#i will figure out how to draw the Barrier in a cool way someday and then I will redraw this exactly 73289 times

[puppy-the-mask]

I have an au i've been referring to as 'Magus' or 'Layered Reality' in my notes, idk what the story will actually be called but i've been brainrotting over it particularly hard recently so i'm gonna talk about it

Namely because Blue is a little FREAK and I love him :3

So I love soulmate aus, and I love Yanderes, but you know what we need more of? MUTUAL YANDERES so you know this shit is gonna get wild when the entire premise is combining all three. Be aware, most are gonna be low-key about their obsession or it's only going to show up later on so some of the characters may seem like normal well adjusted individuals... they are not

Y/n, or 'Magus' as they're know to the wider public, is a prominent masked public figure that showed up out of the blue and broke the barrier. And then Kept showing up randomly when the underground seemingly re-filled with monsters with a new barrier in place. They're like a volunteer firefighter, but for the royal guard. They aren't officially hired or anything, but they most often work directly with a team of guards or are often called in as backup by others if Magus is in the area and able to help. Technically the only calls Magus has to answer/missions they have to attend are any having to do with the barriers.

See, in this world a cluster of universes collided, the effect being imperceptible as the humans of said universes were all the same and fused into one person. The difference lied underground, where because they're so different the universes couldn't merge seamlessly like they did up top and so, thanks to the barrier keeping the underground isolated, the undergrounds became isolated instances layered on top of each other. With the breaking of the barrier and emptying of the underground the mountain destabilizes and the next layer of the universe fills its place to rectify this now that the space is open.

This mean that Magus, being the fusion of all the versions of themself, is soulmates with ALL of the skeleton brothers. Now, soulmates are kind of a forgotten art in this world, it's a type of magic and most humans, having forgotten magic, don't know they exist. Most monsters don't pay much mind to it either since it's more nebulous than media makes it out to be. Your souls draw you together to meet, no matter what a meeting Will happen as that is destiny, but what happens after depends on if the individuals can hold onto that connection or even notice it in the first place. People who specialize in soulmate magic are like fortune tellers, they can't tell you specifics but they Can tell you what kind of mark your destined will leave on you or what their mark on you says if it's a word/name/sentence.

Magus has a special connection to soulmate magic, being naturally attuned to it as they see their soulmates in dreams (I have the same soulmate system set up in other works), it's actually how they learn magic and Become a mage in a modern post-magic world. Rus (sf!papyrus) teaches them via dreams because he's also a dreamer and the connection lets them talk! That is until they grow up and become teenagers and suddenly Rus cuts Magus off, creating a literal wall between them whenever they meet in dreams so they can't speak. Magus believes this is because they've become a mage and that he hates them for it. That's not why, but it's what they assume. And they hold that assumption for Years.

I could go more into Magus' story and why they become a Yandere, but the crux of it is that they are so starved for love and so single-mindedly focused on protecting their soulmates and being with them someday that morality kind of falls to the wayside. They think the only way they can show their love for the time being is by ensuring their soulmates are safe and happy from the shadows. They are a protective and doting yandere, what their love says goes. Of course, they can keep it cool and are very good at acting like they are perfectly normal to the point nobody suspects they so much as care about the skeletons, much less favor them over others.

Bringing Magus' job back up, they mainly work for the Underfell branch of the guard. Their direct partner is Fell Undyne, who is very obviously trying to kill them or at least get them hurt. The animosity between the fell monsters and Magus is especially obvious, as lots are still pretty iffy with humans and of course would hate mages especially. Why does Magus work with them then? Because it's safer working with obvious threats then one of the other branches filled with people who may try to get their guard down before leaving them for dead. They know to keep on their toes and won't slip up. Of course, not all fell monsters are assholes or hate Magus just for being a mage, just like not all tale monsters are nice. So there are some people Magus is chill with. The one they trust the most in their group? Red (uf!sans)

This dude is too busy and tired with his own shit to care. This friendship actually comes about in the strangest of ways thanks to a forgotten closet office. It's a small office that was obviously a closet before being renovated, nobody uses it so it's the Perfect secret nap spot. There's a beanbag chair in there and everything! Neither knew the other used the office until Red teleported to the beanbag and landed right on top of a napping Magus. They agreed to keep quiet about it and share the office. (Either that or it's Red's office but he almost never uses it so Magus had no idea it was his office until he dropped in on them)

Edge (uf!paps) is also chill, he doesn't care so long as you prove yourself and don't get in his way. Magus simps for has a deep respect for him as coworkers, though they don't work with him often as he's not on their team, they do see each other in the office. (It's not all action, someone has to write those field reports!)

Now onto Blue(us!sans)- yanberry will forever be ingrained into my heart and mind so you cannot tell me he wouldn't be BATSHIT as a yandere. This man craves blood. So anyways, Blue believes in soulmates- having the type where when you lock eyes you can see colors. He's been Red-Green colorblind all his life until meeting Magus, his fascination with blood kind of stemming from it. From the moment his eye's met Magus' he was hooked and is Always trying to call them whenever his team needs backup. He is a Magus supporter, if Magus has no fans assume he is dead. Everyone close to him knows him as the #1 Magus Fan and he is tied for the most devoted to finding out who Magus is. This man has a whole conspiracy board covered with colored string and news snippets about them as well as blurry pictures and whatever he can find related to them. It's his shrine in disguise except there is no disguise but he insists everything on it is imperative to his research.

When they do work together Blue and Magus are Absolutely. Fucking. Terrifying. This is not an exaggeration, this is an action drama aside from the romance and they mow through people like it's nothing. There is a specific joint move in my head where Magus traps a person in a barrier box with a floating lid and Blue runs up, jumps, and slams his giant hammer on the lid and it crushes the victim like a fucking hydraulic press- like a fucked up game of whack-a-mole. Magus is chill as ever and Blue is smiling and cheerful like always as they high-five a job well done. They look at the others like 'What? Did some get on us?' I swear Blue is normal around other people, he's actually really good at pretending to be normal, it's just that sometimes you're in the middle of a shootout and a brawl and the place is covered in red and the adrenaline gets to you and your crush is Right There so Of Course you gotta impress them! Y'know? The fells are terrified and also respect it. Blues own team? He might be sent home and put on probation with a psych evaluation pending.

Then there's Black (sf!sans). He's the one tied with Blue in trying to discover Magus' identity. He was originally ordered to follow Magus in secret and find out where they live as well as their true motive to helping the monsters, this of course led nowhere as Magus has multiple failsafes and waypoints to teleport between to get home that prevent them from being followed. But now it's become a game, a challenge, even after the order drops Black continues to follow Magus at every opportunity, even enlisting Rus' help to follow them for him and report back anything interesting (which is everything, he wants to know Everything.) Magus is, of course, Aware of this as they've recognized the siren's call of their soulmate's souls. Even if they don't know exactly whose it is until they meet face to face and memorize the signature, they at least know a soulmate is around and following them.

And that's the true purpose of this au, i thought it'd be hilarious if the skeletons were being creeps in the shadows and MC already knows. They can tell when the guys are around and following them, can sense their magic on anything they let them borrow, can sense the residual trace of their magic on the table they left their missing pencil on. Magus Knows, and finds this development and behavior absolutely Adorable. They hold all the cards and have just as much power and sway as the skeletons, but the skeletons don't know that Magus is stalking them back. There are things the skeletons put together or know that Magus doesn't, but in this regard Magus is the mastermind.

Not everyone falls for Magus though, some fall for the sweet human Y/n that they met at volunteer events. Y/n is very active in the community and is a staple for all the charity projects whenever a new mountain is opened. Since Ebott isn't stable the monsters have to move out fast before the next underground takes it's place, but often don't have anywhere to go yet so the community comes together to provide things like blankets, food, and other resources for the first couple nights camping out. Of course, over time the monster government has learned and prepares housing in advance but sometimes it isn't enough quite yet or it takes a couple days to get everyone moved in. Some may just take the opportunity to camp under the stars for once. Either way, Y/n has been at every one and quite a few skeles have fallen for them after meeting. In fact, most of them have! It's only Blue and Black that have fallen solely for their Magus persona, Red is in the middle as he fell for Y/n but also has been getting closer to Magus. He is fully ready to chat up both before realizing they're the same person. He only partially laments the loss of two hot partners but, according to him "they're sexy enough i can let it slide" lol

Magus' daily life as Y/n is where we see the skeletons trying to cozy up and flirt their way into their life the most as well as most of the yandere behavior as Y/n has Sans, Stretch(us!paps), and Red all actively stalking them. Papyrus too to a lesser degree as he knows Y/n as Undyne and Alphys' human friend that he always seems to just miss whenever he goes over. There is more story to that but this is already long and I haven't even gotten to all of the aus in play because for one time only- we've got dusttale in this bitch

Dust? Oh no dear reader- Magus fucking hates him and he feels the same! At first. No no, in this story his dead brother is one of THE main characters :3c I call him Phantom. See, Magus has 4 main types if magic they specialize in. Soulmate and Healing magic is what they're naturally attuned to, but Barrier magic is what they've studied the most. And when they learned The Barrier required the power of 7 human souls to break, they thought to themself 'you know what type of magic is perfect for acquiring human souls? Necromancy.' So they learned the basics of necromancy to gather the necessary soul power to break the barrier from the outside. But summoning the undead kind of leaves your soul open to possession if you aren't careful, wandering spirits may latch onto it as a source of energy to feed off of. Can you guess who latched onto Magus' soul? They later worked out a genuine pact and contract where Phantom could be called upon whenever and would also get more access to magic in exchange. But yeah, i meant it when I said soulmates are destined to meet no matter what, not even Death can prevent your fated meeting.

Phantom is very smug that he's already soul married to Magus before the others even got a date. He's The Worst, I love him with all my heart and soul. He is bonkers from the isolation of death and doesn't want to share with the living because they're alive and he's insecure. Only he puts this on Magus like 'hey you should totally die and join me as a ghost so the others can't have you :3' and Magus just sighs and grounds him from cuddles for the day. If Magus is in a life threatening situation he is completely chill about it because 'oh hey ghost time! =D' and then he'll pout when they make it out alive. Magus has to remind him there's no guarantee they'd be a ghost and that both of them would basically up and dissapear if it happened. He's a little delusional that it'll work out perfectly and they'll be ghosts together in the afterlife without all the struggling to stay together to not fade away he'd gone through before 6-6 =_='' he has redeeming qualities I swear. To be clear though, Dust seeing his brother's ghost is a hallucination and manifestation of his grief as in canon. Because Magus is a necromancer i thought it'd be interesting if he's just Also an actual ghost at play in the story. So like, Dust will be looking off into space talking with his brother and Y/n will be across the room with Phantom at her side and looking between them because they can't Say anything, but Magus being a necromancer reaffirmed that ghosts are real so people believe Dust that his brother's ghost is haunting him. It's a whole thing. Dust please get therapy. Magus doesn't like him because he killed his brother, yes they're taking sides in this, that's their husband. Don't expect much from dust, he's gonna get sidelined hard if I actually write this, I just wanted his brother lol. He'd rather die than date a human mage anyways after all he went through which is fair.

The introduction of the Horror bros is where things start really kicking off (though i have like 5 different concept timelines, this is the main one) it's when Blue first meets Magus and falls head over heels seeing them covered in blood and dust, it's when Black sees part of Magus' face and decides to put their mask back on rather than taking a closer peak and a picture- as Magus is unconscious and he feels he hasn't earned it. He didn't do anything, he just showed up. It was too easy. He wanted them to show him. It's when the horror bros show up obviously, and Chef (ht!paps) Immediately leaves his mark And sees under the mask so he's leagues ahead of the others right off the bat. Bones (ht!sans) is a little behind him in the uptake, i'm not sure he's realized they're also his soulmate too yet- they just seem kind of familiar in a way he can't place but he's glad his bro is happy. It's also when Magus and Phantom either first meet or create their pact. I need to refresh my memory but lots of things come together and start falling apart when the horrorbros come into play :3

Eventually they'll all live together in concerning unorthodox harmony but for now there are secrets and drama to be had!

[copper-skulls]

local digital artist absolutely colour deprived, busts out a literal knife to get into their red ink, more at 5

[doodlydoki]

#5 Honey, I Won~

Heya @three-space-kittens!! Sorry for the long wait, but I promised you it would be a long one😉 I hope you enjoy, because I sure did writing this 😂

Summary: Aizawa's wife, the #5 pro hero in Japan, is asked to run a training simulation with class 1-a. What the students didn't expect was for their teacher to show up with his daughter and a lovely surprise for YOU.

Words: 4500~

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The clicking of your heals echoed through the empty hallway. Lesson plans settled in your arms, together with some student files, as you made your way to the designated classroom. Your husbands classroom, class 1-A. When the principle reached out to you, asking if you were interested in guiding the young teenagers in their stealth skills, you were thrilled. This was the perfect opportunity to meet your lovers class and to help them grow skillswise. (Admittedly, spending more time with your love was also in the back of your mind when you accepted the principals request.)

You halted in front of the classroom door, hearing your tired husband explain to his students that they’ll have a special program for the day. Upon hearing his introduction of another pro teaching them for the day, you stepped in, head raised high as you greeted the to-be-heroes. 1-A was in an uproar, It’s the fifth ranked hero! They’re going to be trained by one of the top 5 heroes in Japan! No way!

“That’s Umbra, the shadow hero!!” Exclaimed a green haired teen enthusiastically, “She’s known to cloak herself with the shadows around her, making her invisible at night which gives her the best opportunities to land sneak attacks!! She can manipulate shadows for offence attacks and defence barriers and-”

“Shut up nerd, we know!”

Their homeroom teacher shushes them, giving you the chance to take over his class while he sits back and takes a break from these rowdy teenagers. “As you’ve already heard from your homeroom teacher, today’s lessons will be quite different from what you’re used to.” You started, taking your husband’s position at the classrooms front desk. “Your classes for today will consist of stealth training and support item checks and upgrades. By the end of the day, you will all be given an individual evaluation about your new learned skills and ability to avoid unnecessary casualties. Are there any questions?”

A green haired boy’s hand went up, “Yes? Midoriya, is it?” You recognized his messy green hair and studious nature from his student file. Which described the boy’s heroic nature and curious tendencies perfectly.

“Yes miss, I have a question, if you don’t mind me asking!” he said nervously.

You smiled kindly not wanting the boy to feel any sort of hesitance when asking you a question, or any student really. “Questions are never a problem. Ask away!”

That’s when Shouta’s phone went off (at the worst timing). He picked it up and looked at the screen. “I have to take this one, I’ll be right back.” He said, before he made his way towards the classroom door.

“Yeah, no problem.” You answered before you turned your attention back to midoriya again, signaling him to ask away.

That seemed to get his usual gears running, as he eagerly shot an array of questions your way “If this is a stealth exercise, then why would we need a support item check? You said we will get upgrades, are they general upgrades or stealth upgrades? How will we train our stealth skills? And how will you evaluate our ability to avoid casualties exactly?”

O Boy. A soft heated laugh echoed through the classroom, yours to be specific, “No worries, all your questions will be answered the moment we arrive at the allocated training facility.” You pressed the button of the remote that opened the case closet, containing their costumes “For now, you and your classmates can change into your hero costumes and meet me back here in 20 minutes.”

All 20 student happily rushed to get their costume case and went to the changing rooms to change, leaving you behind in an empty classroom. Not long after that, Shouta entered again, phone still in hand, signalling he just ended the call, “Hey I have to go home to grab a new set of clothes for (D/N).”

“Oh, did something happen?” You asked confusedly.

“Nothing much. A kid at kindergarten spilled his drink over her, it’s left quite a stain so now she wants dry clothes, they had no spare set left there.” He sighed, “And here I thought she wouldn’t worry about such thing at the age of three, figuring out it would dry on its own and just keep drawing… or something.”

You giggle at his remark, “Seems like she’s already turning into a little lady.”

“O god, I hoped we could just stay at the fingerpainting stage for another year.” He groaned annoyed.

You laughed at his remark, before tauntingly replying: “Did you already forget about last time she had a little too much fun with paint~?”

