laying it on a little thick, but she couldn’t act like she didn’t enjoy the attention. “Me too, a-about you, I mean. Sorry, I’m just nervous…”

“How come? I didn’t come on too strong over text, did I?”

“No, no I liked it, it’s just… I’m a virgin, like, I’ve only ever kissed before,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. She had talked a big game over text, but being faced with the chance of starting a physical relationship brought her back to reality.

Hannah pouted, rubbing Gigi’s thigh as she thought, letting her hand inch higher. “Well, you’ve got fantasies, don’t you? I know you’ve masturbated before. What do you think about while you touch yourself?”

Gigi hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. The other girl wasn’t wrong, she did know what she liked, could conjure up vivid imagery to get herself aroused, but she had never said any of it out loud. “I like powerful, confident women. I guess that’s something that drew me to you,” she started, “I wanna just… give up control, be dominated.”

“Really? Tell me more,” Hannah prompted, kissing along her neck and jaw and slowly tugging Gigi’s shirt off in an attempt to coax her to continue.

When Hannah didn’t seem deterred by her confession, Gigi started to relax. “It’s just, I don’t know, I always feel the need to be in control of my life and with sex, I just wanna let go and give up that power.”

“So like, what would you want someone to do to you?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She bit down on her lip. “Um… tie me up, spank me, choke me, and I know it’s kind of intense but maybe something like cnc or—” the incessant buzzing of her phone distracted her and, concerned it might be an urgent call or text from home, she took her phone out. “Sorry, one sec.”

It wasn’t from home, she had two missed calls from her best friend, Crystal, followed by several texts.

Crystal: GIGI STOP Crystal: SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Crystal: She’s broadcasting you on IG live! Crystal: We can see and hear everything…

Gigi’s face fell, her first instinct to pull her shirt back on. Then she slowly looked up and in front of her, that’s when she saw it, nestled between stuffed animals — Hannah’s phone with an instagram live going. She didn’t say anything, just ran out of the house as fast as her legs would take her and through her tears drove right to Crystal’s house. That was when the two of them formed their plot.

In and of itself, it was simple. Gigi waited one day until Hannah was away for a cheer competition and went to her house. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Andrews, but I think I left some of my homework in Hannah’s room, she just said to let you know so I can run in and grab it.” Once inside, she found exactly what she was looking for, sliding Hannah’s diary into her backpack and went right back out.

“This feels very Mean Girls, I love it,” Crystal remarked as they taped page after page of the diary on lockers, walls, anywhere they could.

“Well, plan B was to go the Heathers route, so let’s just hope it works.”

And to say it worked was an understatement. As it turned out, Hannah had written things far more incriminating, and because it came from someone of her social ranking, it made everyone immediately lose interest in Gigi’s livestream scandal, and she graduated with the anonymity she needed for survival.

Present Day

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rosé remarked, “it’s kinda hard to picture you as an ugly duckling, especially the way you described it.” Gigi was too pretty, too perfect. Something didn’t add up.

Gigi got out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found one from her senior year. “Believe it, doll,” she said as she held her phone up. She watched with an amused expression as Rosé looked from her phone, to her, and back with her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Braces off, lasik, learned a lot about how to dress while going to FIDM, which is where I met Symone, who helped fill in the blanks.”

“And made sure she got to do all them things she listed to that bitch without feeling ashamed about it,” Symone added with a smirk, draping her arm around Gigi and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why don’t you tell her your story next, baby?” Gigi prompted.

Conway, AR — 2014

Symone watched her sister throw her bag over her shoulder and start to sneak out the window. “Look, I ain’t snitching or nothing, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

She and her sister, Lala, were close, sometimes referring to themselves as twins – they were only ten months apart, in the same grade at school. And until the summer after sophomore year, they had the same group of friends. But the crowd Lala ran with now just rubbed her the wrong way.

“You worry too much,” Lala brushed it off. “I’ll be fine, in bed by morning like nothing happened.”

But when Symone got a collect call two hours later, she found out things were far from fine. She drove down to the county jail as fast as she could without getting pulled over herself. Luckily bail was a mere fifty dollars, but once she got her sister back in the car, she looked at her incredulously. “What the fuck happened?”

“One of ‘em brought weed, another brought booze, but when the cops rolled up on us, they said it all was mine. And who was they gonna believe, me or three white kids?” Lala sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Symone admitted quietly, frustrated at her inability to come up with an immediate solution. “But we’re gonna do our best to get you out of this, okay?”

The best they could do wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of legal maneuvering, meetings with one person in a suit after another. The end result wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what could have been. Lala was fined three hundred dollars and put on thirty days of probation. In and of itself, it didn’t seem so bad, but the residual consequences took their toll.

“I lost my scholarship, ‘mone. That was my ticket into college,” Lala sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting off with a slap on the wrist, but I really ain’t thrilled about taking out student loans,” she sat down on the floor beside the bed, head leaning against it. “Or maybe I’ll start with community college, I dunno. It just fucking sucks that they all got off with warnings.”

Symone’s brows knitted together, her lips pressed into a fine line. “Don’t you worry baby,” she said after a moment, “they gon’ face consequences one way or another.”

It had taken most of spring break, but Symone finally had all of the pieces for her plan. “Not the most convoluted thing in the world, but it’ll get the job done,” she mused.

Lala looked at her sister, then at her desk and back. “Do I even wanna know where the hell you got coke from?”

“No, you do not.”

Getting the drugs was the hard part. Getting into school early to plant the drugs in the lockers of Lala’s former friends was far easier, as was leaving an ‘anonymous tip’ from a ‘concerned student’ on the principal’s desk.

“God, I wish I could’ve seen them get hauled off in cop cars,” Lala remarked as she and Symone drove home from school. The three students were quietly escorted out of class and arrested, the school wanting to bring as little attention as possible. “Shame that they rich daddies will still get them off lightly.”

Symone sighed and nodded. “Sure, but they’re still gonna get something, which is more than what they got when they threw you under the bus. Bet they’re gonna think twice before they let someone else take the fall for them.”

Her sister smiled softly and shook her head. “You really ain’t gotta do all that for me, you know?”

“I know,” she hummed, “not gonna stop me, though.”

Present Day

“Wow, that��s both selfless and hardcore,” Rosé remarked with an impressed nod. “Did she ever find out where you got the coke from?”

Symone laughed and shook her head. “Nah, that secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Rosé jokingly put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she chuckled. After a moment, she turned her attention to Denali. “That just leaves you, princess,” she remarked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s your claim to infamy?”

Denali tossed her hair off her shoulder and grinned softly. “Who, me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes. “Well, it is kind of an interesting story…”

Nicky rolled her eyes and tossed one of the couch pillows at her head. “Stop flirting and get on with it already.”

Fairbanks, AK — 2011

Denali groaned when the sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs pulled her from her quasi-asleep state, then pulled a pillow over her head when the door swung open.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed when the qualifiers are in two hours?” her friend, Kahmora, asked with incredulous horror. She yanked the covers off of her, but stepped back in concern when she finally caught sight of Denali’s face. “Oh god, you look like shit.”

She frowned and rolled over to face away from her. “I feel like I died and was in the process of being reanimated, then killed again,” she lamented. “It’s probably food poisoning… or maybe swine flu came back, I dunno.”

“Did you eat anything unusual?”

Denali furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “I mean, Tara gave me those brownies and I had one, but when she said they were ‘special’, I just thought she meant they had weed in them, but that sure as hell isn’t it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she sat upright. “Oh my god, do you think she poisoned me?”

Kahmora arched her brow. “I think that’s a bit much, even for her. Do I think she put something like a laxative in there so it’d take you out long enough that you couldn’t beat her out in the international qualifiers? Yeah, probably. She’s a cunt.”

The skater scowled, her jaw clenched. “She’s a dead cunt,” she corrected, then suddenly shot out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she raced to the bathroom yet again.

There wasn’t an obvious revenge plan for Denali. She knew that nothing she did would get her spot in the competition, and she wondered if it was even worth it. But her pettiness and spite won out and she began planning out her course of action.

“Remember,” she was saying, “if all else fails, we go the Tonya Harding route.”

Kahmora sighed. “For the last time, you are not whacking Tara’s kneecaps, now let’s go.” Despite some pouting from Denali, they went to get the gears turning in their plan. They got to the ice rink and slipped into the locker room without being noticed by Tara, who was in the middle of practice.

Denali picked the lock and took out Tara’s change of clothes. Then she reached into her own bag and pulled on latex gloves and a plastic bag containing several leaves of poison ivy. She turned the shirt, pants, and socks inside out and firmly rubbed the leaves against the fabric, making sure she left as little fabric uncovered as possible. “She’s lucky I’m merciful or I’d rub it on her panties too,” she remarked offhandedly.

Kahmora tilted her head as she watched her. “Do you actually think it’ll take her out of the competition?” she asked as her friend put the leaves and gloves into the ziploc bag.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s possible, probable really, that the constant itching might make it too difficult for her to skate. But this is more about getting even with her. I might not ever get another chance to compete for internationals. She’s lucky the only retribution she’s getting is a few weeks of itchy blisters.”

“Otherwise you’d Tonya Harding her?”

Denali nodded brightly. “Exactly! Now come on, we have to get rid of the evidence.” And with that, they scurried out of the locker room as inconspicuously as they’d entered it and threw out the evidence in a trash can several blocks over.

When the news broke that Tara had withdrawn from the competition due to ‘unexpected physical problems’, Denali did her best to feign shock and didn’t celebrate until she and Kahmora were alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Kahmora asked.

Denali tilted her head in thought, then smirked. “Let’s go get brownies.”

Present Day

“Personally, I still think you should’ve busted her knees,” Mik mused offhandedly. “Like, I bet you would’ve figured out a way to get away with it, you conniving bitch,” he teased.

Denali shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not very original and it’d look a lot more suspicious on my end.”