He groaned again, recalling last times event clearly in his head,  “Of course not, the walls were covered in pink and I had to paint it over.”

You grinned, “So, are you sure that’s any better?”

He sighed again wrapping his arms around your shoulders, mumbling his reply, “Nevermind.”

You giggled a bit as you planted a kiss on his cheek, before pulling away from his embrace. He expected to see a loving smile on your face, the one you normally wore when you two had a moment like this, but was instead met with a smirk gracing your lips.

Oh no…

“Just go home and get her majesty her clothes, dear.” You said teasingly, then you proceeded to kick your husband out of the classroom. “Don’t worry, Dear! I’ll take care of your other 20 kids.” You gave him a wink before you shut the classroom door. Laughing quietly to yourself as you can only imagine him having to struggle with your 3 year old daughter, who will most likely not let the men leave after his arrival.

Your daughter was a bit clingy when it came to her dad, she never misses out on a chance to either nap together, hug or play hero/villain with him. It’s quite adorable how she runs around the house, wearing your husband’s goggles and claiming to become a ‘Night’ hero just like her dad! And due to this favoritism, Shouta started claiming that she’ll have his quirk when she grows a bit older, to which you, of course, didn’t agree too, for your quirk can also be quite handy in the late hours. This started a small bet between the two of you. The loser will have to take the winner out on a date! Truely, there was nothing at stake for the loser, but Shouta is so dead set on the thought that she is gonna have his quirk, so in his case, it may still be quite a big loss.

You couldn’t stop a small chuckle from escaping your lips as you thought about the man pouting when it does turn out that she has your quirk.

“Why are you laughing miss, did something funny happen?” It was Ochako, ready in her hero suit with midoriya and Iida by her side.

“No, no nothing happened-” You shook your head and smiled,  “-just a funny thought that came to mind.” Then you looked at Iida’s costume, “Hey, that’s Ingenium’s design, Isn’t it?”

You noticed the boy's proud demeanor as he wears it, for it is basically a family heirloom, “Yes it is! As a proud son of the Iida family, I hope to join my family at our hero agency after my graduation here at UA-” but you didn’t miss the sad gloss over his eyes by the mention of his brother’s hero name. “and carry on my brothers legacy as the hero called ingenium.”

“That sounds wonderful, Iida! Your brother is very proud of you taking over his hero name, ya know? He told me so himself”

The boy seemed surprised, “You know my brother?”

You smiled softly at him hoping to help him ease his trouble,“Yes I do, we’ve went to UA together actually. Last time I spoke to him, I went to visit him in the hospital and he told me this, ‘To know my little brother will carry my hero name as an emblem, making sure the name ‘Ingenium’ doesn’t die and will continue where I left off, eases my worries. I know he’ll be a fine hero someday. All I can hope for now is that he will make the name ‘Ingenium’ his own, I really hope he does.’ Your brother has high hopes for you kid, but he’s already so proud of you. I’ve talked to a few other heroes as well and we all agreed that you show a true heroes virtue. I myself believe you’ll stand with the top, best heroes of your generation! So when the time comes, I hope I get the chance to work alongside you! What do you say, Ingenium, wanna team up someday?” You held out your hand to him, smiling as you hoped for the boy to agree with your proposal.

Your smile faltered as you saw the shocked look he wore, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “O, I’m so sorry-” You say in a panic, “-are you okay, i’m really sorry if I-”

“-Thank you, miss.” Iida removed his glasses and wiped away the watery beads that had threatened to fall, “I’m glad you told me.” He put his glasses back on and looked at you, determination filled his gaze, “I’ll keep working hard to become worthy of the name Ingenium. When I join my family’s hero agency, it would be my honor to work alongside you.”

“Can’t wait till your graduation kid,” You placed a hand on his shoulder, sincerity filling your voice, “I wanna see up close how you turn out to be as a hero, although I can already suspect you’ll be on top of the chart.”

You withdrew your hand of his shoulder and turned your attention to all 20 students, who were all dressed up and ready to rumble. “Okay heroes, now that we’re all geared up, let’s make our way to the front of the school! A bus will take us to the training facility.”

The students followed you in excited spirits to the bus, still talking lively amongst themselves when they choose a seat for the short journey. Midoriya, Ururaka and Iida who were chatting when Kaminari came to sit beside them together with Ashido, “Hey Iida, what where you and miss Umbra talking about? You seemed upset for a moment.”

“Well...miss Umbra and I talked a bit about my brother, apparently they’ve known each other since their years together at UA.”

“Wow, it’s pretty cool they went to UA together! Right?” Ashido said, tuning in on the conversation. “But if that’s all you talked about, what is it that made you upset?”

“Well, that isn’t all we talked about,” He began, his hands gesturing away. “Apparently she and my brother talked a bit about me taking over his hero name and that he hopes I’ll be able to make his hero name my own. It’s not that I’m upset, I just got little emotional is all.”

Kirishima, who was sitting opposite of his five classmates, also joined in. “I can see how that strikes a nerve, bro. Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly fine, thank you. Miss Umbra told me she has talked to other heroes about my hero capabilities as well and that they all seem to see great potential in me.” Iida smiles a little as he explains, “It appears she wishes for us to team up some time after my graduation.”

“Wow dude, she asked you for a team-up herself? that’s amazing!” Kaminari exclaimed loudly.

“Yes, it is quite the honor. She has high expectation of me, I hope I can abide them.”

“Out of all of us, Iida, you abide rules and expectations the best.”

“No doubt about that!”

“Seriously, you haven’t even graduated and you’re already high in demand!”

You giggled a bit as your husbands class went on about Iida, they were so supportive of him and seemed all so close to each other in general.

“No wonder he like this class so much.”

You turned on your phone and texted the tired man:

You: Me and the kids are on our way to the USJ, any idea when you’ll be joining us?

You figured Shouta would be way too busy to reply when suddenly your phone started ringing, a picture of him napping with your daughter on the couch lit the screen. You smiled as you tapped the green button to answer the call. “Hey, why did you call me, everything okay?”

“(Y/N),” His low voice came from the speaker in a pleading tone, “Help me.”

You giggled as you already guessed your husbands predicament, “What’s the problem?” You could hear the man tell your daughter to take the phone and tell what the problem is before you were met with her high pitched voice.

“Hi, mommy!”

You laughed at her enthusiasm as she got to call you, “Hey sweetie! Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but daddy has to stay! Can daddy stay?”

Of course he called you, the poor man was incapable of saying no to your daughters pleading puppy eyes. “Sweetie, daddy has to go back to work.”

You heard her gasp, an idea popping into her head, before she asked excitedly, “Can I go to daddy’s work?”

“Hmm, could you give daddy back his phone? I’ll talk with him about it.” You heard some rustling and talking on the other side before you heard your tired husbands voice again, “You okay with that?”

“Wait…you’re actually considering taking her to UA?”

“She’s been asking for a while now, one time couldn’t hurt.” You were surprised that he would even agree to it. You two had made clear boundaries in the beginning of your relationship about PDA and who the few people were to actually know about your marriage due to safety concerns. Letting the students know will certainly result to wildfire gossip.

“Are you sure, Shouta? I don’t mind her coming along, but your students will know about her then. Are you not worried about gossip amongst the students?”

There seems to be a pause at his end of the line and your pretty sure he’s contemplating his decision. You hear some rustling and mumbling on his side again before you finally get a reply, “Don’t worry momma! I’ll tell them to keep ‘shh’. Is it okay if I go to daddy’s school then? He says it’s okay!”

You sign in defeat, there’s no reason to say no now. “If daddy says it’s okay, then i’m okay with it too.”

You hear your daughter squealing on the other side of the line, yelling to her dad that it’s okay. “Thank you mommy!! I’ll give daddy the phone, bye bye!”

Once you suspected he had the phone to his ear again, you spoke in a flat tone of voice, “Was it the puppy eyes?”

“It was the argument actually.”

“So convincing you couldn’t bring any counter-arguments in?”

“Exactly.”

You grinned at the fact that your husband was so stubborn, that even you couldn’t sway his mind when it came to work-related things with the most rational of arguments...and here he was, unable to say no to his 3 year old daughter when she puts the puppy eye wildcard on the table and with the silly argument of telling the students to keep it ‘shh’.

“Seems like her majesty got her knight to bring her a new dress, and on top of that, a magical ride to the USJ kingdom.”

“That was the second argument, I can’t refuse her majesty’s wishes.” You could hear the grin he’s wearing through the phone.

You chuckle at his statement,  “Dear, you should really learn how to say no to her.”

“I reserved that part for you.” He replied in a smug tone.

“Wha- no! Sho-”

“See? You’re saying it agai-”

“O HUSH, I’ll see you two soon.”

You were answered with some lighthearted laughter at the other side of the line and some rustling in the background. You could faintly hear your husband say: ‘Say goodbye to mommy’ before you heard him pass the phone one more time. “Bye bye mommy!”

“Bye bye sweetie, i’ll see you and daddy soon.” You heard your daughter say ‘okay’ before you heard Shouta take the phone again and end the call. You laughed a bit to yourself at the silly conversation. Your daughter knew exactly how to pull her stubborn father's heart-strings, maybe one day she’ll tell you how she’s doing it.

“Miss Umbra?!” You turned around in your seat to see the bubbly pink student wave your way.

You hoped you didn’t talk loud enough for the students to hear that they’ll have an unexpected visitor during their training. “Yes, Ashido?”

“Are we almost there yet?”

You sighed inwardly as you checked your phone for the time, before showing the bubbly teen a smile, “Just a few more minutes.”

And as promised, the bus stopped before the USJ not too many minutes later. All students stepped out and made their way inside, listening to Umbra as she made her announcement. “Today’s training will take place in the Ruins Zone. We’re going to act out a scenario in which the ‘bad guys’ will discuss their evil plans in a secret location, in this case these ruins. there will be three groups of ‘bad guys’. All groups will receive three different topics of secret information that they’ll have to discuss with their group members, make it seem real! The heroes will infiltrate the ruins and try to collect information, undetected, from one of the three criminal groups. The criminal groups will discuss later on, which group was listened in on. If they don’t know which group it was, and if the heroes collect enough information that was given by one group, then the heroes have succeeded this exercise.”

Asui's hand went up, “Miss, why would there be 3 groups, if we only need to collect information from one?”

Midoriya’s hand shot up as well, “I think I know! Is it because if there was only one group, then they know for sure they’d be listened into? In real life criminal groups are never sure if they are listened into or not so if they know for sure now then there wouldn’t be a good indication for the heroes their stealth skills.”

“Midoriya is completely right! Criminals are always on the lookout for eavesdropping heroes, but there is a difference in expecting a hero or detecting a hero to be there. Now that i’ve explained the exercise, let’s get on with the support items for the heroes.” You pulled two pads out of your utility belt. “These pads can be placed under your shoes. The underside of the pads are soft and sound absorbent, this way your footsteps will be damped so you can move faster and get closer to the enemy without making your presence known. With that being said, let’s form the groups! ” You gave the pads to Bakugou and Ashido. “For the first round, you two will be the heroes.”

Ashido squealed happily because she gets to test out the support item first, while bakugou claimed he’ll ace this test. Shouta told you once that they both have a ‘noticeable presence’, which is the opposite of what you’re supposed to have in a stealth based mission. You hope to see great results at the end of this training session, or at least improvement.

“Now for the criminal teams.” You pulled out three different sheets of paper. “Midoriya, Iida, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu will be team 1.” You waved them over and handed them a piece of paper.”

Topic: Drug dealing

Boss: Ando Kojiro

Drug: Cocaine

City base: Musutafu, Japan

Base: Abandoned Warehouse (edge of the city: South)

“This is the information you’ll need to convey into your conversation. Your team will get 20 minutes to think up a conversation and, if necessary, to research some information about drug-cartels. After 20 minutes please try to have given everyone a role and some dialogue. Try to put yourself in a drug-dealer’s shoes and to make it convincing! This exercise is a chance for you guys to step into a criminals mind and try to get a better understanding of how they operate, which is both informative and fun! If any of you have any questions then don’t hesitate to ask.”

The four of them started setting up a plan while you went to give out information to the other groups. The three groups were busy planning out their dialogue when you heard an excited voice call out for you. “Mommy!!” Shouta came walking towards you and the students, your daughter tucked into his arms and oversized yellow goggles covering her eyes as she waved enthusiastically your way.

“MOMMY!?” The whole class exclaimed as they stared at the little, black haired girl as she jumped out of their teachers arms and gave you a hug. Then she jumped up and down happily and pointed to the goggles “Look mommy, looook!!! I put daddy’s glasses on!”

“Wait, DADDY!?” The little girl obviously had their teachers goggles on, so does that mean..?

You laughed at her boisterous claims, “I can see that, sweetie! But aren’t they a little to big for you?”

“Yes, but if I grow SOOO big,” She stretched her arms as far as she could above her head, “then they aren’t anymore and then I can be a hero just like you and daddy!!” She ran over to her tired dad and hugged his legs, “Right, daddy?”

Shouta couldn’t suppress a smile as he ruffled his daughters hair, “I’m sure you’ll be an amazing hero, kiddo.” He crouched down and looked at you for a second before he looked back at your daughter again, smirking as he said, “Why won’t you show your mom our little secret?”

The little, raven haired girl turned around to you and showed you a mischievous smile as she made her way back to you, uncovering her eyes to reveal the white eye-pad that was hidden beneath the goggles. She peeled it off quickly to which her hair flew up and her eyes colored a bright yellow. “Mommy~”

AAAHHH…. dipshit

“Daddy won!!” She giggled as Shouta came to stand beside you.

“Hear that, Honey? I won.” He showed you his infamous grin as your daughter hopped around you two and squealed in delight that her dad won. After the two of them had their fun, Shouta took the eye-pad again and placed it back on her eye. Her hair went down again and her eyes turned back into their normal colour, the same eye colour she shares with you. It didn’t take long for the 20 students to introduce themselves to your daughter, very surprised to discover their homeroom teacher had a wife and a child.

You were watching your daughter run around the students, jumping into their arms and wanting to know everything about them. It was cute how she thought the lot of them were already heroes, cuter how she recognised Iida’s costume as ingenium’s and claimed that he was one of her favorite heroes, and the cutest that they all played hero and villain together as she pretended to be just like her dad, wrapping her fluffy scarf around the ‘villains’ to capture them. Shouta stood beside you, enjoying the sight of his students and his daughter getting along so well.

“Isn’t that the same dress she put on this morning?”

“I’ve discussed with her teacher that she would call me if she developed her quirk. Turns out she had mine, so we wanted to surprise you.”

You looked at him, eyebrow already raised, “Surprise me?...or to rub it in~”

He grinned, “Maybe both.” and pulled you in for a hug.

You chuckled, hugging him back. You booped his nose when you pulled back, returning his grin in the process, “Next kid will have my quirk.”

“How are you so sure we’ll have another kid?”

“Daddy!!!” Your daughter runs to her dad and crashes right into his legs, before she reaches her arms out, wanting to be picked up. Shouta chuckles and complies, picking up his cheerful kid. “What is it kiddo?”

“The heroes-” She pointed towards his students, “-said I could maybe be the number one hero if I try, but I was like no, because I can only be the number two hero.”

Shouta frowns, confused that his daughter wouldn’t dream at such an age of being the number one hero, “Why the number two hero? Why can’t you be the number one hero?”

“Because you and mommy are my number one heroes, so of course I can’t be number one, because you are.” She huffed, exclaiming it like it’s the most logical answer in the world.

Shouta looks shocked by your daughters answer, unable to give her any sort of reply.

You smirked as you whispered into his ear: “That’s why.”

He turns his head to look at you and blankly says, “We’ll come back to this conversation later.”

“As I expected~” You sing-songed happily, pretty sure it was your daughter’s sweetness that made his brain malfunction just a moment ago.

You smiled as you watched your husband make silly faces, successfully getting your daughter to giggle and pull at his face to get him to make silly faces herself.

If you two do come back to this conversation, you’re pretty sure he won’t say no to having another kid

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

Damn this is long!!! Sadly I can't put a keep reading in the middle, because my phone'll space 'm. Hope ya'll enjoyed!!