“I think it was pretty badass,” Rosé offered, making the other woman smile which, in turn, made her heart flutter — something she chose to actively ignore. Instead, she let all of their stories sink in. None of their reasons for revenge were out of line, none of their victims undeserving. And none of the consequences were as severe as some of the things she had seen in her time. “You all really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for three years if we didn’t,” Jan replied. “We had all of the potential on our own, but we make a difference together, and then we added Jackie to tie up the loose ends. It’s been smooth sailing from there.”

“Yeah, and now Jackie ties you up instead,” Nicky teased, earning an eye roll in response.

Rosé watched the group interact with a fond smile. She had assumed they all got along to be working together for as long as they have been, but she hadn’t anticipated them truly behaving like a family. It was a stark contrast to the constant coldness and curtness she had grown accustomed to, both in her previous career and in the environment she grew up in. She only hoped it would make the tasks ahead that much easier for them.

[authormitchel-blog]

POA: Part 4

Professor Dumbledore ordered everyone to the Great Hall, announcing that he and the teachers needed to conduct a thorough search of the castle.

            Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick closed all the doors to the Great Hall. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately.”

            Harry spotted Percy who looked a little peaky, but stood firm.

“Just send word with one of the ghosts.”

            Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be needing….”

            One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

            “Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.

The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors telling the rest of the school what had happened.

            “Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy. “Come on now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes.”

            “Come on,” said Millicent. As she, Harry, and Blaise gathered some sleeping bags and dragged them into a secluded corner near the front of the room.

            “Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” Harry asked.

“Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” said Millicent.

            “Thank Merlin you’re a Slytherin,” said Blaise. And Harry did just that.

Hermione found her way over to them. “You wouldn’t believe what idiotic things people are saying, like Black could get in here with a disguise and he surely couldn’t have apparated. No one apparates in or out of Hogwarts.”

            “Maybe he Floo’d in?” said Blaise.

“Honestly,” Hermione gave Blaise a look. “ In Hogwarts….”

            “A History, yes, Granger, I can read.”

Hermione huffed.

“Then you would know that the castle is protected by more than just walls. There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can’t just Apparate in here. And I’d like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They’re guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They’d have seen him fly in too. And Filch knows all the secret passages, they’ll have them covered…..”

            “The lights are going out now!” Percy shouted. “I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking.”

            The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind.   

            Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, he saw Professor Dumbledore approach Percy.

            “Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a whisper.

“No. All well here?”

            “Everything under control, sir.”

“Good. There’s no point moving them all now. I’ve found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow.”

            “And the Fat Lady, sir?”

“Hiding in a map of the Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She’s still very distressed, but once she’s calmed down, I’ll have Mr. Filch restore her.”

            Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps. “Headmaster?” It was Snape. Harry kept quite still, listening hard.

            “The whole third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch and I have done the dungeons; nothing there either.”

            “What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trewlawney’s room? The Owlery?”

“All searched….”

            “Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.”

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” asked Snape.

            Harry raised his head very slightly off his arms to free his other ear.

            “Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.”

Harry opened his eyes slightly, just enough to see Percy’s face rapt with attention, and Snape’s profile, which looked angry.

            “You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before, ah, the start of term?” said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation.

            “I do, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice.

“It seems…almost impossible…that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed….”

            “I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said Dumbledore, his tone making it clear that the discussion was closed. “I must go down to the dementors, I said I would inform them when our search was complete.”

            Harry shook his head and tried to get some sleep.

  The school talked off nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.

            The weather worsened steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Undaunted, Flint had the team training harder than ever, under the watchful eye of Madam Hooch.

            “We’re not playing the first game,” said Flint.

“What?” asked Pucey. “Why not?”

            Marcus gave him a blank look.

“Because the weathers shite, better to let Gryffindor handle the Hufflepuffs, if they can, then for us to get out into this muck. And besides, I’m worried Malfoy here, isn’t one hundred percent yet.”

            Malfoy looked at Flint defiantly, but lowered his head after Flint refused to look away.

After practice, Flint seemed to be waiting for Harry. “Look, Potter,” Flint’s foot nudged the ground, like they were about to have a really uncomfortable conversation.

            “Look, some people don’t know if you should play or not.”

Harry huffed.

            “They think that maybe Black…..”

“I know he’s after me,” said Harry. “I heard Mr. Weasley talking about it this summer, but I trust Dumbledore. I have to play, Flint, it’s the only thing that’s normal anymore.”

            Flint seemed to consider this. “Well, you are one of the best seekers we’ve ever had, and you’ve done well enough.”     

            Harry smiled, that was as close to gleaming praise that Marcus had ever given anyone, so Harry was going to take it.

            “Okay, Potter, I’ll tell the concerned parties that you aren’t worried.”

Harry shook his head, and followed Flint back into the castle.

            The day of the first match, the weather was worse than ever, the castle having compensated with more torches and lanterns lit.

            Harry entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and walked inside. But it wasn’t Professor Lupin’s happy face that greeted him, but Snape’s usual scowl.  

“Sir, where’s Professor Lupin?” asked Nott as Harry took his seat beside Millicent.

            “He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” said Snape with a twisted smile. “What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked.

“None of your concern, Mr. Potter.”

            “But sir,” said Nott. “Is Professor Lupin, okay?”