Have a good day buttercups~!! 💜💛💙💚

[spartanguard]

sick of love (2/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

CS Soulmates AU | Rated M | 8.3k | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3

A/N: Onto chapter two!! As stated before, this story was inspired by this tumblr post. Thank you again to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this awesome event and to @sherlockianwhovian for making that AMAZING art up there! I’m planning to post the last chapter a week from now but that depends on how much writing gets done while I’m teaching at band camp...so if not then, then shortly thereafter. Happy reading! 

Wrong.

See, Emma had told herself that under the assumption that she’d only be seeing Killian once a week, in the controlled setting of Snow and Dave’s house, with them and Henry as buffers. That they’d be able to keep it completely chill and casual—sharing conversation over beer, maybe someday discussing their apparent shared aversion to soulmates, and who knows, getting drunk and having a makeout they don’t remember the next day. You know, keeping things safe.

Okay, maybe that last one was just something that had happened in her dreams—ones that were usually populated by whichever Marvel character was the focus of Henry’s obsession at the time, because damn did the women in their casting department know what they were doing. However, in the days following that first encounter, Killian’s face had replaced that of Thor in her fantasies, without conscious thought.

She was sure a therapist could have a field day with her, and would probably say that by fantasizing, she was keeping things in a risk-free environment where she had control. Which she was vaguely aware of. But honestly? It was a little annoying how easily he slipped in there, because the things she imagined and dreamed them doing...if she didn’t blush the next time she saw him, it’d be a miracle.

But she had until Friday to get that under control, and it was only Wednesday. That was totally doable. (Just like him...oh god, she needed to stop.)

Fate had other ideas in mind, though; it always does. Because of course, the skip got a little too aggressive while she was trying to take her down. How was Emma supposed to know the other woman carried a can of Monster in her purse? Or that it made an excellent blunt object? Despite getting whacked in the head, Emma still managed to bring her in. But the arresting officer took one look at the growing bruise on her forehead, and the blood she didn’t even realize was pouring out of it, before sending her to the ER for stitches and to check for a concussion.

Emma grumbled the whole time they drove her over, but knew it was better to be safe than sorry; she’d do the same if it was Henry in her place. And while she’d normally be worried about going to any place that involved a lot of contact, at least they had to wear gloves there.

After dealing with the typical harried nurse asking the requisite questions—any allergies, what medications was she on, was there a chance she could be pregnant (ha!), could she have lovesickness (double ha!)—she expected to see the worn-out woman again, who would inevitably fix her up, lecture her about living dangerously and/or her unseasonable attire, and then send her on her way. She was not expecting the curtain to pull back and reveal Killian, reading at her chart, wearing scrubs and a white coat.

“I see you need stitches, Miss Swan...Emma?” He looked up at her, surprised when he saw it was her—which also made her realize they’d never exchanged last names. 

“Hey, Dr.…” she had to squint to read the embroidery on his coat. “Jones.”

“Bloody hell, lass; what did you do?”

Like their first meeting, he jumped into action, tossing aside the clipboard and immediately inspecting her injury. She hated the deja vu this was giving her.

Even if this gave her a better look at the light freckles and the way his ears came to an almost elfin point. 

Whatever.

“Just a hazard of the job,” she said, hoping to downplay it; this certainly wasn’t the first time a skip had sent her here, and wouldn’t be the last.

“Hardly seems like a safe line of work,” he tutted, gently poking the mess on her head with his rubber-gloved hand. He hit a particularly sensitive spot, drawing a wince. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to need a few stitches. I’ll be right back.”

He returned shortly with the necessary materials and got to work. “I’ll have to numb this, but that should be the most painful part, aside from getting smacked in the face with...what hit you?”

“An energy drink.”

“Huh; that’s a new one.”

“Really? I figured they see everything in these kinds of places.”

“Oh, we do; but people are endlessly creative.”

She giggled, but it quickly went away when the numbing injection came, turning into a hiss. “Did you distract me on purpose?”

“Aye. Figured it was better than surprising you like last time.”

Her hand throbbed at the memory; it was mostly healed but she was still keeping it wrapped up. “I guess this tells me why you knew what to do right away.”

“Yeah,” he said, but she could tell he was focusing on the task at hand, and could feel the gentle tugging of the needle and sutures as he started to work—though that was all she could feel, thankfully. “And I can see why you were such a good patient; I get the impression you’re used to it,” he tossed back, smirking a bit.

“Hey, I’m not THAT clumsy; only when it comes to beverage containers, apparently.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my flask away from you, then.”

“A flask? What are you, a sailor?”

“Former Navy, yes.” 

Okay, she had to stop making these sweeping generalizations about him if they were all going to be proven true. “Wow; cool.”

“For the most part, yeah; some places were rather hot, though.”

She wanted to laugh but not if it meant moving while she was pretty sure a needle was in her skin, so settled for the stillest chuckle she could manage. “Did they teach you dad jokes in the Navy?”

“No, mostly just medicine.”

“This is the British Navy, right?”

“The Royal Navy of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, yes.”

“Then how’d you end up over here?”

There was another, rougher tug on her laceration, but then Killian pulled away. “You’re all stitched up,” he said, but then he swallowed. “The Navy doesn’t have a ton of use for one-handed doctors, unfortunately, but they will give you a decent pension with your honorable discharge.”

“Well, that’s awfully ableist of them.”

“You won’t hear me disagreeing,” he concurred as he took off his gloves and cleaned up; she noticed that his false hand did have some articulation, but not a ton. “So, there wasn’t much left for me there after that happened, and I figured there must be some reason the colonists rebelled. So, here we are.”

She could tell he was mostly telling the truth, but definitely leaving parts out. “That’s a pretty flimsy reason to pack up and move across the ocean. What did your family say?”

He shrugged as he wrapped up the last of the suturing kit. “No one left to talk me out of it.”

A pit formed in her stomach and she realized they had a bit more in common. “Yeah, I know how that goes.”

He cocked his head as he returned from disposing the soiled instruments. “What about David and Snow? And your son?”

“Oh, they’re amazing; but I grew up in the foster system. I didn't end up with the Nolans until I was 15.”

“Ahh, you’re another lost one.”

The casual way he said it took her aback briefly. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. Are...are you?”

He pulled his little flashlight thing out of his coat pocket (she had no idea what it was really called) and fiddled with it a bit. “My mum died when I was young; dad left a few years later. So it was just me and my brother, but I entered the system when he joined the Navy. Then followed him in a few years later.” 

His somber tone, paired with the previous revelation about no more family, was enough to let her know that wasn’t quite all of it. “Can I ask what happened to him?” 

“After I check you for a concussion.” 

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“Yes,” he commanded.

She rolled her eyes, but let him perform the exam; better safe than sorry, right? “You’re clear there,” he told her, after a few simple tests that included pointing that damn flashlight in her eyes. And in a quieter voice, continued, “IED in Iraq. Head injury. I tried, but...I couldn’t save him.”

Well, that explained why he was so insistent on the concussion exam. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was convincing himself of that as much as her, as he pocketed his flashlight and grabbed her chart again. “At least I can still help save other people.”

“Wish you’d been there when Neal came in,” she blurted, thinking out loud. Then mortification washed over her as she realized what she said. She never talked about what happened to Neal—only with Henry, and only when he asked.

“Guess it’s my turn to extend the condolences, then,” he said softly. 

She let go of the breath she’d been holding; most people were quick with empty platitudes, so it was almost refreshing to hear something sincere. And there it was again—that same intense, understanding look in his eyes from the other day; it felt like he was reading her like a book, and it was more than a little unsettling—but not in a way that scared her, oddly enough. Still, it was overwhelming enough for her to avert her gaze. “Don’t we make a pair, huh?” she scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t let Snow hear you say that if I were you,” he jibed. She could hear the laughter in his voice but didn’t dare look up just yet.

“She’s probably already got the wedding invitations on order.”

He laughed for real this time, a deep, hearty chuckle. “Hope they aren’t nonrefundable.”

“Same.”

He excused himself to go write up her prescriptions—an antibiotic and some extra-strength headache medicine—and returned a few minutes later with an easy smile on his face. He went back into doctor mode as he gave her care instructions for the next few days and weeks, and then asked, “Any questions?”

“Yeah, but it’s not related to any of that.”

He tilted his head in question. “What is it?”

“How exactly do you manage to do all this and...not touch anyone?” She’d been wondering it ever since he came into the room the first time. “It seems like a job like this would put you at higher risk of skin contact.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it does, to some extent,” he explained. “But when you’re already down a hand, that cuts the odds in half. And I just double up on gloves the rest of the time.”

She I thought his glove looked kind of thick. “Gotcha. Thanks for telling me; I was just curious, is all.” A slightly awkward silence settled over them; she felt like she needed to divulge something, after everything he had, but after dropping a Neal reference, she was kind of spent in the emotional backstory department. “So...no one has tried to claw at that pretty face of yours?”

He smiled at that, arching an eyebrow in apparent amusement. “No, thankfully; I’ve gotten fairly good at evasive maneuvers, ever since my brother gave me this,” he said, pointing to a faded scar on his cheek.

“Yeah, that was something I figured out pretty quick, too. But I guess my training never covered giant soda cans.”

“Well, that’s something to work on, then. Just not until this heals, okay?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” she said with a salute

“Please, I was only a Lieutenant.”

“Eh, Captain suits you better. And thank you for this again.”

“Again, it was my pleasure, Swan.”

She casually hopped off the exam table, but apparently, her head wasn’t as ready for that as the rest of her body, and the room began to spin as soon as she was on her feet. She could feel herself swaying, but before her knees had a chance to buckle under her, a firm grip and strong arms stabilized her.

“Woah—easy there,” he cautioned. “You may not have a concussion, but that’s still a nasty bump.”

She took a deep breath as the vertigo dissipated, but the next one caught in her throat when she realized that he was the one holding her—and that she kind of liked it. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his hand and prosthesis, the way they were curled around her arms and holding her in place, but were still gentle.

He must have taken her staring for shock, because he quickly let go and stepped out of her space. “You okay now?”

“Y-yeah,” she said, shaking her head to clear the momentary fog—and to try to get rid of the sense of loss she felt as soon as he’d moved away. “I guess I better get going with these,” she said lamely, nodding toward the prescription slips she’d shoved in her pocket.

“Yeah; the pharmacy closes soon.” His voice was a bit rougher than it’d been a minute ago, and that faraway look was back in his eyes. “See you Friday?”

“Yeah, see you then,” she said, then left as quick as she could.

Shit. How was she going to be able to keep things casual if he continued to have that kind of effect on her?

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

When Friday rolled around, she almost wanted to feign sickness to get out of going. His steady hand had also found its way into her dreams, as well as what was surely a strong, warm embrace. There was no way she could face him now.

But she knew Henry would see through any excuse she tried to throw at him—he had inherited her built-in lie detector to some extent—so she just swallowed her pride, grabbed her usual bottle of wine, and they headed off. 

“Whose car is that?” Henry asked as soon as they pulled up.

“Killian’s,” she answered grumpily.

“Is he why you didn’t want to come? Is he a dick?”

“Hey, language!” she scolded. “And he’s not; he’s...I dunno, the opposite, or something. You’ll see.”

Her brother had finally bowed to the summer heat and turned on his air conditioning, so everyone was seated around the living room when they got inside: Dave and Snow on their respective recliners (Emma joked they were their Carl and Ellie chairs), and Killian on one end of the sofa, leaving the rest of it open for her and Henry.

David and Snow got up and exchanged the requisite hugs, complete with Snow fussing over Emma’s stitches, but Killian hung back, understandably. Seeing him back in his leather jacket and dark wash jeans again was almost a jolt from how soft he’d looked in his scrubs, but she knew why he’d default back to his armor; heck, she’d even put on some more tonight, opting for a long-sleeve crewneck instead of the v-necked t-shirts she’d been wearing. 

He gave her a simple “Swan” as a greeting, and she nodded back, before introducing Henry to him. “A pleasure to meet you, lad,” he said, offering his gloved hand. Henry studied it a minute, then cast a curious glance at Emma before taking it. Knowing Henry, he was already putting two and two together; with any luck, she’d be able to keep him out of Snow’s plotting, at least.

Emma left to the kitchen to pour wine for her and Snow, but when she got back, Henry was giving Killian the full 21 questions: where was he from, what did he do, all that jazz.

“How did you lose your hand?”

“Henry David,” she said in warning—he knew better than to ask stuff like that—but Killian didn’t seem fazed. 

He leaned toward Henry conspiratorially. “Well, don’t tell anyone else, but...a crocodile took it!” His voice was full of childish humor and even his eyes sparkled with it. Henry gasped and then laughed, aware it was a joke but no less entertained.

“So does that make you Captain Hook?” he asked.

“Perhaps; my ship is named the Jolly Roger.”

As soon as that came up, Henry’s attention was completely taken by the fact that there was a potential pirate sitting next to him and all thoughts of more personal questions went out the door, thankfully. And bless Killian, he answered all of Henry’s questions seriously (excluding the first one) and didn’t seem put off the boy’s endless curiosity like a lot of adults were; this was a kid who had to transfer classes in first grade because his old-fashioned teacher couldn’t tolerate all his questions. But Killian handled it with ease.

The only thing that could take Henry off the thought of high seas adventure was food, and he made a mad dash to the table once dinner was ready. “Thanks for that,” Emma told Killian after they were left in Henry’s dust. “I know he can be a bit much.”

“Nonsense; he’s a brilliant lad,” Killian waved off. “You should be proud.”

“Oh, I am.”

It didn’t go without notice that Killian had provided the beer for this meal. She stuck to her wine while they ate, but afterwards, as she watched David and Henry throw around a football in the front yard from the double rocker on the porch, she gave his a try. And yeah, it was significantly better.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Killian was standing by the door, leaning against the brick siding and sipping from his own bottle. One long leg was crossed over the other, highlighting just how well those skinny jeans fit him. Something about it was insanely hot, both literally and figuratively. 

And it only got worse when he pushed off the wall with his hips and sauntered forward. “Much better than David’s alcohol-flavoured water, no?”

“Oh, for sure,” she agreed. “Definitely what you need on a day like today.” Granted, she probably shouldn’t be drinking booze at all with how much she was sweating, but she’d long since learned how to make sure she didn’t dehydrate in the summer—and, given the fact that he wasn’t keeling over, either, so had Killian.

“Is this seat taken?” he inquired, nodding at the empty half of the rocker.

“Go ahead.”

For a few minutes, they just sat there in companionable silence, watching the continued passes in the yard, until Killian finally said, “They know that’s not real football, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna show up next week with a soccer ball, aren’t you?”

“What makes you think I don’t already have one in my car?”

“Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled. “But that’s another thing you’d have to fight David over.”

“I figured as much,” Killian sighed. “He’s as stubborn as my brother.”

“Must be a big brother thing, then.”

“Aye, probably.” He took a long pull on his beer. “David’s great with Henry, it seems.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “He was kind of born to be an uncle; he’s been there since day one. I can only imagine how great a dad he’ll be someday.”

“If you don’t mind my asking—where is Henry’s father?”

It wasn’t an uncommon question; more than one snoop-nosed PTA mom had asked that and sneered. Killian was the first to ask it in a non-judging way. “He’s gone. Neal—the guy I mentioned the other day; that's him.”

He nodded, understanding. “I probably should have guessed from your tone. What happened?”

She swallowed; it had been so long since that night.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he was quick to assure her.

“No, it’s fine. He...well, we were something of teenage delinquents,” she started to explain. “We ran away, kind of shoplifted our down the East Coast. He was older and dreamy, especially to a 16-year-old girl who’d never had much. I thought he was the one, you know? Everything just seemed...better with him.” She hadn’t known exactly what being soulmates entailed, but for a touch-starved orphan growing up in the foster system—moreso, in a society that placed so much emphasis on physical contact—once she had finally discovered that bliss, she’d given herself over to it fully. The first time he held her hand, she swore there were sparks. When she saw the love in his eyes, it filled her with a warmth that she’d never known before, deep in her soul. He filled her dreams so often, she thought they had to be shared. And making love? To be fair, he was her first, but—damn.