“Nothing life threatening, Mr. Nott. Now, Professor Lupin has not left any notes on the topics you have covered so far….”

            Malfoy looked like he was about to volunteer the syllabus, but Snape quieted him with a look. “And since Professor Lupin is clearly lacking in his organizational skills, we shall ju….”

            “He more than makes up for that, sir. He’s one of the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers we’ve ever had.”

            Silence filled the room so profound Harry was sure Ron in another classroom could hear just how quick he turned his head in Nott’s direction. Wow, thought Harry, maybe he wasn’t the only one who liked Lupin.

            Harry gave his nod of approval to Nott’s words as did several others, murmuring in agreement. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

            “I expect, Mr. Nott, that you are pleased more with the light workload than any real fondness for Professor Lupin. I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. That’s why today, we will be discussing werewolves. Everyone turn to page 394.”

            “Now,” he said, glancing around to each of them. “Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between werewolves and the true wolf? You, Mr. Nott?”

            Nott shook his head, cheeks red, eyes downcast.

“No, sir.”

&&&

              “Can you believe that?” said Millicent. “Two rolls of parchment about how to recognize and kill werewolves?”

            “Yeah, and the day before a match, maybe Gryffindor will finally crack under the pressure,” said Malfoy happily.

“At least,” said Blaise, coming up beside them. “At least it wasn’t vampires.”

Goyle seemed to blanch. “Come on, Zabini, don’t say that.”

            “Still scared, Goyle, you should be,” replied Blaise, waving his fingers mystically at a frightened looking Goyle.

“Well, is it any wonder that Snape wants us to be prepared? He would have more reason to be cautious of werewolves than anyone else,” said Vincent Crabbe.

            “What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

“Haven’t you heard, Potter, Snape’s a vampire,” said Blaise.

            “No,” said Harry, though he wasn’t sure how much would be needed to convince him otherwise.

            “Yeah,” said Blaise, jumping over the side of the common room couch. “Sleeps in a coffin and everything.”

            “I heard,” said Tracey Davis. “that he makes the seventh year students take a time specific poison for their NEWTS, and if they can’t brew the antidote in an hour they turn into flobberworms, so at least Professor Snape can get some sort of use out of them.”

            “My father told me,” said Nott. “That Snape can light fires with his eyes, he doesn’t even need a wand.”

            “That’s ridiculous,” said Blaise. “, but that bat thing is totally real.”

“Come on,” drawled Draco. “If anything, it’s his Animagus form.”

            “You mean, Snape can turn into a bat,” asked Harry, a shudder moving through him.

“Those are the odds,” said Adrian Pucey who was walking by and decided to jump into their conversation.

            “But the NEWT thing is definitely true,” he claimed.

“It is not,” called Marcus Flint who had seemed to have enough of their speculation. He gave a signal to Pucey who bounded toward the dorm, winking at the group of third years as they went.

            “But,” said Marcus. “I wouldn’t go looking him in the eye. That’s how they brainwash you.”       

            “Who?” asked Malfoy, voice a little sqweaky.

“Vampires, of course,” said Marcus before vanishing into his dorm.

            After dinner, Harry gave the password and entered the common room.    

He pulled out his books and sat beside Millicent and popped open his Transfiguration book. His essay was due in two days, and he was only half way done. Millie, Blaise, Malfoy and Co. were all centered around the fire.

            “Did you see how I took out that Kappa?” Crabbe asked Tracey Davis. And Harry wondered not for the first time if Crabbe was sweet on the snobby girl.

            “Yes,” replied Davis. “And I also felt the splash Pansy made when she fell into that muck water.”

            Pansy shot Tracey a dirty look. “I still smelled better than you, the shower is that way, Davis.” She pointed to their dorm.

            “How would you know, Parkinson? Haven’t seen you use it all year.”

Harry leaned into Millicent.

            “Aren’t they friends?”

“Yeah,” said Millicent, like the two girls bickering wasn’t any reason they couldn’t be best friends.

            “Now, Vince,” said Goyle. “I think you finally found a way into Tracey’s heart.”

“Yeah,” said Blaise. “torturing Pansy.”

            “No,” said Davis, immediately denying the claims of Crabbe getting anywhere near her.

“Right,” answered Pansy, seeming to back Tracey up. “You only get in Tracey’s, uh, heart if you know how to dance.”

            Crabbe nodded as if to say, ‘I can do that’ before offering his hand to Tracey. “Ms. Davis, may I have the honor?”

            Tracey looked quite put out about it, but took his hand anyway.

“If my mother didn’t tell me that I couldn’t refuse any eligible wizard you could forget it, but” Then she turned to dance with the boy.

            “Doesn’t favor your chances?” Pansy asked in a superior tone.

Tracey scoffed as Crabbe twirled her around the room. “Like your mother told you any different. You’re desperation of a mother would take anyone, even Longbottom.”

            Pansy snapped her mouth shut. Then, “That was one time, Davis. I also seem to remember you having a certain liking for….”

            “DON’!” shouted Davis, pulling out of Crabbe’s arms violently. The two girls stared at each other for a long moment before coming to a sort of truce, Pansy resuming her comfortable seat on the couch and Tracey taking a chair, each girl firmly in the sights of the other in case anyone felt like sharing any more secrets.

            “Those were quite brilliant,” said Pansy, changing the subject. “Pity we haven’t had a chance to have a ball as of late.”

            Draco sighed. “The manor always was the perfect spot for a ball.”

The group nodded, even Millicent.

            “But,” said Goyle. “It was an even better spot for a playdate.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Millicent. “and seeing as I am still tag the peacock champion, I will have to agree with that.”

            “Excuse me?” said Harry. “Tag the what?”

“It’s nothing, Potter,” said Pansy. “Only a game we used to play when we were all little.”

            “You’re just bitter because you were never any good at it,” said Millicent.

“No,” said Goyle. “It’s because one of those evil beasts bit her on the….”

            Pansy levitated a pillow into Goyle’s face before he could the rest out.

“Her bum, Potter,” supplied Blaise, who barely avoided the pillow Pansy quickly sent his way. Crabbe laughed. “But your house had the best snacks, Pans, or it did before you got that new elf.”

            Harry prepared to duck, since he was sitting close to Crabbe, but no pillow came flying their way. He watched as an odd look flittered over Pansy’s face before she quickly changed the subject.

            “Do you think Granger got in that muck puddle or not? Can you imagine the state of her hair?”

            Tracey laughed cruelly. “Do you think it could look any worse?”

“It can only get better,” Pansy said.

            “You’re just jealous,” said Harry in Hermione’s defense.

“Jealous of that filth mu….”

            Harry cut her off. “Yes, you’re jealous, you’re jealous because she gets better grades than you and all the professors respect her.”

            “All the professors kiss her perfect Gryffindor butt,”

“She deserves it, and you know it, Parkinson,” said Millicent.

            “I know you think that little know-it-all is your friend Bulstrode, but I wouldn’t trust that messy haired mutt with anything. She’s up to something, that Granger, I just don’t know what.”

            “Been keeping close tabs on her?” asked Millicent, not willing to back down from Pansy and her smug, pug face.

            “Just keeping track on all your strays, Bulstrode, you should be thanking me.”

Millicent huffed, but didn’t say anything else. Pansy, too, retreated back into her “corner” and Harry went back to his studying, desperately trying to not get sucked into whatever battle of wills that was about to come next.

[doe-wiegenliedofgreen]

Chapter 1–The Sorceress’ Dream; Scene 3

Wiegenlied of Green (VG), pages 18-32

☯ Elluka ~In the Country of Elphegort, "The Millenium Tree Forest"~

 .

Elphegort was set to the north of Lucifenia. This neighboring country had an even longer history as a nation.

Lucifenia and Asmodean were originally little more than the territories of the Beelzenian Empire, and even the once-destroyed-now-revived Holy Levianta could correctly be thought of as something entirely different from the Magic Kingdom of before based on the makeup of its government.

That Elphegort had been able to preserve such longstanding independence was a blessing of the crops they grew from their fertile land, and because the forests that made up one fourth of their domain prevented any invasion from a foreign country.

In their past, with a doctrine of racial homogeneity having run rampant, there were times when they inflicted total persecution on races outside of the Elphe race. Among others, the persecution of the country's former inhabitants, the Netsuma clan, was fierce; nowadays there were hardly any Netsuma to be seen in Elphegort. I'd heard tell that such a trend had softened by now, but depending on where you went there there still lingered deeply rooted discrimination.

Because the current King, Thorny Elphen, was a staunch pacifist, their troops only carried out basic self-defense. Looking at just military might it was inferior to the neighboring Lucifenia and Asmodean, but the regulatory power and morale of the army which was composed entirely of Elphes was high, and they were currently the main reason for hesitation on the part of other countries in invading.

With regard to religion, in the Evillious region the popular Levin religion held a vast majority, so there were many followers of the Levia sect. But there were other sects, albeit few. Elphegort was the country where the devotees of the minority Held sect had a deep-seated presence. And it was no wonder; Held was the name of the great land god that had been believed in in this country since the olden days. Having manifested as an enormous tree, he was told of as bringing prosperity and peace.

The forest where I was in now had once been called "Held's Forest"; it was the Held sect's pilgrimage site. However, the name had been changed by a former king who had been an advocate of the Levia sect's belief in only one god, and so it was now called "The Millenium Tree Forest".

"Almost no pilgrims come down here lately…What a wretched thing that is," my old friend in front of me murmured with a sigh.

I say old friend, but he wasn't a person. He had branches and leaves that stretched out to the point where they concealed the heavens, and his several layered trunk looked like a giant face. I was talking to the great tree that was now called the "Millenium Tree", the land god Held.

"I didn't come here to hear you grumble, you old geezer. What do you think about my request?"

"You impatient hag. Hmmm, having one of my spirits reincarnated into a human, and brought up as a sorcerer…"

Held didn't hide his bemused expression at this visit--the first in a long time--and my abrupt suggestion.