“Aye, I know that,” he added, and that distant look was back in his eyes.

“So, yeah, we’re in love and making plans and just need a bit of extra cash to get us to Florida, where we planned on settling down.” She snorted. “Settling down at 16; god, I was dumb. Anyways, he tried to sell some watches to make up what we needed for a plane ticket, but the deal went sour and...he got shot.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, softly. She could still clearly remember what went down in that ambulance, as they tried to revive him and couldn’t, then her being the only one available to identify the body. “And the rest, I guess, is history.”

Killian chewed on his bottom lip a bit; there was still something on his mind. “Was...was he your soulmate?”

She swallowed again; this was the really personal part. “I don’t know.” The only people she’d admitted that to were close family, and even they remained a bit skeptical—how could she not know? “I thought I was getting lovesickness a few weeks later, but then I found out I was pregnant, so I’ve never really been sure if it was or not.”

Killian’s eyes grew wide for a moment and he studied her solemnly. “So that’s why you cover up? In case he wasn’t?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. It was a little unnerving that he’d figured it out so easily.

“I...uh,” he stammered, nervously scratching at a spot behind his ear. “Um, same.”

“Same?”

“Yeah.”

She hadn’t expected that; she’d never met anyone else who shared her uncertainty. While covering up wasn’t an odd thing, it was usually only done by people who truly hated the idea of the system altogether—not those who had been potentially burned by it.

He took her silence as an invitation to continue. “Her name was Milah; she lived near the base. We met in a pub and it was...a whirlwind, honestly, but she was incredible. And it was like you said: everything felt amazing; I had no reason to believe we weren’t soulmates, save for one minor problem.”

“What was that?”

“She was married.”

“Fuck. Was he hers?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I never got a chance to find out for sure. Once he learned she was cheating on him with me, he messed with her car. I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but we were in it and she lost control; hit a tree. She died on impact; I...well, this.” He held up his prosthetic.

“Oh my god, Killian—I’m so sorry.”

He gave her a sad smile. “The Navy took care of me as best they could, but I was still out of it for a long time as I healed, and dealt with infection and whatnot. I think it was three months or so? So I have no idea if I had lovesickness or not in there. And I...I wasn’t sure I wanted one if it wasn’t her. Thus...” He nodded down towards his attire.

“Yeah.” She definitely understood. 

It took a bit for the weight of the conversation to settle on them; they were quiet for a few minutes, until Emma got fidgety, as if she needed to move to make her thoughts come to a rest. Seriously—what were the odds she’d literally stumble into someone who actually got her? It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

She shifted in her seat to relieve some of the tension building within, and that’s when she realized just how close they were sitting—she’d barely moved when her thigh brushed against his, heat radiating from it that likely had as much to do with the ambient temperature as her own heightened awareness. As casually as she could muster, she pulled it back, but couldn’t tell if he noticed or not.

“Who knew we’d be trading tragic backstories after only a week?” he finally commented, giving her a gentle smile.

She smiled back. “I’d repeat what I said the other day, but Snow is in earshot. So...cheers?” This time, she was the one to offer up her bottle.

“Cheers,” he echoed, clinking the lip of his against the neck of hers, which gave her some other thoughts she didn’t really want to entertain long at the present moment.

They were both taking long pulls from their drinks when Snow herself came out, almost as if she was summoned. “Don’t you two look cozy?” she commented, unable to hide the twinkle in her eye at the thought. 

“Ew, no, it’s too hot to think about that,” Emma threw back. Between the humid air and whatever had just passed between her and Killian, she was almost thinking about taking off her jacket. Almost.

“Well, how about coming back into the AC for some pie?”

“Sounds perfect, milady,” Killian answered for both of them; Emma usually hated that but couldn’t really find it in her to complain.

Snow shouted at the other guys and headed back in; David and Henry immediately followed, pounding up the stairs to the porch and hardly giving a passing glance to its current residents.

“Shall we?” Killian asked as the screen door banged shut, a sound that was quickly followed by Snow yelling at Dave.

“Yeah; if we dawdle, Snow will get ideas.”

“I’m under the impression that anything will.”

“Also true.”

He chuckled as he stood. The motion made the chair start rocking under Emma, making her jolt—they’d kept it still while they were sitting on it.

Wordlessly, he held out his false hand to her, and just as unconsciously, she took it and stood. She didn’t even think about it until she was back on her feet, and then found herself staring at their joined hands. Even though his was fake, even though hers was gloved, she swore she felt heat.

Her eyes darted up to look at him, to see his reaction—and he too was staring at their joined hands with a bit of awe. Did he mean to do that, and expect her not to take it? Or was it as instinctive as her move was?

Either way, she quickly pulled her hand back and stuck it in her jeans pocket. “Uh, thanks,” she blurted, then turned to head in the house; his heavy footfalls followed her, as did a sense of deja vu.

The rest of the evening went without incident—unless Henry losing his mind to the sound of Killian’s ringtone (the theme to Pirates of the Caribbean) counted—until Killian got called into work and Emma decided they should head out, too (but not before he insisted on checking on her stitches).

She’d honestly never met anyone that threw her so off balance as Killian. It was so nice to finally have a friend that understood her, so maybe it was just that novelty that was throwing her for a loop. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on, and she wasn’t sure it was welcome.

Oh, well. Once a week—she only had to see him once a week, barring any more emergency room trips. She could do this. They could do this.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

And they did, for a while. The next few weeks, she only saw him at the Nolans, with his charming self and his good beer and his soccer ball, which Henry unsurprisingly took to quickly—her son had the incredible knack to learn anything with ease. Other than a jab at her usual doctor for not taking more care in the way he removed Emma’s stitches, they managed to avoid any other close calls, physically or emotionally—and he seemed just as keen to stay away from those as Emma.

They fell into a pretty casual friendship, and when they weren’t inadvertently baring their souls to one another, she genuinely enjoyed his company, as well as the buffer it gave her against Snow’s constant fairy tale romance ideals. They’d chat about music, movies, books, sports, and he was great with Henry, too—actually, he was almost better with him than she was when it came to what might be classified as Henry’s nerdier interests, like comics and role-playing games. She was dangerously close to being roped into a game of Dungeons and Dragons, with Henry as the DM and Killian as a rogue (or so she was told—she didn’t quite know what that meant).

(Although the idea of Killian as a pirate on an adventure? That was definitely an image that stuck with her, and had been ever since his Captain Hook reference...she kept that private, however.)

Everything was easy until the day she got on the train much earlier than usual, exhausted after an all-night stakeout (that thankfully landed in a nab) and desperate for a seat—and the only one open was right next to a weary-looking Killian.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, standing in front of him.

His eyes darted up warily, but his face broke into a grin when he realized it was her. “Of course, Swan; have at it. I didn’t know you rode this train.”

“Almost every day,” she said as she plopped down. “Just usually not so early.”

“You got the bail jumper that quick?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “More like it took way too long. Overnight job.”

“Same; you must be beat. At least this one didn’t go for the face.”

She snorted. “Thank god. I almost considered starting to wear a ski mask, but it probably wouldn’t look good if I started dressing like the criminals I’m supposed to be catching.”

He laughed. “Maybe you can in the winter.”

“Maybe. God, I can’t wait for it to get cold again so I can wear scarves without anyone looking at me weird.”

“Right?”

They traded stories about adventures and misadventures they’d had with the way they covered up; his mostly had to do with patients tearing his clothes, although there was one story about a woman who tried to get admitted to the lovesick wing after claiming he’d kissed her when, in all reality, he’d treated her for the flu a week prior and she was just still sick—not an altogether uncommon phenomenon.

“I had a guy try to do that to me once, too,” she told him. “It was several years ago when I wasn’t wearing gloves yet and made the mistake of shaking hands with a furniture salesman; when I went to pick up the stuff a couple weeks later, he was clearly ill and tried to convince me we were meant to be.”

“And you felt completely fine?”

“Obviously.”

“Some people are just that desperate.”

“It’s ridiculous!”

She’d been so caught up in the conversation that she hardly noticed they were at her stop. Nor did the train conductor, apparently, because the brake came on hard. Emma had to grip the pole next to her to avoid being completely thrown into Killian’s side, but was able to lean away enough that only her hip bumped into his. His scrubs must have been terribly thin, because she could feel the heat coming off his body even more than the day they’d been on Snow and Dave’s porch.

“Well, this is me,” she said as she stood. “It was nice seeing you!”

“Wait,” he called, then stood up with her. “This might seem a bit forward, but I was wondering...could I take you and Henry out to dinner sometime?”

She was a bit stunned at the request; she hadn’t been asked out in...well, not since creepy Walsh tried to tell her they were soulmates. But she knew Killian wasn’t looking at it that way. She also knew she had to answer before the train rolled off with her still on it.

“Uh, yeah, sure—we’d love to; when’s good for you?”

“Tonight, tomorrow?”

“I really don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Tonight it is. You know where the Regina Pizzeria is on Cambridge?”

“Of course.”

“6:30?”

“Sounds perfect. See you then!”

She managed to get off the train right as the doors were closing, but glanced back and saw him smiling at her as the train pulled away; she couldn’t help but return it, especially with the way his hair was adorably hanging in his face. He really was cute.

And friends can be cute. Platonically cute. Yes. That’s a thing she’d been reminding herself a lot over the past few weeks.

She immediately passed out when she got home, only waking up to the sound of Henry arriving back from his sleepover at the Nolans. He obviously loved the idea of going out for pizza and seeing Killian, but apparently had some concerns.

“Are you sure he meant both of us? I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

“What the—what?” Where would he get that idea? “Yes, he specifically said your name; and you’re my kid; you’re not a third wheel.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to cockblock Killian.” 

She was stunned. The only admonishment she could come up with was, “Henry David.” 

“What? He totally likes you and you totally like him. I may be a kid but I still have eyes; you’re both so obvious.”

That definitely left an impact on her. Henry knew everything—what happened in the past and why she wrapped up; she assumed he’d figured out that Killian was the same. That that was exactly why they got along: there was no pretense, no double entendre—just two people being friends. (Really good friends, it was turning out to be.) 

Was she sending mixed signals? Was Killian sending some that she wasn’t picking up on? Was she so far out of the game that she didn’t even know what the signals looked like anymore?

This was not the kind of thing she needed on her mind when she was supposed to be having a casual dinner with a casual friend.

“Stop overthinking it, Mom,” Henry called from his room, where he’d retreated. “Just be normal.”

Easier said than done. She walked into the pizza place ready to be a bit more reserved, but then he smiled when he saw them and any resolve she had was left at the door.

And any lingering traces of it disappeared when Henry, in his excitement over something that happened in his last game of D&D, knocked over her water glass—and Killian was the one to rush forward with napkins. For her lap. He set a few on her thigh before realizing what he’d done—and where his hand was—before backing away.

Part of her wanted to tell Henry, “See? He’s not interested.” But that would involve telling him where hands on thighs usually ended up and she wasn’t ready for that conversation anytime soon.

But from then on, Killian was a constant presence. It wasn’t really done by conscious effort; it just kind of...happened. 

Like their weekly tradition with the Nolans, pizza night with Killian became a thing, too, especially with the discovery that he didn’t live all that far away from them—his apartment was just a handful of blocks from theirs. They didn’t stick to just pizza—Chinese and Mediterranean found their way into the rotation regularly, among others—and the day varied depending on work schedules, but they ended up sharing meals at least a couple times a week. 

Every few days, she and Killian would find themselves on the same train, and their 20-minute chats covered everything. He shared stories of growing up in England with Liam; she talked about the revolving foster home doors of her upbringing. He described the oppressive heat and constant fear during his deployment in the Middle East, but the incredible sense of camaraderie with his crew mates; she relayed how scared she was staring at the positive pregnancy test at 17, and even more so during delivery, but the immediate relief and joy at holding Henry for the first time. They discussed their jobs, too���how watching his mother die of illness first pushed him into medicine and the challenges of being a one-handed ER doc, and how she kind of fell into bail bonds when she helped catch the guy who shot Neal after he skipped bail; how now, it helped her bring other people to justice. 

And they traded the tales of their lost loves, which were almost eerily similar in their whirlwind nature and tragic end—not to mention the scars left on their hearts. 

“Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice, though?” Killian asked her one day; he’d just treated a couple brought in after an accident and it was obvious it had hit close to home. “Like...do you ever doubt yourself? With all this?”

It wasn’t hard for her to answer. “Yeah, I do.” The more time passed, the more she wondered if she’d been right in her initial assessment—if there really had been evidence that Neal was her soulmate, or if she’d been off base. “But what’s worse—knowing you had a soulmate and losing them, or never finding them at all?”

Killian nodded. “Too true, lass—too true.” He furrowed his brow in thought, though, as if working up the courage for his next statement. “But what if they were still out there?”

Her heart skipped a beat; was he talking about himself? God, she hoped not (...or did she?). Regardless, it was definitely something she’d thought about, too. “If they are, I’m still not sure. I’ve had enough of being passed over and pushed around for one lifetime; I want to be chosen by someone, not just fated to be with them. So at least I know I had that—for a little bit, anyway.”

He studied her, seeming to soak in her words. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought of it that way, but...you’re right.”

She never would’ve thought some of the most intimate conversations of her life would take place on a public train, but the way Killian gave her his undivided attention, with understanding in those bright blue eyes, somehow made it feel like they were the only people in the car. 

And he was always so...close. Physically. It was almost as if in their dance around each other trying to avoid touch, they only ended up waltzing closer. There was the time she nearly slipped in Snow’s kitchen after Henry spilled water (again) and he grabbed her by the arm to keep her upright. Or the night he nearly stepped into traffic as they were leaving their favorite sushi place and she had to tug him back by the bicep. Not to mention when they nearly hugged in farewell as they left the Nolans’ one night—especially after Henry had given him a fierce one. It had just felt natural to do the same, but they caught themselves at the same moment. Awkwardly, she offered up her elbow instead, which he gamely bumped with his own, but it was a near miss on both their parts. 

(Emma was still pretending she hadn’t heard Henry mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “oh my god, just kiss already.”)

He was the one to give her a boost when a slip kept evading her. “I’ve yet to see you fail, Swan,” he assured her, and she couldn’t help but believe it. 

She returned the favor when he was upset over losing a young patient. “Trust me—you’ve got more than one mark in the hero column.”

His laugh became one of her favorite sounds. His smile never failed to brighten her days. And she’d never seen someone so good with Henry other than her brother. 

Without anyone really noticing, they’d become part of each other’s lives seamlessly—a fact that finally hit her when he was the first person she texted when she finally caught the elusive skip, not David or Snow like she used to. 

Emma knew that should freak her out in some way. What would happen if Killian got a job out of town? Or if he actually did like her-like her, but didn’t want to deal with her emotional walls and/or possible rejection? (She had no idea how’d she’d respond to that.) Because by late summer, he’d become such a constant that she was having a hard time remembering what life was like before he was in it.

That was a lie; she knew exactly how it’d been: lonely. She knew she didn’t “need a man” or whatever, or even romance, but she couldn’t deny that she’d been severely lacking in the kind of companionship he provided—someone outside her family she could be close to. 

On one of the last Saturdays of the summer, she and Henry were taking Killian on their own version of the Freedom Trail—all the parts they found coolest, at least. They started at Boston Common and had worked their way over to Faneuil Hall, giving Killian plenty of time and opportunity to curse out the statue of Sam Adams for “irresponsibly condemning this city to a lifetime of inadequate, tasteless ale”, before showing him the marketplace. Emma’s heart did a strange stutter when she saw his eyes grow wide at the spectacle ahead of him—it was too adorable. 

And then Henry was shouting something about one of street performers and grabbing Killian’s prosthesis to drag him off to see them. And then Killian, in turn, took hold of her hand at the last second, nearly yanking her arm from her socket as she got pulled away.

She didn’t yelp or cry out, though—she laughed; screamed, even, in surprise and joy as she was dragged along by two of her favorite boys. Killian glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure she was still there, and gave one of the biggest grins she’d ever seen.