As a god, he had many spirits that served him as his kin. As these spirits would have much higher magical power than the average person, I had thought that they would make the most suitable candidates for an apprentice if I had them reborn as human.

"Thinking up such exorbitant ideas as usual. The reincarnation technique is your specialty, so I suppose it wouldn't be impossible…"

"Exactly. Well come on, hand over two or three of your kin to me," I drew closer to Held, pressing him for an answer.

Looking all over for someone in the Evillious region with magical talent would be difficult, and above all else I just didn't have time. In order to change Lucifenia's future of falling to ruin, I needed more than anything a sorcerer aside from myself. In order to use a certain secret art.

With the same expression on his face, Held opened his mouth incredibly slowly.

"Although, and it's not that I doubt your prophetic dream, but I can't picture a country as large as that one being brought to ruin so easily."

"I think there might be some involvement with a 'Demon of Deadly Sin'."

The "Demons of Deadly Sin"--Once, there had been seven "Vessels of Deadly Sin" brought forth in this forest and then spread out all over the world. Dwelling in each of these vessels were seven demons.

"Certainly, in the cases of Venomania and Conchita…people seized by the 'Demons of Deadly Sin' caused such altogether huge incidents. The princess of Lucifenia…Her name is Riliane, right? Didn't you already exorcise the demon that was possessing her?"

A twin pair with an older sister and a younger brother had been born to Arth and Anne. The girl had been six years old when I realized that she was possessed by one of the "Demons of Deadly Sin".

At the time, because Lucifenia's King Arth had died recently, it had been decided that the prince who was the younger brother would be chosen to be his heir, and until he grew up Anne would govern the country as his guardian. But one of the ministers had opposed that, insisting that Riliane was the rightful heir.

And because of that, a political conflict broke out amongst the ministers.

The minister who had first raised his objection had gotten Riliane possessed with a "Demon of Deadly Sin" that he'd obtained from somewhere, plotting to make her into his puppet. I only learned this later, but apparently he'd originally planned to have the prince possessed. But some slipup had occurred, and the demon had taken Riliane as a host. Which resulted in his earlier complaint. That minister had been plotting to assassinate the prince, of all things.

To protect the prince's life, the captain of the royal guard, Leonhart, had hidden him in the turmoil of the dispute, and took him in as his own son. And so he was made out to have died, and Queen Anne was declared ruler.

When the struggle was over, the remaining problem was the demon that Riliane was possessed by. I mobilized the magical power that I held and tore the demon from her body. She ended up losing her memory as a result, but as I was able to procure the hand mirror that had been the "vessel", I'd assumed everything was finished with that.

"Yes, I did exorcise the demon from Riliane. But, now that she's grown, she's become possessed again. Furthermore, due to it accompanying its host's growth, the demon is even further rooted into her spirit. …I can't extract it with any ordinary exorcism spell."

"So you need the 'Clockwork Secret Art', then."

"Yes. I can't do it alone, but if I had another excellent sorcerer, perhaps…"

"So you'll loosen the demon's binding by warping space time…hm? That spell is as dangerous as it is powerful. If you should fail, and things go poorly, the nation will be blown up. Are you prepared to destroy your own country again?"

"...I’m aware of that."

That was right; just as Held said, I had once been the cause of my birthplace's destruction. To be accurate, there were some portions that my memory wasn't quite as clear on for various reasons, but at the very least the country's destruction, and the fact that the reason it happened was the "Clockwork Secret Art" and myself--those were the things I was sure about.

"Even I have grown since then. It'll go off without a hitch this time."

"But…It's still a concern."

"Oh shut up. What I'm more worried about is why Riliane's gotten possessed again. Was the initial purification incomplete, or is there some other reason…?"

"Or, perhaps it was the 'vessel' that was incomplete."

"The 'vessel'? What do you mean?"

"For every one vessel, there is one demon dwelling in it. But, regrettably, it's been close to five hundred years since the 'Vessels of Deadly Sin' were released upon the world. It isn't out of the question, that one vessel might have separated into several pieces."

"So you're saying that mirror was an incomplete 'vessel'?"

I pulled out the small mirror from my pocket. It was a small, plain hand mirror that I was told Riliane had gotten when she was little. She'd said she picked it up on the beach, but that was likely a trick by the minister. It had a seal talisman wreathed around it, so it had lost its function as a mirror.

"Perhaps this mirror that you've obtained, is little more than one part of the 'vessel'. If we assume that the remaining parts are somewhere else…Well, it's just conjecture."

"At any rate, I won't let it be like Venomania and Conchita…I won't have another failure like those incidents in my past. This time, I have to keep it from happening," I said, transparently mocking myself.

Five hundred years before now, I had been requested by Held to gather the 'Vessels of Deadly Sin'. Although, I hadn't put any serious effort into his request. Not knowing that catastrophes would occur in the world as a result, to me it had been little more than just "killing time".

If I had been more diligent about gathering information during those incidents, and taken prompter action, then perhaps I would have been able to stop them. If the one making the request hadn't been the easygoing Held, I would have been dismissed from the role a long time ago.

"Elluka, about your prophetic dream…what was it, more concretely speaking?"

"I saw four images. The first was the sight of Princess Riliane at the guillotine in a town square. The second was a scene of the palace being surrounded by many people wielding weapons. The third was the march of the Lucifenian army invading Elphegort. And the fourth was the head maid, Mariam…dying in the palace garden. I don't know at what time, or what order these images will occur in."

"Which one was 'purple'?"

"The third one, of the Lucifenian army. In other words, once Lucifenia invades Elphegort, I won't be able to change the future anymore."

My prophetic dreams had a special "color", distinctly different from other dreams. With that "color", I was able to discern whether the dream was reflecting the future or not.

And so, if I could prevent the events transpiring in the "purple" one amidst the procession of dreams, then I could change the future depicted in them. Conversely, if I couldn't stop it, then I could no longer alter the movements of the gears of time.

"If things shouldn't go well, what do you plan to do?"

"Quickly escape from Lucifenia. I have no wish to get wrapped up in any excessive trouble."

"…Well, if I said that was just like you that'd be the end of the matter. Aren't these circumstances different though, Elluka?"

A gust of wind blew through the trees.

"…What do you mean?"

"You are losing what you had obtained. …You are afraid of seeing that with your own eyes. That is the cause of your unusual motivation this time, yes? If staying means to watch the ones you love die, then you would rather abandon everything and run away. You did the same thing back with the 'Levianta Catastrophe'…"

"Be quiet! If you don't knock it off I'll cut you down, old man!"

Enraged, I struck Held's "face" with all my might. But I only ended up hurting my fist, Held remaining calm.

"Elluka. Perhaps what you are doing is not truly 'just'. To this world, perhaps Lucifenia is a country that is better left to fall to ruin."

"I know…I know that. From the very beginning, we weren't moving to action for the sake of justice, or anything like that! But if the cause of Lucifenia's downfall is a 'Demon of Deadly Sin', isn't it my job to keep it from happening?"

"…True. Well, I might consider the matter of lending you an apprentice. I've been getting sleepy, so…-yawn-."

"Ah! Oi! Wait a second you old man! Don't go to sleep, hey!"

No matter how much I kicked and struck that yawning face, Held didn't offer a reaction. Once he'd fallen asleep, nothing I did would do anything. If I was unlucky, he wouldn't wake up for over a month.

"You old goooat!"

I knew it was pointless, but in my uncontrollable irritation I kicked at Held's face once again. Just then,

-Swish-

Suddenly something flew from behind me. Faint pain spread across the back of my head, along with a dull thud. When I touched the spot where it had collided, it felt sticky. For a moment I thought I was bleeding, but it wasn't that at all. My palm was covered in a sweet aroma. When I turned around there was a smashed red fruit lying on the ground. That was a pome fruit. Just who had tossed an unripe pome at me from behind?

"Don't pick on Lord Held!"

I could hear the voice up in the tree, a different direction than where the fruit had come from. There, I saw a small robin with beautiful green feathers. When I turned again, my eyes met with the culprit who had thrown the fruit. As expected, a small chipmunk was glaring at me.

Perhaps for now I should defend myself to the robin, who was more likely to listen to me.

"I'm not really picking on him, Michaela."

The robin's name was Michaela. One of the spirits serving Held. Normally, spirits were beings with indeterminate form, but I wasn't able to see them that way. These girls just (well, spirits didn't have gender so calling them that might not be appropriate, but I preferred to think of them as female so that's the way I worded it) had the power to assume the form of forest animals like they were doing now. Due to this power they could be recognized as themselves by human eyes, and moreover intervene in the world of humans.

Although, it was only humans like me who had magic who could have a conversation with them like this, or even hear their words.

Naturally the chipmunk was a spirit like Michaela, named Gumillia.

"I don't think well of, so easily resorting to violence, Elluka."

"Speaking as emotionlessly as ever, Gumillia. Or perhaps I should say that I applaud you having the gall to say that while hitting people with things."

"Thank, you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

I once more looked up at the peacefully sleeping Held.

"Looks like your master has started to nod off again. I guess I'll come back another day," I sighed.

Michaela spread her wings and alighted on my left shoulder.

"I think that'd be best. I can sense someone coming from far away."

"Oh, a pilgrim for the Millenium Tree?"

"Hmm~ I wonder. Although they don't seem to be heading this way…In any case it wouldn't be very good for Lucifenia's sorceress to be seen loitering around in a place like this, would it?"

"Sounds like you've been studying humans a lot."

"Heh heh. Just a little. I listen to conversations with pilgrims and people like the woodcutter Pant, and things like that."

"Do you have an interest in humans, Michaela?"

"Yeah. But Lord Held has forbidden going outside the forest, so…Not much."

"Ah, well your master is a thick-headed one."

"Hee hee, I guess he is."

Michaela giggled, sounding like a song.

"I'll be going soon. See you later, spirits."

I waved a goodbye to them, and walked towards the entrance to the forest.

Michaela and Gumillia, huh? Above all of Held's kin, they had the strongest magical power. If I were to make one into an apprentice, which one would it be?

 .