The three of them nearly crashed together when Henry came to a sudden stop; she instinctively grabbed Killian’s bicep to brace herself from smacking into him. It took a minute for them to catch their breath, and at the end of it, she realized she was still gripping Killian’s hand in hers. Her palm was sweating in its leather confine, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the way their fingers had so easily intertwined.

Killian must have taken the way she was staring as something other than awe, because as soon as he noticed, he let go and stepped away. He scratched behind his ear—what she’d come to identify as a nervous tick—as he turned his attention on the busker, so she too tried to play it cool.

That was the most physical contact she’d had with someone outside of her family in literal years—that she actually wanted, at least. And she was pretty positive the same went for him.

Despite the heat, she shivered. Was she really considering something that was vaguely romantic? She firmly believed in platonic relationships—in particular, the platonic-ness of theirs—but it wasn’t hard for her to imagine more, especially if her dreams were any indication (they almost exclusively featured him nowadays, and in far less fanatastical settings than they once had). So deep down, she knew there was a (very small) part of her that wanted it.

She attempted to ignore it; it was, after all, just another in their long line of weird clashes that sent sparks through her body, another of which happened later that day when they were eating at Regina Pizzeria (again) and their fingers brushed when she handed him a plate.

And whatever that weirdness was, it didn’t affect their friendship, or his with Henry. As they sat there at their table, enjoying the meal and listening (and laughing) to Henry’s stories about school, the only thing she could really feel was happy. And, she had to admit, happier than she’d been in a long time.

Outsiders would probably make some inferences on their familial appearance, and maybe there was a slight chance it could be like that some day, once she had more time to warm up to the idea; but what they had was perfect, and didn’t need to change.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

As has been stated in the past, however, the universe is a dick.

It was the Sunday before Labor Day, but the standard work week doesn’t mean much for people working in emergency medicine and bail bonds. At least Emma had wrapped up early for the day—nabbed her mark as he was leaving mass, ironically—and hopped on the crowded train, filled with people heading home from church.

“Swan! Over here,” came the familiar shout from the middle of the car; Killian was standing at one of the poles in the middle, his right arm holding it tight and with just enough space next to him for her to slip in. Her left hand came to rest on the pole just below his, and the train shuddered off a moment later; she had to bend her knees to keep from falling into him.

“Well, did you get your man?”

“Yup. And his priest saw the whole thing.”

“Ooh,” Killian winced. “Hope he’d already gone to confession.”

He caught her up on the craziness of his last shift, as had become habit at this point, before moving to his usual simple request for “So, dinner?”

She was ready to say yes, until she remembered. “Oh, sorry—Henry has a sleepover tonight. Last one before school starts.”

“Ahh,” Killian nodded understanding. “Well,” he started, and then his nervous tick came out again, as he scratched behind his ear with his prosthesis and stared at the floor. “My invitation still stands, if you’d like.”

She swallowed. She hadn’t been alone with Killian...well, not since the first day they met, when he cleaned her hand in the Nolans’ half bath. There’d always been someone else there as a buffer.

Not all that long ago, she would have been terrified at the idea. But now...she was kind of excited by it. Or maybe “intrigued” was the better word. She certainly didn’t hate it.

Her walls wouldn’t let her be so obvious, though. “Are you asking me out on a date or something?” she teased, smirking; she also had a bit of extra endorphins running through her system after that morning’s takedown.

“Do you want it to be one?” he tossed back, except he was serious.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a bit; despite all their conversations—despite the fact that he knew basically everything about her—this was the most exposed she’d ever felt with him. “Would it be okay if I did?” she said quietly, only loud enough for him to hear.

A slow smile took over his face, starting in the corners of his eyes and lighting up his whole face. Those butterflies in her stomach began to flutter again at the sight of it, and she could feel her face involuntarily mirroring it—until she was rudely jolted.

Looking back on the moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The train slammed on the brakes, which was nothing new, but the car wasn’t usually packed like a sardine. The man behind Emma hadn’t been holding onto anything, so he was sent reeling forward, crashing into her back and pushing her toward Killian, who instinctively put his free arm out to catch her.

She didn’t have time to grab his arm, though, before her chest was colliding with his. Logically, she knew she should be feeling a shock at the collision and no doubt have her wind knocked from her, but all she could feel—emotionally, at least—was a completely foreign rush of worry and, stranger still, love.

Fuck, she thought.

«Bloody hell,» was the echo within her mind—but that wasn’t her voice. It was Killian’s.

In her brain.

She opened her eyes, not realizing she’d been squinting them shut, only to realize her cheek was pressed up against Killian’s and he still had his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

Holding her.

Against his skin.

Oh, no.

The train came to a stop just as she jumped away from him; people would probably say it looked like she’d been burned, and she supposed in a way she had been. This couldn’t be happening.

“Emma?” he breathed, eyes wide and incredulous.

“I—I—” she stammered. “I...can’t.”

Not wasting another moment, she turned and ran—off the train, out of the station, halfway home. He’d shouted her name as she was leaving but she didn’t stop. Her phone buzzed several times but she ignored it. She didn’t stop even to breathe until she was in her apartment, with the door locked behind her.

She’d just imagined it, right? He must have said it out loud. She only felt those things because he was hugging her. That was why he was surprised; it had to be.

There was no way that Killian Jones was her soulmate.

Right?

----------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! Hope to see you for the last chapter!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt@cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @fergus80@pirateherokillian@bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @distant-rose @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose@snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @let-it-raines @shireness-says @courtorderedcake @its-okay-killian @captainsjedi @a-faekindagirl

[houseofvans]

SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | Interview w/ STACEY ROZICH (LA) 

From animal mask wearing people sifting through antiques to creepy mascots being arrested by equally creepy looking officers, Los Angeles based artist Stacey Rozich’s watercolor works are all things awesome. Strange, familiar, dark, humorous, and pleasantly eerie at times, Rozich’s paintings, while done in the style of folk traditional painting, are filtered through her own lens of modern pop culture. With some upcoming shows in the New Year–a group show at New Image in LA in February and a two-person show at Portland’s Talon Gallery in September–we couldn’t wait to chat with Stacey Rozich about her early experiences with drawing, her collaboration with Subpop Records, and her sketchiest story involving loud raucous metal heads and a little out-of-the-way saloon in Malibu in this latest Sketchy Behaviors. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist | Portrait by Kyle Johnson

Tell us a little about yourself.  My name is Stacey Rozich, or Stace, Stace Ghost, etc. I’m from Seattle, but I now live in Los Angeles. I’ve been painting in watercolor for the past twelves years, and drawing before that since forever. I sometimes do large scale versions of my work as acrylic murals, which is something I stumbled into. I dig painting in the folk tradition, but through my own lens of modern pop culture, and way too much tv watching as a kid. Seriously, I was an insomniac in middle school and for some reason my parents gave me a tv in my room, so I stayed up all night watching VH1 Pop-Up Video and Adult Swim (circa late 90’s). I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of The Simpsons seasons 3 - 8 — I used to recite monologues from the show to my family when I was a kid. And I still do!

What was your first experience with art / drawing? And who were some of your early artistic influences? In Kindergarten I drew a many-legged leopard in the forest with crayons and I got a lot of praise for it from the other kids and the teacher. I felt a combination of pride and complete embarrassment for the attention I got for something I created without thinking. My earliest artistic influence was probably Sailor Moon. I wish I could say I was one of those really smart arty kids that loved Picasso, but honestly I wasn’t that aware of what “real art” was until later in pre teenhood. The flashy colors and character designs of Sailor Moon were so exciting for me! Even the lush watercolor backgrounds captivated me. I liked drawing people then so the outrageous proportions of the girls was something I could mimic in my own drawings.

Some of our favorite aspects of your work is your use of gouache and watercolors. Can you share with folks what it is about this particular medium you enjoy so much?  I absolutely love watercolor, and truthfully I don’t use gouache that much to consider myself proficient in it since it’s a slightly more opaque medium and I use it for accents. Especially the fluorescent gouaches I picked up in Tokyo, those against my watercolors pop nicely. But watercolor, yeah, I think I have that one in the bag. I remember using it in high school and absolutely loathing it — where was the control? One wrong move and it all just blended together into one big wet puddle. When I was a freshman at CCA (California College of the Arts in San Francisco) I took an intro Illustration class and the first thing our professor did was give us a watercolor demo; I was not looking forward to it. He was such a wizard with it! He gave us really smart instructions to not use very much water, and really “charge up the brush” with the pigments and paint it in and let it dry fully. That way edges of the paint have dried and created a barrier for the next application of color next to it. That’s why the barrier for entry with watercolor can seem too high, when it gets too slippery to work with there’s an overuse of water. I got that suddenly and it all clicked. Since i grew up drawing habitually I liked that I could use a very small brush and almost draw with watercolor, and large brushes to fill in certain planes with tonal washes. I like that I can wipe and dab away little pools of color and it creates a nice stained glass effect — that looks really lovely against a matte layer of watercolor that I’ve used extremely little water with. 

Are there other mediums you’d like to try in the future? In the future I would really like to start painting portraits of people in my life. Like, Alice Neel style portraits in oil. Oil intimidates me greatly so I think I’d start in acrylic.

What’s a day in the studio for you like?   I get to my studio around 10am since I’m not a very early riser, unfortunately. I so envy early morning people! One of my girlfriends who’s an incredible textile artist is up and at ‘em and hiking in Griffith Park by 6am. And there I am under the covers with a cat on stomach looking at her Instagramed hike thinking “Some day that will be me” — I like to lie to myself. Anyway! Once I roll into my studio I settle in to write some e-mails, putz around the Interwebs, and then get down to the task at hand. It’s usually 11 around this time so I’m usually really chugging along by 3, and then I’ll keep going for a few more hours. If it’s a painting for a commission or gallery show I tend to spread my timeline out so I don’t get burned out. If it’s a commercial gig there’s a lot more scanning, Photoshop clipping out and editing which can take me later into the evening.

What’s that process like? My process always starts with loose sketches on paper, which can mean in a sketchbook or whatever blank piece is lying closest to me. I work out compositions with really doodly lines — they’re virtually unintelligible but I know what they mean. When I move to the final I mostly wing it when it comes to the color palette. If anyone has ever seen my watercolor palette they know it’s a goddang mess  which works for me. I usually work with whatever shades I’ve pre mixed and let dry in the pan.

You’ve worked with various clients and companies over the years. Do you enjoy collaborating and what do you find the most challenging about it? I do like working commercially, the collaboration with art directors can be incredibly rewarding. Though there are times it becomes a slog when you’ve created about four or five killer rough ideas and they go with the weakest one. Why does that always happen? You have to do what they say essentially, but still keep your voice even when it feels a little pinched.

In 2015, you collaborated with Subpop Records on some amazing record art and design? Can you tell us a little about that collaboration and process? Subpop is one of my favorite labels to work with hands down. Their art director Sasha Barr is such a boss. I was really lucky when I was working on the Father John Misty album that I got to create the art and not worry about the editing process. I sent it up to them since they had access to a gigantic scanner to get a full high-resolution image. It meant a lot that I was able to do the art as an actual full scale piece, as opposed to broken up to little scraps and then scanned on my wee little ancient scanner. Sasha did all the leg work to clip out the whole thing and to figure out how to stage the multi-layered pop-up interior gatefold. Usually when I work with smaller clients they ask me to do all this which is…not a good idea. Ultimately that album packaging was nominated for a Grammy in Packaging Design in 2016, but we lost out to Jack White because of course. Damn you, Jack White!

What WOULD BE your ideal collaboration? I would like to work with a great publishing house to do my own young adult series. Basically all the characters and worlds I’ve been painting distilled down into a serialized art book/graphic novel type thing. That’s a big dream of mine that swings from feeling so possible and exhilarating and then feeling completely futile because everyone has the worst things to say about the state of publishing right now. I still have hope that someday I’ll get it together to at least put forward a proposal. 

On a different level I’ve love to design some patterns for Gucci. I’m not really up on the latest collections of luxury brands but Gucci is one I’ve noticed has been doing a fantastic job incorporating illustrations into their garments either as accents or printed motifs. The uniqueness of the artwork coupled with excellent hand done detailing makes my brain feel fuzzy in a really good way.

What type of music do you listen to when creating? Can you give us the top 5 bands you’ve been checking out? I waffle back and forth between music and a lot of podcasts. For the times when I can’t listen to anyone talk anymore, I listen to Jim James, Solange, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Shabazz Palaces. I just started listening to Andy Shauf’s new album which is lovely, it reminds me a bit of Harry Nillson. Also there’s a great massive playlist on Spotify called Twin Peaks Vibes that is excellent.

What’s your strangest or sketchiest art story that you want to share? I was eating lunch with some friends at this little out-of-the-way saloon in a canyon east of Malibu after a hike a few months ago. It’s pretty isolated down there — they’ve been using this place for filming Westerns since the 30’s so it’s a very specific strange and cool gem. I was sitting at the bar and these bros come in, being loud and raucous. I kind of internally rolled my eyes at them and ignored them. I hear one of them say “Excuse me — are you Stacey Rozich?” I got scared for a moment because anytime someone recognizes me by name I feel like I’m going to get into some trouble. I told him I was, and then he and his friends got very excited since they all were huge Southern Lord fans, and loved the album artwork I did years ago for the band Earth. I was really surprised (and relieved) and we had a good chat! It was a very unexpected encounter down at this little far away rustic saloon.

What’s a common misconception about artists?  Perhaps that we’re all lazy. That we don’t have a good work ethic since what we do is hard for most people to wrap their brain around. It’s a completely unconventional path to go down, and you have to be extremely dedicated to it. Yet somehow this doesn’t quite translate to most folks since it seems like basing your life and career on an unknown pursuit like art seems insane. And there’s an idea that artists have a lot of free time to spend laying around waiting for inspiration to strike. 

What’s been the biggest challenge for you as an artist? The largest challenge for me, honestly is: myself. I’ve been working solely on my artwork for the past six years and it’s been full of a lot of ups and downs: emotionally and financially for sure. There’s always a feeling of not being good enough, why aren’t I as good as this or that artist, why aren’t I doing X, Y or Z. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of myself for what I have accomplished but I need to remind myself of that before I go down a spiral of anxiety. It comes from a fear of rejection which can prevent me from pursuing things, submitting a proposal for the aforementioned young adult series for example. Sometimes I need to remind myself to get out of my head and to get out of my own way.

What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an artist? I’d probably be in finance, on Wall Street most likely. Kidding! I think about this sometimes. Being someone who creates has always been so tightly wrapped up in who I am as a person that it’s hard to extract myself from what I would be without. I would hope I would do something in Slavic studies. My dad’s side is Croatian (by way of Detroit) and while that’s been a huge inspiration for my artwork I’ve always been really fascinated with that region’s history of conflict and resilience. When I spent six weeks there back in 2012 it only deepened my love for that place and also my curiosity for what makes it tick.

What are your favorite Vans? A pair of beat up, worn in, maybe a couple of holes at the toe blue or red Authentics. A true classic.

What’s a question you never get asked in an interview and would like to ask and answer yourself? It would be, ‘If there was one person living or dead who you wished owned or could have owned your art — who would it be?’ To which I would say that’s such a hard question there’s so many people I admire! But as of this moment I think it would be rad if David Lynch had some of my art. I love his unstructured style of storytelling, all the loops and the sometimes frustrating dead ends his narrative world has. The effect of creating an unusual if not downright confusing vignette just for the sake of it reminds me of how I approach the storylines in my work.

What cool and interesting projects or shows that you’re working on - should folks keep an eye out for next year? Since it’s the end of the year things are usually pretty quiet in terms of projects, but I’m in a group show in conjunction with Luke Pelletier’s solo show at New Image here in LA in February. I’m scheduled for a two-person show at Portland’s Talon Gallery in September and! Hopefully, if it all aligns, I’ll be headed Internationally to do some muraling. I’m stoked for it!

FOLLOW STACEY | Instagram | Website 

[ohhhdis]

Northern Downpour

I’ve been way too ‘into’ Final Fantasy XV lately, and despite being late into the fandom, there’s been such a welcoming from artists, fic-writers, and other goobers like me for these four beautiful boys. So I’m trying to contribute! I’ll be posting a little series of songfics, and these guys are for @kaciart to keep inspiring those super awesome draw-streams; seriously, if you’ve not seen their work, you should tooootally check it out! Title: Northern Downpour Pairing: Ignis/Noctis Prompt: Songfic Shorts 1/3 (maybe 4…?) Summary: Ignis and Noctis enjoy an afternoon off in the prince’s apartment, away from the madness of classes, physical training and royal lessons, when a song comes on the radio that gets Noctis thinking. (Takes place late in their high school years) Warnings: Fluff. Fluuuuuffffffffffff. Notes: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written fanfiction (and by hot minute, I mean to say 13 years). I am at the fandom’s mercy. This will be a small series of shorts based around Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio’s special relationship with Noctis, with an emphasis on the song’s words, both literal and figurative. Also, for full, highly-recommended effect, please give ‘Northern Downpour’ a listen! 

A few soft guitar strums floated with the breeze of Spring into the apartment, giving the wind chimes a brief, loving caress that jingled together to ease Noctis awake. Like small notes of harpsichord, each tiny ring dulled and then rang out again, the guitar picking up pace to hit a new chord and create melody, distant and echoing. Then, a voice:

If all our life is but a dream, fantastic posing greed, then we should feed our jewelry to the sea. For diamonds do appear to be just like broken glass to me…

Now a gentle hum joined the singer, much closer, just above his head. His eyes still hooded, he shifted where his head pillowed a rhythmically rising and falling stomach to see first a hardback book, brilliant red in color, and just beyond a darting pair of eyes behind glasses.

And then she said she can’t believe genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues–

Noctis laid aside, his cheek now pressed against that warm, firm body beneath, and the spectacled eyes returned the gaze with familiar, unbridled fondness.

–tripping eyes and flooded lungs; Northern downpour sends its love.

Noctis’ room was warm, pleasantly and privately settled between hundreds of other apartments towering above Insomnia in a normal tower-complex. That distant, lovely city outside the window, with homes and markets and giant watch-towers and a castle like a jewel set right in the center of it. All of it was too far down to quite hear the bustle, but it still held a constant white noise, ever present, a reminder of responsibility and recklessness and respect. His people. Someday.

Hey moon, please forget to fall down. Hey moon, don’t you come down.

Sugarcane in the easy mornings, weather vanes, my one and lonely…

“I like this song.” Noctis said, and Ignis paused one hum to agree with another.

The ink is running toward the page. It’s chasing off the days. Look back at boat feet and that winding knee.

I missed your skin when you were East.

You clicked your heels and wished for me.

“Do you remember when we first met?” He asked in a hush, chin propped comfortably, still rising, still falling.

Ignis let the book slowly settle closed against his chest, his fingers tipping the glasses up his nose until they slid over his hair, parting neatly and folding beneath the frames while two tiny strands poked out against his forehead. Charming.

“Yes,” he answered simply, organized and to the point as he was, but again, with such love of memory entwined. Noctis padded his dried lips with his tongue and then let them smile, his arm now sliding to lay nestled between the couch and his partner’s hip.

“You were my first friend, ever.” He said, staring off now into the fractal designs on Ignis’ shirt as he thought far back with a satisfied little sound, his free hand tracing their patterns up and down. A calloused hand with long, thin fingers came to lay over it. “Five years old and given a job, that must have sucked.”

“It’s not quite as relative as it sounds. I was too young to understand any level of the gravity my occupation entailed,” Ignis replied, amused. “And being an advisor was my ‘job’. Being your friend was not.”

Through playful lips made of yarn, that fragile Capricorn unraveled words like moths upon old scarves:

“No? You were happy back then in finely tailored suits shaking hands with total strangers because you were told to?”

The scoff that sounded from Ignis’ nose and his raised brows helped serve his glasses back down from his head and neatly into place, as if having never left. He picked up his book again with one hand, and the other lingered just beneath the other exploring fingertips. “You wound me. I happen to enjoy a finely tailored suit.”

Noctis gave him a look.

“Fine. I liked wearing the suit. And yes, I felt strange in a royal palace surrounded by magnificence, guards and attendants, the King of my home. Being told I would be entrusted with his son’s livelihood and happiness.” Ignis shifted the book against his chest so that it tilted just slightly back, clearly pausing to consider something. “The time following that meeting, on the other hand, was certainly irreplaceable.”

“I know the world’s a broken bone, but melt your headaches, call it home!”

Noctis smiled. “Sap.”

“And yet you incite and encourage it.” Ignis countered within the same beat, his fingers now sliding beneath the prince’s to slip between them.

“I remember being really excited to meet you. I’d never seen another kid around the castle before, let alone another boy, even though I’d been taught about things like ‘play-time’ and all of that. It isn’t the same with caretakers and teachers. They’re adults. They don’t want to play with toy soldiers or pretend to be drakes, not really.” Noctis stared at their hands, aged by training and lessons and time. “And then we spent so much time together, but you didn’t like to ‘play’ either. You wanted to read, you were busy with ledgers and notes and your own training. And yet…”

Hey moon, please forget to fall down. Hey moon, don’t you go down.

Sugarcane in the easy morning, weather vanes, my one and lonely.

“You did still play with me. When I asked you, really begged to get out of working on something, you were always there, tailing me through fun and trouble.”

Sugarcane in the easy morning, weather vanes, my one and lonely.

With a small start, Ignis was suddenly pulling gently at Noctis’ arms, then his waist and belt, encouraging him further up the couch to lay entirely over him, to which he relented easily, his elbows propped against the thread-heavy cushions, his head at Ignis’ chest listening to it beat beyond the radio’s lullaby. The book was gone somewhere, out of mind, no longer a physical barrier of proximity so that the two could share a meaningful look.

Sugarcane in the easy morning, weather vanes, my one and lonely.

“You certainly knew how to get into trouble.” Ignis agreed as his fingers, relaxed inward at the palms, ghosted at each of Noctis’ cheeks until they disappeared beyond his grey-black hair. Noctis leaned into the touch.

Hey moon, hey moon…

“You knew how to get me out of it, though.”

Hey moon, hey moon…

“I did, didn’t I?” Ignis hummed, his dry lips pressed past the prince’s bangs at the crown of his head.

Noctis smiled small, though only in contrast to what you might expect of anyone else. To be raised among politicians and royalty required a level of unspoken joylessness, no doubt, save for the luck of having the King Regis for a father, a man so easily fit into the role of ruler who knew to share a secret smile and laugh with his closest.

“We’ve been through a lot, is what I mean. I think.”  

Hey moon, please forget to fall down. Hey moon, don’t you go down.

“Yes.” Ignis said again, his arms now fully around the body over his, a comforting, unimpeded weight of a body so typically on edge, trained, focused and fierce. A body that represented the future of a world, the end of a century-war kept at bay behind magic walls. Noctis Lucis Caelum, the young prince of Insomnia with a name of history and expansive reach, a ‘night sky’, so content for a fleeting afternoon to trust away his cares and just be.

And of all the velveteen palace chaises, sweeping beds of grass in the royal gardens, and secret getaway cabin rooms to choose from, a young man with a deep love of comfortable sleep who seldom was allowed it, he chose to lay here. A rare afternoon of bright, hot sun and cool breeze, an old radio echoing song through the thin hall into their room so they could reminisce.

You are at the top of my lungs, drawn to the ones who never yawn.

[cataclizard]

I keep remembering this drabble thing I’ve had in my files for a while, and I was kinda hesitating on posting it due to wanting to draw a thing for it but [LOUD SHRUGGING]  Featuring @alphahusk‘s Astraea because obvs :y 

-Invisible-

The streets of Suramar were quiet, as one could expect when the sun finally set. However, it had proven itself to be a restless city, making the sudden, vacant streets seem unusual... if not a bit unnerving. One lone figure walked along the back alleys of the city, clutching the strap of his shoulder bag as his glowing gaze wandered the surroundings. The figure in question was not as he appeared, however, being one of the many 'Outlanders' bearing a Nightborne disguise so he could traverse the city; it was not without its faults, but it was enough to slip past most citizens without so much as a second glance. It was more than enough comfort for Andel keep his pace steady, turning a random corner and finding himself in an open garden of sorts. Looking around, he felt a light breeze flow past him, causing the willow branches overhead to sway and emit a gentle, chiming sound. Glancing up, he felt a burst of awe at the twinkling 'stars' that were nestled close to the inner curve of the canopy. Briefly clenching his jaw, the disguised half-elf returned his attention to the ground, checking the area for any guards. He approached one of the many stone benches strewn about the area, opening his satchel and peering at its contents; some crystalized, ancient mana he had gathered for the struggling Nightborne that he came across, along with a whole assortment of flora that he had found in Suramar. Though he could admit the latter was moreso for research and sharing with his allies in this city. As he went about separating the differing flowers, roots, and general supplies, Andel's peripheral vision made him take notice of the fountain to his immediate right, pausing from his sorting to look more fully at the shimmering water. The disguised half-elf felt a cool, sharp pang of realization strike the very core of his being as his reflection became more clear...

In the water, he could see someone that only vaguely resembled him. No horns sprouting from his head, no snout-like nose, no wings... the triangular markings were still there, but they had become more fanciful, with a distinct shimmer that often highlighted them in certain lighting. Pitch black hair was now a shimmering off-white, but otherwise remained the same, pulled back and gathered in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. Andel blinked, looking down at himself and seeing no signs of his clawed, three-digit hands; but in their place were normal elven ones, five fingers and mildly calloused. It took a physical effort for the half-elf to breathe again, his gaze returning to the water. Was this what it was like to be... normal? Such a thought was always fleeting for someone like him, living with the double-edged blade of being both the child of a cross faction couple, and being sired by the Betrayer himself. Always one or the other when it came to the basis of people's wary looks and gossiping mutters, and he had gotten so used to simply ignoring them that the sudden lack of it had barely registered until now. The feeling of being so... unnoticed felt alien to him. Creeping anxiety manifested as he felt the urge to leave, slip through one of Oculus' portals so he could shed the disguising spell and feel comfortable in his skin again-

"Andel...?" a new voice cut through his increasingly racing thoughts, making him visibly wince before looking towards the source of the voice. His tense self easing slightly at the familiar face. "Astraea! Ah... what're you doing here?" he asked, his voice the one thing that remained wholly unchanged. The Nightborne fidgeted with the fabric of her outfit as he noticed her wandering eyes, wondering just how clear his newfound turmoil was to an outside viewer, "You um," she paused, her free hand loosely gesturing towards the open satchel of plants, "You mentioned how you could get flora from outside of the city, and that you wanted to show me some of it when you returned, so..."

Andel watched her shrug slightly, then cleared his throat and haphazardly set out the rest of the plants he'd gathered, doing his best to calm himself and his trembling hands, "Right, right. Sorry I'm just..." a soft huff of frustration left his lips, "Distracted..."

The half-elf hadn't realized the Nightborne had stepped closer, sitting opposite of him on the stone bench and resting her folded hands in her lap, though her eyes were no longer on the dried flowers between them. Her head cocked to the side slightly, glowing eyes scanning his face with a sudden, newfound intensity, "Is something troubling you?"

Her inquiry made Andel tense again, this time in a more subtle fashion. How could he word it? Should he even say anything about it? A small thought slipped through and to the forefront of his mind... the two had formed a surprising companionship since Suramar's barrier had been torn down, and it had shown Andel places in Suramar he never would have ever known had it not been for her. Still, he had no way of knowing how Astraea would view him if he admitted to using this magic-based disguise. With the current societal state, being skeptical was often the best route for survival...

Andel mirrored her gesture, letting his hands rest on his lap as he constructed his thoughts, "Have you... have you ever had a moment where you felt invisible? Not in a negative way, mind you, just... having this sense of... belonging, I guess?" He shifted his weight slightly, reaching up to scratch an itch on his cheek before he thought to continue, "I've always felt a bit out of place, and I don't know what it is but... something about today made me realize how it felt to be a part of a crowd, even though I'd been in them hundreds of times before."

The Nightborne across from him bobbed her head, a moment of silence floating between them as she turned her attention to the nearby willow that hung overhead, "I suppose I have. Living in the Nighthold, there's a sort of... disconnect, when you step outside and walk among the rest of the city," Astraea's gaze returned to him, "It's liberating in it's own way, but sometimes you just can't shake the feeling of 'I don't think I'm supposed to be here' even if people are paying you no mind otherwise. But..."

The silence captured Andel's attention, and with it, he could have sworn he saw a sense of... sadness in her eyes? Though he often tried to avoid presuming one's emotions and thoughts, this seemed unusual, even for the Nightborne. His pointed ears lowered as the silence persisted, reaching one hand up and pausing... then lowering it and instead leaning to the side, within her peripheral vision and deciding to ease his wary 'survival' skills for a bit,

"I know I don't talk about it often, but I've actually been outside of Suramar City." he said, his voice taking on a more gentle tone. He watched Astraea blink, brows knitting together as she looked to him again, "The actual city?"

He nodded, "That's how I've been getting these flowers, and maybe... maybe someday, when all of this is over, you can come with me! If... if you'd like to, of course." The Nightborne nodded with him, looking down at her hands as she considered this proposal of his. "I... I would love to." she said finally, a rare smile peeking through as her shoulders bunched up with mirth.

And in that moment, Andel felt a sudden, glowing warmth in his chest as he saw her small but oh so significant reaction. He couldn't recall right away seeing her so genuinely happy looking, but deep down, the half-elf wanted to help her smile again and again... she deserved that much, at the very least.

[5hfanfiction]

Wanting You Forever (8)

Wanting You Forever (8)

A/N: Hello everyone and apologies for my absence, I had to finish my semester and then my computer decided to stop working. Thank you to the wonderful people who reached out to inquire about the future of this story, which is indeed alive and well. There will be more updates, that much can be assured. This chapter features a lot of romance and passion, relative to what is planned for the next installment. I wanted to kind of build the girls’ feelings and understanding for each other on more than a sexual level, but there will be smut at the beginning of the next chapter, so no worries you little horndogs. I want to send a special thanks to everyone who has followed this story from its inception. Your support means more to me than you could ever imagine. Enjoy!

“I cannot believe we just did that, Mani. What are Lee and Lauren going to think when they see these?”

Normani’s hand froze, still trapped inside her very full shopping bag.

“Mila, they are going to love these. We are intelligent, sexy, soulful women, and they won’t be able to resist us. Trust me?”

Camila glanced at her friend, too pleased that the sails of their friendship were sailing proudly once more.

“I always have.”

The corners of her mouth perked up into a subtle but radiant smile, her mind a hazy wonderland of love with Lauren as her guide. Her smooth fingers traced the lace of her white bikini skirt, the rough material a sharp contrast to her vanilla-scented skin. Her frame, as salacious and enchanting as it was, never radiated sexual confidence; that only emerged whenever that raven-colored hair would raise in her direction, smoldering green eyes eviscerating the feeble tenderness characteristic of her body and substituting a sexual prowess few women can possess. She opened a bottle of lotion, the thick creamy substance pooling in her palm, placating the heat emanating from her skin. Her hands roamed over the curves of her body, starting with her forearms. The sweet moisture enveloped her body, her mind, and her soul; and for a moment, she imagined Lauren’s fingers dancing above her own.

An ethereal film entombed her natural silk, the subtle glow complementing her fluorescent longing for her lover. One glance at the reflective glass and Camila herself agreed that she looked decadent, or at least she would be perceived as such on this night. Her slightly curled locks were reprieved in a gentle ponytail; intricately placed tendrils of hair left free to flow with the supple wind. This style, on others would perhaps be deemed imperfect, those same heavenly tendrils perceived as neglected souls. But on Camila, these flaws, these imperfections were defining characteristics of her perfection, at least through dark green eyes. The way she rubbed her lips together after applying lipstick, the facial expressions that she adorned when she applied eyeliner, even the ever-so-slight deviations in the palate of her teeth were palatable, even endearing. There was something majestic about her features, particularly when their presence wasn’t shrouded under mountains of beauty alterations, each layer of makeup imbruing the more prepossessing one that resided at its base. The hue of her eyes the same as so many, yet her brown pools gave way to a rapturous torrent unlike any other. The nature of Lauren’s eyes predominated public perception, though Camila’s could not only breathe new life into those trapped in her gaze, but each blink was a resuscitation, a feeble and effortless notion on her part though one that would imprison the surveyor in her gaze.