On my way back, I found a girl walking along and clutching a basket, perhaps going into the forest to pick fruit. This must be the one Michaela was talking about. I hide myself in the thicket, and waited for her to pass by.

How unusual, to find a Netsuma in Elphegort.

White hair and red eyes. On the right hand of that girl endowed with the Netsuma clan's characteristic features was a bruise, like she'd been hit by someone. Not just her left hand. Looking closer there was one on her left leg. And on her cheek.

Oppression. Persecution. I quickly shook my head to negate those words that suddenly came into my mind. She probably got those bruises from falling down. From what I could see of her face, she was really a very slow-witted girl, wasn't she? It was rash of me to immediately assume that about her just because she was a Netsuma.

She crossed before me, and vanished deeper into the forest.

"--Eh?"

As she had passed by, she had clearly said:

 .

"I'm sorry for being alive."

.

She didn't seem to have noticed me. She was talking to herself.

I decided not to think about the meaning of her words.

 .

Held, I guess it's just as you say. All I do is run away.

 .

I left the thicket, and began to walk once more. I wanted to hurry up and get back before the day was out. It'd be such a bother to get scolded by Mariam again.

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[mcrmadness]

I’m not the best person to give advice but I’m gonna try anyway :D I mean, I like drawing but I really suck at copying what I see, I just forget it the second I look away and the more complex lines, the harder it is for me to memorize anything.  Also I hope you take it as a constructive feedback from a fellow artists (hobbyist), that’s something I’m always open for what comes to my art.

Here you have chosen maybe one of the most difficult photos ever to draw? I mean, facial expressions are really difficult, I have usually always drawn just very neutral faces and usually just one person only because I always tend to fuck up at least one of them and then it looks annoying if one looks a lot like who they are trying to be but the other one/rest look like some random people instead. I think you’ve done quite a good job here considering that - the shading and highlighiting is just perfect and something I with I knew how to do too.

I’ll put the rest under the cut.

About the faces, and here especially please think of this as just constructive criticism, I know how when one keep staring at the same piece of art for hours, you kind become blind to it? I always have the same problem - everything looks fine while it’s in process but when it’s already this far and basically finished, THEN I start to see what’s wrong with it and then it’s already too late to start fixing anything and it’d be easier to just start over, but it feels like a waste of time anyway.

I think if you added a little bit of the shoulder areas, it’d make the faces look like they make more sense? Like, in the photo you can clearly see why the faces look like that but in a drawing it easily looks just weird.

Individually I think Farin and Rod look the best, you really nailed that facial expression of Farin’s and I don’t think the nose is that much of a problem?

In the close-up Bela’s eyes look fine but in the smaller photo they look a bit lopsided? I know it’s probably just the photo - I actually just tried to look for that photo from my computer but it seems that I don’t even have it here. I found another photo from the same photoshoot but it was tiny and had a different, maybe the photo is one of the two books but I don’t really feel like browsing hundreds of pages for one, maybe even tiny, photo :D So I can’t say if his right (your left) eye is too high or not because I can’t find the reference photo right now, but I do know that I have once drawn his face and did the exact same thing and I don’t know if it’s just his eyes or what that looks like that in photo but then looks a bit weird when drawn!

The hairs are done well too, Farin’s especially, I find it so difficult to draw light colored hair and still make it look like _hair. Bela’s and Rod’s hairs look slightly out of character but I bet it’s because in the photo you can’t really see where the borders of the hairs go and making the background also black from where it’s black in the photo too would make them look even better.

I would say this was a great practice and you really know how to do the shading so it looks actually 3D too. You’re not dumb, you’re just learning! And by learning I mean: live and learn since I believe that perfect doesn’t really exist, there’s always something more to learn and improve and at least I think that’s the most fun part in drawing now :D If some drawing doesn’t turn out that good, it doesn’t matter, then we try again. I haven’t posted my second last one because it looks weird and out of character - and I drew both Bela and Farin. The latest one turned out okay but it didn’t have faces really and I was mostly just practicing shading and the blending techniques that I had just learnt about. I’m gonna try drawing some portraits eventually again but I have no clue how it will go. I have drawn Bela 3 times before + several about Bela and Farin + a few about Farin in the past; and just once I have managed to do something where Bela actually looks like himself too, and then there’s one or two about Bela and Farin that I’m still quite happy with even tho those drawings are already quite old. I haven’t posted any of them here but I guess I maybe should, but I just wanted to say that mistakes are there to learn from and succeeding at something and then the next one not coming out as that good isn’t the end of the world. I had to learn that the hard way myself and I’m really glad that I eventually was able to figure this out and now I enjoy drawing to the fullest again.

So, keep up the good work! And I think I should stop my wannabe aphorisms here, they’re getting very boring soon :DDD

Guys I think I will not continue drawing anymore because I am an asshole and I ruined farin's nose 🙂

As u can see here, with the black and white effect it is less noticeable, but seen live it is horrible

I think I'll start another one sooner, hoping not to make mistakes with it 🤞🏻

I'm really sad about this because it was turning out pretty good, if anyone has any advice to give me in case it can be fixed, don't hesitate to write me.