She offered a blink to the mirror before scaling her lotion-slick fingers across the valley of her breasts, their perkiness subdued by her cream-colored shirt, the V-neck design certain to wither Lauren’s self-control. Her fingers then danced the happy trail from her belly button to the edge of her loosely-tied bikini skirt, tickling the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

The flatness she felt now would someday be anything but, her skin swollen as she harbored the fruit of their love. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. Any thought about a future with Lauren was enough to transform her being, enough to transport her mind to the dock of romance, their relationship the only vessel to call it home. A piece of her wondered if Lauren held such strong notions about their future, or if she was the only captain aboard the vessel charting a course through the endless sea of possibilities; love the only current and admiration the only wind by which they would sail. She knew that Lauren loved her, took solace in the undeniable fact that Lauren had always loved her, but what was underneath the hardened façade that was Lauren’s default? The older girl wasn’t callous but rather reserved, keeping her truest emotions guarded behind a fortress that Camila attempted to erode to little avail.

But tonight was about dismantling those barriers, erecting structures together as a couple on a path to future happiness. Tonight, she would pour more of her heart and soul into their connection, rectify her reservations and re-emerge replete with nascent confidence for their relationship. There stood the possibility of gaining little, of continuing in this addictive physical exploration that left both bodies trembling; but Camila was willing to take that risk if the reward was Lauren Jauregui, a woman’s whose heart would unknowingly be forever docked at her harbor.

*******

An aggressive string of vibrations impeded Lauren’s concentration, the robust logging in her hands impaling the sandy beach beneath her feet. The sun had just begun its descent behind the horizon, a jaunty array of clouds a welcomed reprieve from the terse Brazilian heat. She fished in her pocket for the source of interruption and complemented her successful catch with a hearty grunt of annoyance. One look at the sender’s name and another grunt resounded through the peaceful breeze, this one an amalgamation of emotions as opposed to general annoyance. Lucy.

Ambivalence. That was her current state once she processed the initial message, a simple “Can we talk?” a stark contrast to the message’s underlying notion. The next, a trivial “please?” furthered her ambiguous pocket of emotions. The penultimate message, “Lauren…” all the more nebulous. Her emotions found a small piece of resolution with the closing message “I’m fine…and I won’t keep you long…but I just…thought we should talk.” A ping-pong match ensued in Lauren’s mind, her thoughts bouncing off her paddle of judgement in such a manner that she froze and contemplated unlocking her phone and placing a call to her former lover. One side of the court was the concerned and considerate Lauren; even though Lucy said she was fine, the possibility that she wasn’t was too scary a thought for Lauren to explicitly ignore. There were times, though rare, when Lucy would dismiss her emotions or her current situation in a notable effort to placate Lauren, to prevent the Latina from suffering from intense worry. Even rarer but more concerning were times when Lucy would intentionally downplay negative realities, though the underlying intentions were unbeknownst to Lauren. Somewhere in her mind, she believed that it was adverse attempt for Lucy to draw attention to herself, to make certain that Lauren would expend energy to decipher and remedy her sources of adverse feelings. Even more concerning was the sheer amount of time and energy Lauren exerted tending to these manifestations from Lucy.

Alternatively, the other side of the court was focused on dismissing these messages altogether, of briefly replying and returning to her preparation for her first Valentine’s Day with her new girlfriend. She envisioned an angry Camila, the smaller Latina waving her tiny ineffectual fists and hurling threads of Spanish in her direction. But she also knew that Camila would instruct her to follow her instincts, to comply with the magnetic pull of her conscious. Lauren considered the fact that Lucy would not have consciously contacted her on such a day unless it was urgent, and there was always the possibility that something was awry, even if said details were omitted from the messages at which she stared.

The battle of emotions ceased with the concerned side of the field emerging victorious. Her fingers glided over the keypad as she unlocked her phone and anxiously tapped on the name perched above the messages. A speedy heartbeat reverberated throughout her frame, but she realized that her trepidation was outweighed by the tense breathing emanating from the other line. Seconds passed as both women teetered on the edge of the bridge of boldness, yet neither were enthusiastic about crossing that boundary. But Lucy had initiated contact; she had been the one to harness enough courage to go down this path, so Lauren figured it was her turn to meet her at the crossroads of this impending conversation.

“Hello?”

The sound of a sigh ran down Lauren’s ear, Lucy undoubtedly nervous now that she was hearing what used to be her favorite voice.

“Hi, Lauren. Thanks for responding to my message.”

“um…yea…of course. Are you…ok?”

Though Lauren now found such happiness in Camila’s arms and solace in her kiss, there was a deep tinge in her core about how her relationship with Lucy ended. In a foreign country and with the international day of love on the horizon, their bond was finally broken, the comfort of friends and family completely unavailable. There was no cushion for the blow, the only human in Lucy’s corner was her college friend with whom she now stayed. The sound of a throat clearing cut Lauren from her revelry, that segment of her mind still whirling with a strong buzz.

“I’m fine…not really because no one is really fine after a break-up, but I’ll be ok. Thanks for asking.”

Lauren plopped down on the cool sand next to the neglected pile of firewood.

“So…what did you walk to talk about?”

She trailed her index finger in a curved line through the soft segment of beach on which she sat. The urgency behind her words were laced with legitimate compassion. She, too, was bothered somewhat by their denouncement though her desire to portray strength overwhelmed her intention to portray guilt, guilt over her role in what led to their demise.

“Well, I thought about what you said the other day…about me needing to let you go. I know that we kind of made peace with this the day I left, but I’ve some time to process everything…”

Lauren’s lungs stood still as she anxiously awaited Lucy’s next words, her fingers still tracing curved lines in the sand. She allowed Lucy the opportunity to gather her thoughts, her journey through this conversation one of caution and consideration albeit genuine.

“…and I know you better than you think I do, Lauren. I wanted to do this now, on today of all days because I do think that we had something special, a bond that used to transcend the one usually shared by lovers. We were friends first, that was our foundation. Today, while you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day with someone else, I want you to take comfort in the fact that I do want you to be free. Continue to be the beautiful and wonderful person you always have been, and please, share that part of you with Camila or whoever you end up with. I know you well enough to know that you tend to be reserved and even under your public image, you still care about what people think. Or maybe I should say that you used to care about what I thought. With that said, I know you don’t need a permission slip to be with her, and that’s not what this is all about, but don’t be scared Lauren. We broke up, and we’re both painfully aware of that. That gives you the green light to be with her, but I just want you to know that I’ve made my peace with it, because Camila, like you, is a beautiful person. I can now embrace that she is better for you than I ever could have been. That is probably the only reason why I’m not in a fit of tears right now. If you take anything from what I say today, please remember not to lose sight of your happiness. Always, always put that first.”

Lauren made a trivial attempt to stifle the sniffle that was begging to escape. This wasn’t a permission slip, this wasn’t a declaration of unresolved tension, this was a genuine display of compassion and affection, from a position of friendship and not one of former lovers, Lucy’s voice the ring of truth Lauren didn’t even know she needed to hear.

“Lucy, I don’t know what to say…”

“Don’t say anything, Lauren. Just listen. Valentine’s Day is about love, right? If not, then I’ve been doing this wrong all this time…”

A true smile stretched across Lauren’s lips as she joined Lucy in a gentle laugh, a relaxing warmth spreading through her body before Lucy continued her train of thought.

“But I want you to enjoy this day, Lauren. You deserve it. I’m ok with everything if it means that you’re happy. I’ll always care for you, even if our relationship only mends into friendship. That would be enough for me.”

Lauren’s fingers ceased their artwork, the curved lines meeting back where they first took form.

“I appreciate that, Lucy. I really do. Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”

“Yes, Lauren, I’ll be fine. I’m heading back to the States in a few hours, but I felt that these things were better said sooner rather than later…I have to go, but I’m glad we had a chance to talk. Bye, Lauren.”

A loud click was all Lauren heard, her response falling on nonexistent ears.

“Bye, Lucy…”

Her reserve withered, her voice trailing off into a land of passivity.

“…and thank you.”

Lauren gently placed her phone by her side as she gazed at the shape piercing the sand, the trenches made by her fingers seemingly violent vicissitudes in the plush pillow of beige. The surf cascaded towards her, offering the illusion that she was simultaneously still but moving, journeying mentally yet physically catatonic. She stood and gathered the firewood sitting at her feet. As her heels dug into the earth and her toes wiggled in the scratchy coolness, her green orbs snapped the final images of the heart she drew before it disappeared under the deafening silence of the ocean waves, taking with it the final remnants of her former love.

********

“Do you think this looks alright? I look ok, right?”

Camila turned her torso towards the mirror while jutting her rear towards her youngest bandmate, the latter girl in the process of adjusting her green dress that left little to the imagination.

“Yes, girl you look hot, but I want to know who you’re all dolled up for. Are you going out or something?”

Camila bent down to re-tie the upper straps of her sandals, her rear obstructing Dinah’s view of the mirror.

“No, I’m not really going out.”

“No? You got all dressed up in your sexy clothes, went shopping all day with Mani, and spent forever in front of the mirror just to sit here and read about the history of bananas?”

A feigned expression of offense was offered to the Tongan, though Camila thoroughly enjoyed the characteristic tone of their banter.

“I am not going to sit here and read all night. If you must know…I have plans, but you don’t need to know about them.”

“Whatever, did you at least have the decency to buy something for me when you and Mani went on your shopping spree?”

The taller girl ebulliently skipped over to Camila’s shopping bags, wasting no time in violating the smaller girl’s privacy by hastily reaching inside. Manicured brows arched in confusion and disbelief, an indisputable item apparently resting adjacent to an ambiguously unfamiliar one. An audible gasp tore through the room once her soft eyes revealed the true identity of the contents residing in Camila’s bag.

“Camila, what the hell?! Where did you get those from?”

Camila rushed over to Dinah, snatching the precious cargo from her grasp. A violent tug towards her frame left the younger girl staggering, her balance briefly disrupted by Camila’s abrupt show of force.

“Mani and I went to a place earlier today, no big deal. Just don’t say anything to Lauren or Ally.”

“And those are related to your…plans for this evening?”

“For part of the evening, yes, but it’s really not what you think. Just…be quiet about these ok?”

Dinah pranced behind Camila, placing her dexterous phalanges on the latter girl’s shoulders, her strength effectively rescinding Camila from her position before the mirror.

“I will…if you tell me the name of the person who gets to enjoy those precious gifts with you.”

Camila huffed as she regarded her much taller friend, whose manicured fingers were reapplying a new albeit unrequited film of lipstick. The obtuse lavender glaze gently glossed over her sculpted lips, her light eyes trailing from her work to her smaller friend, one perfectly arched brow raising at Camila’s silence.

A sense of dread originated somewhere in the pit of her stomach; she knew the inquisitive and characteristically boisterous singer seldom left sensitive topics unaddressed, particularly once the path of discussion had been broached. The option to disclose her burgeoning relationship with their bandmate, breaking through the fortress behind which she and Lauren had acted on their feelings, fighting for each other in a war against the world, few allies present to trudge through the unrelenting dearth of challenges pitted against their love. Dinah’s immaturity often manifested as an endearing sophomoric behavior, often constituting a source of amusement for the youngest member’s fellow singers. However, there were times when her naïveté bolstered her sense of loyalty. Dinah’s unwavering innocence and carefree attitude was an often domineering affectation, a veil that only fell in times of war, times when her armor was the appropriate apparel, times when her role as an ally superseded her role as an airy teenaged celebrity. But there were other times when this same innocence was lost, confounded in a sea of trees through which Dinah often couldn’t see the forest. Emotions were high, tensions higher after the swell of leaks and sleazy tabloid articles, the crumbs of their shattered world scattered about for the rest of society to feast. She never knew it until now, never felt the lump at the base of her throat or the tears now threatening to escape, streaks of her makeup potentially flowing down her tanned cheeks. Normani had walked away, left a fragile and broken Camila at the base of the forest, the task of repairing the pieces a task for the younger alone. But now as Camila’s brown orbs gently closed behind their lids, she saw Dinah sauntering through the same forest, joining Normani in their quest for the place beyond the pines, a place devoid of any semblance of Camila Cabello. What once felt final now felt temporary, her relationship with Normani finding new life, and the piece of Camila that was an empty hole left by her friends was now being replenished. The only way to grow the seeds of her friendships was to provide the requisite resources: communication, trust, commitment.

The other option was to continue to dismiss Dinah’s incessant badgering, to submit to the verbal barrage of questions or endure further interrogation. Camila slowly sat at the end of the ivory ottoman, her soft toes anxiously dancing in the plush carpet. As much as she desired allies, as much as she longed for harmony to resonate throughout the group, her body began to ache for one person; the faster she left this conversation the sooner she would be wrapped in Lauren’s arms, staring into her favorite pair of eyes.

Fully committing to the latter option, Camila’s toes continued to play with the soft strands of carpet taking refuge in the separating crevices. She offered one more glance to her friend, unsurprised to find the other girl basking at her with a curious gaze.

“Can we just change the subject? I swear I’ll tell you later. Promise”

A flash of blonde hair was all she saw as the taller girl attempted one of her iconic hair flips, the gesture accompanied by a light-hearted sigh, the white flag of surrender only set aside for the time being.

“I will hold you to that. Anyway, I can’t wait to go to Club Monaco tonight! I’ve heard wonderful things…and you know Brazilian guys are just gorgeous. And that Portuguese tongue girl…did Shawn ever speak Portuguese when you guys were getting hot and heavy?”

A blush graced Camila’s cheeks as she thought about the intimate moments she shared with her former boyfriend. She remembered Shawn as a gentle and considerate lover, offering Camila a visceral introduction to the world of physical passion. Each intimate moment with Shawn was a stepping stone, another chapter of knowledge for Camila to shelve in her library of love. Even now, she was grateful, appreciative for those times when her mind would down the halls towards images of Lauren, sandy brown hair and boyish fishes evaporating into midnight-green eyes bursting with lust. She was grateful that he never broached the subject, never mentioned that she drifted to a distant place during their closest moments. Her mind failed her although her body continued in the race for a climax, at least that was the appellation appointed by Camila. With Shawn, intimacy had defined boundaries, visible destinations marked by a pleasurable finish line. With Lauren, there were no boundaries, the journey towards pleasure much more salient than any such destination.

“Well?”

“Oh..uh…no, he never did.”

“Well, you missed out on something there, Mila. I look hot tonight and I am on the prowl for some Brazilian lovin’!”

“That sounds like some plan, Dinah.”

“Yeah, and it may not even be as freaky as the things that you have planned for this evening…apparently.”

A strong caramel finger glided under the hooks of Camila’s shopping bag, scooping up the plastic material like it contained hazardous materials.

“Leave me alone, Dinah! Ugh…will you just get out of here please? And tell my parents I’m going to meet you the club if you see them?”

“I will…but they’re probably going to be busy with plans of their own tonight.”

The Tongan bellowed an endless of string of high-pitched moans, her imitation of the Cabello parents’ sexual activities the final straw for the Cuban.

“Okay…time to leave.”

Her playful annoyance gave birth to an abrupt surge of strength, the smaller girl bulldozing her friend’s feet through the soft carpet, thin tracks marking a line from the mirror to the bedroom’s entrance, though Dinah’s attempt to emulate never faltered. Incessant moans grew louder, her typically angelic voice dimmed behind the haughty wooden door.

Camila’s hand trailed down the smooth contour of the door, coming to rest along the bulbous knob upon which she offered a gentle pat, accompanied by a tender smile. Oh Dinah.

She pranced to her haunt upon the mirror, procuring and perfecting her look once more. She smirked at her outfit, hoping that Lauren would at least wait until after dinner rather than skip ahead to the dessert. A seductive wink was offered to her reflection, the final stamp of approval before the evening could commence.

“Make me yours, Lauren.”

********

The sun had just begun its descent behind the horizon, supple clouds fading into the abyss. A small hull of seagulls chirped as they glided through the breeze, peacefully landing along the foamy patches of salt water. Somewhere behind the cream-colored tent, the waves crashed upon the shore, the rhythmic rise and lull a natural apothecary for Lauren’s nerves.

Emerald eyes scanned the heavenly display: an intimate silk tent pitched off from the surf, the sheer material along the slit of the entrance flapping softly in the zephyr; lanterns dangling delicately from its roost; a runway of candles illuminating an idle path along the sand, Camila’s aisle to their sanctuary; a small, white table rooted atop a wooden platform, creamy silk handkerchiefs stuffed with shiny utensils resting in the laps of decadent bamboo chairs; a transparent vase the sole centerpiece of the dining table, replete with a solitary red rose in full bloom. A dugout rested near the base of the tent, a small cluster of firewood its only occupants. Lauren’s footprints in the sand led to a secluded cove, the map towards what she hoped to be their ultimate oasis of love, the location where they could finally embark on their romantic journey.

The boulevard of romance began at the villa’s rear where Lauren had ordered the formation of a platform leading down towards the beach. She sprinkled love offerings on the light wooden planks, sweet little nothings that would fill Camila’s heart. The gesture, though simple, would guide the path towards their tent, preparing Camila’s mind, body, and soul for the adventure that rested ahead, her presence the lone admission to all of Lauren’s heart.

A cascade of orange commandeered the sky, and though it was the color Lauren disliked most, the glow it could cast on Camila’s tanned skin harnessed the power to transform her perception of the citrusy hue. She licked the corners of her lips, the salty ocean breeze peppering her with mist. Her fingers rushed through her raven-colored locks, smoothing the anterior layers and readjusting her perfect bun to rest along the long layers that hung freely along her shoulders.

Everything was white or cream-colored, her choice of clothing no different. White gladiator sandals entombed her ivory feet in a comfortable chamber, creamy knee-length shorts hovered above her smooth legs, taut abs peeking out under the rim of her matching halter top, enticing supple breasts teasing and taunting below the tight valley of her cleavage. Dark aviator shades dominated the landscape of her gorgeous face, striking green orbs obscured behind the lenses. She listened to peaceful hum of the ocean, the intoxicated and bubbly atmosphere giving way to a sober ambience that would serve as the backdrop for their evening.

She scanned the terrace once last time: the perfect sunset, the perfect setting, the palace she built for her one and only. All that was missing was her queen.

*****

The evening air brushed upon Camila’s smooth features, her loose brown locks fluttering softly to the gentle beat of the ocean waves. Her angelic feet sank into the cool sand beneath her soles, stopping at the base of a hardened platform. She pondered the structure for several seconds, her eyes scanning the wooden planks, settling on chalky striations sprinkled along the surface. Somewhere, in the distance, the sun kissed the world goodbye, a formidable sunset firmly rooted along the horizon. The orange tint complemented the citrusy glow from the votive candles, the chubby pillars forming the border of a perfect heart, the confines of which held Lauren’s first love offering:

‘The steps you take tonight are the first of a wonderful journey. No roadmaps, no directions, only the two us with one destination in sight…love. Your journey begins now’

Her heart swelled as a warmth washed over her body. A furnace surged deep within her, fueled by Lauren’s words. She did little to restrain the effervescent smile breaking across her gentle features, even less to ameliorate the wave of utter happiness that propelled her feet towards the wooden steps. A hand cascaded over her chest, resting on the heated skin coating her heart. Few knew that it was Lauren who was a hopeless romantic, that the older Cuban went above and beyond for the women who claimed her heart, venturing to the moon only to return with a galaxy of endless love, Camila the only astronaut privy to this voyage. A switch flipped somewhere in Camila’s mind, as her memories of Lauren’s attempt to woe Lucy were vapid; that world a benign assortment of black and white whereas her own with Lauren was vivacious, a variegated palate of multifarious discoveries. It encouraged a sense of appreciation at the realization that this was different, that Lauren’s perspective on this relationship was unrivaled, that the singer was making an effort to supplant Camila as her one and only.

A scintillating glow protruded the next landing, peppering the midpoint in her descent with another string of candles, the resultant heart radiating in the low light. Her feet reacted with a graceful sprint, only faltering at the base of another of Lauren’s love offerings.

‘I want to get lost in your eyes that I love so much, lose myself in your smile, and stray from the path when you look at me…your kiss is the only thing that can bring me back to life. Take those steps to bring me back to you.’

Those same enchanting eyes glossed over as they wavered over Lauren’s handwriting. A deep sigh broke her perfect lips at the other girl’s gesture. How had she managed to find someone who was so perfect, who knew her so well? Her eyes shared the hue of millions, though to Lauren, they were distinctive, unrepeated, unseen and devoid of a home on the manifold of color. They were a beacon of life, the impetus for the air that inflated Lauren’s lungs, each breath synched with a blink of chestnut eyes. Her smile was Lauren’s food and drink, the sole sustenance of existence. Something ordinary, to Camila, was something exceptional to Lauren, something that should not only be noticed but appreciated in all its glory.

A smaller settlement of candles basked in the evening wind, the penultimate stop on the journey to the beach. Camila glanced down at the writing that lined the walls of this shimmering heart and clasped her hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle a gasp.

‘Get lost in me Camila, let me be your knight in shining armor…all you have to do is agree to be my queen.’

Her extraordinary brown eyes peered up to find a vase of pink roses blushing back at her, the dusty color a deep symbol of admiration. Her journey along the wooden planks had come to an end, a candle-lined fissure within the sand snaking up to a dimly lit tent, the flaps at the opening still dancing idly in the wind. She gazed out at an intimate table adjacent to the silky hut, though her eyes ceased their surveying when they came to rest upon her silhouette.

Perfect lips parted, her mouth parched from the sudden dryness and salty breeze but her body froze at the sight of her lover, her limbs arrested and held prisoner by the other girl’s presence. Lauren was leaning over the dinner table, hands fiddling with her tattered lighter as she attempted to spark life into the remaining set of candles. Cursing under her breath at the rich sea breeze, the energy of which robbed the candles of their flames, the older girl felt a set of eyes boring into her back. A smile graced her lips, the need to identify the spectator deemed unnecessary. She could only imagine Camila’s tanned skin tucked under layers of decadent white, the silky feel of her lips as they met in a passionate tango, the intoxicating aroma of her luscious hair as her own fingers gently traced along her scalp, and the look in her eyes as she devoured the image of the object of her affection. It was enough to spur Lauren to quickly turn her heels in the sand and gaze at her lover, but she settled on the graceful option, slowing shifting her position to rest her back along the edge of the table.

The vividness of her imagination paled in comparison to the visceral display set before her eyes. A regal being, a majestic work of art in human form was right in front of her, gazing at her like she was the Eighth Wonder of the world. Lauren felt herself go numb, her limbs paralyzed by the alluring vision. Camila’s visage was the most stunning image on which Lauren had ever laid eyes. Her beauty was literally captivating, and Lauren fought to stave off tears, trinkets of wetness filled with love and adoration. She had never seen anything so stunning; it was as if she had been blind her entire life, deep brown eyes granting her the gift of sight.

Her green eyes combed over Camila’s outfit, swallowing the creamy silk that was her legs, devouring the sublime valley separating her supple breasts, inhaling the juicy curves of her perfect lips. Gravity took Lauren’s mouth, her slender jaw falling agape as she drank in the stunning view of the woman she wanted for so long, the one woman for whom she pined and imaged, the one woman she couldn’t believe was on a journey through the sand leading right toward her. Nothing in that moment could have prepared her for the image. The gentle ocean breeze did little to shake her from her catatonic state, the simple image of Camila Cabello the strongest tranquilizer. Her feet felt firmly planted beneath the sand; she stood there like a tree in winter, waiting for signs of spring to bring new life in the form of leaves. The lighter fell from her hands, its neglected body landing in a patch of sand adjacent to Lauren’s feet.

It was as if each step the brunette made brought breath to her body, brought a new beat to her heart, brought fresh tears to her eyes. It warmed her, though a piece of her felt scared; she had never known a feeling as strong as this, a love as deep and transparent as the one she shared with the beauty before her. She prided herself on braving the harsh and unforgiving land of the unknown, and with Camila by her side, she felt invincible. But somewhere, deep within her being, she feared there she would falter, that she would fail her precious love, do something to leave her stranded on the island of love they built away from the world. She had a record of making mistakes, of disappointing those closest to her: her close circle of friends, some of her family members, but namely, the chief of the disappointment tribe was Lucy. Lauren couldn’t live with herself if Camila was somehow disappointed in her; angry, frustrated, upset, she could live with, but disappointment? As Camila’s feet met the cold, damp sand for the first time, Lauren vowed to do everything in power to give Camila the world, to fight to make the other girl happy despite the rigors of reality. She had found the one for whom she never knew she had been searching, and she wasn’t about to let her go.

Camila’s dainty feet ceased in their journey a few feet from a still captivated Lauren. Mouth still agape, body still frozen with her hand in the position of clutching the lighter, eyes still watering with tears of joy and love, Lauren willed herself to move, to say something, anything to break free from Camila’s spell. Camila herself had stopped moving in part because of Lauren’s outfit, but mostly because of Lauren’s presence. The Cuban had erected a tent and a very lively fire pit, all set in the foreground of a flawless dinner display. Her hair was loose and slightly curled, so soft that Camila aptly nicknamed them ‘silky strands of Lauren’. Her favorite softness, and the sight upon which her eyes now loomed, was Lauren’s lips. So plush, so smooth, so powerful, like warm pillows upon which her own could rest. They regarded each other as sheer perfection, as angels lost on their way home from Heaven. So lost they were in the rapturous nature of their lover, neither moved to speak or initiate the evening’s festivities, both girls too content to devour the other with their eyes.

Camila regained her sense of self first, shifting on her feet slightly, the action causing her rear to subtly protrude into Lauren’s line of sight.

“You look beautiful, Lauren.”

Lauren wasn’t sure if she was even still alive, Camila’s voice falling on deaf ears.

“Lauren, are you ok?”

Camila’s smile was so faint but it was the jolt Lauren needed to return to reality. Her voice was unfamiliar and laden with an amalgamation of lust, love, and astonishment. She blinked as her lips moved, all ability to move drained from her body but she internally reached for the reigns and pulled herself to speak.

“Wow…Camila…I-I…I don’t know what to say…just…wow.”

A faint blush toasted Camila’s tanned cheeks, her head swaying bashfully as she registered Lauren’s incapacity to form a coherent sentence. Lauren’s realized the shift in Camila’s frame, hoping she hadn’t already destroyed the evening’s tenor.

“I’m sorry…” Lauren briskly closed the gap between them “…did I say something wrong? You hate all of this…” she gestured towards the tent and the dinner table without facing to look at the displays behind her “…don’t you? I knew it! I knew I should have-”

Camila brought a single vanilla-scented finger to Lauren’s lips, killing her rambling with one simple action.

“It’s beautiful. I love it. It’s just…no one has ever looked at me the way that you just did.”

Lauren returned Camila’s previous blush, deciding to refrain from getting caught in the net of her thoughts and rather explore the ocean of love with Camila tonight. As beautiful as Camila was, she found it odd that no one had looked at her with such deep passion and love before now, but she reveled in the fact that she was the first, the first and last one to be Camila’s knight in shining armor.

“I find that hard to believe…” her usual raspy voice made scratchier by the damp ocean air “…you are beautiful Camila, in every way.”

She tucked her fingers under Camila’s chin, desperate to feel her silky skin beneath her own. Their eyes locked onto tantalizing targets, green ones burning through brown ones. Camila thanked the Gods for delivering such a soul, someone who looked at her like she had all the answers in life, that she was the answer to life itself.

Her eyes reluctantly broke from Lauren’s gaze to once again pan the landscape of Lauren’s work. The fire burned brightly under the horizon, the orange tint now evaporated into a deeper, angrier, more visceral shade of red. Flecks of blue pricked the sky, poking through the stubborn patch of clouds that huddled throughout the sky. The entire scene was inconceivable: the love offerings, the intimate fire, the dinner that smelled delectable, the silky tent, and a certain love-struck Cuban singer who looked ready, willing, and eager to fall deeper in love.

“You did all of this…for me?”

Lauren released her gaze and turned to join Camila in basking at her creation.

“No, my girlfriend will be here any minute so it looks like you may have to leave soon. Thanks for dropping by, Camz.”

The comment earned Lauren a playful swat to her upper arm, which Lauren shielded by ducking, her boisterous laugh harmonizing with Camila’s less cacophonic one.

“Hey, first and last joke of the evening. Don’t kill me before it’s over.”

“Like I would ever do that.”

Their laughter calmed and Lauren took the opportunity to slowly join their hands, fingers instinctively intertwining as soon as they made contact.

“But yes, I did this for you. I really hope you like it. I-I want you to have a nice evening, Camila.”

Camila gaped at their linked fingers, glowing in the feeling of skin-to-skin contact. This feels right. Her lips curled into a fruitful smile, eyes canting up to gaze at the owner of the warm fingers she now felt. They lost themselves once more at the lustful gaze of the other woman, the object of their desires riling so many unrequited feelings, feelings they tried but failed to bury. Lauren’s eyes darted to Camila’s lips, retreating back to her brown eyes with a pointed message. Damn she’s so perfect. Camila turned to face Lauren, wetting her plump lips before planting the tips of her toes in the sand, her lips meeting Lauren’s for the first time that night.

It was as if they had reached the edge of the earth: strong arms wrapped around Camila’s frame as her own entombed Lauren’s neck in a gentle embrace, the mist swaying off the surf wrapping them in a protective layer as they jumped off the edge in each other’s arms. Somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed upon a sandy cove, the battering along the beach an appropriate symphony to the dueling of their tongues. Bathed in the orange glow from the horizon, their lips parted after several minutes of appreciation, the crackling of the fire a peaceful reminder of Lauren’s planned festivities.

An audible whine escaped Camila’s lips, to which Lauren responded with a brief peck, reveling in the manner their lips clung to each other with a loud smack, as if they themselves couldn’t bear to part.

“Camila, would you like to have dinner with me?”

A glint filled Camila’s eyes as she kept her arms glued around Lauren’s neck.

“No, I wish I could but my girlfriend will be here to get me soon, I don’t think she would like it if she saw me in such a compromising position.”

Lauren’s mouth went agape once more, this time for an entirely different reason. Ugh, and she’s clever too. She nuzzled her face in Camila’s neck, offering gentle kisses to her canvas.

“I don’t know…” she went on, teasingly, her voice muffled by Camila’s soft skin “…I may have to fight her for you.”

She pulled back and pecked Camila��s lips one last time, peppering her knuckles with similar kisses.

“So, dinner? With me?”

Camila sighed heavily, her love for the other girl too much to bear at times.

“I would love that.”

Lauren kissed her once more before interlacing their fingers and leading Camila over to the dinner table, the latter girl drawing hearts on Lauren’s back as she trailed behind. The motion brought a smile to Lauren’s lips as she pulled Camila’s chair out from the table, waiting for her love to take her seat.

Lauren swiftly removed the lids from their respective dinner trays to reveal two hearty steaks sitting next to a puddle of mashed potatoes and sweet grilled bananas. Thanks Lee. She fished a bottle of red wine from a cooler hidden beneath the table, filling their glasses before joining a mesmerized Camila. They dined in peace, segments of light conversation supplemented by cracks from the firewood and sways of the ocean breeze. Loud clanks resonated throughout the atmosphere are they rested their utensils back on their plates, bellies full with food and drink. Lauren cast her eyes towards Camila who was just finishing a laugh at one of Lauren’s jokes.

“Hey, I’m telling you, after that I made sure to wear the special underwear at meet-and-greets. That one guy was probably totally freaked out.”

Camila wiped the tears of laughter trickling out the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t know about that. He probably thought he was lucky. Heck, he is lucky for having the opportunity to rub up against the incredibly hot Lauren Jauregui.”

“I don’t think he thought my erection was hot when he accidentally brushed against it. Damn Dinah Jane for jutting her ass out at the last minute, otherwise we never would have been that close. I mean, the guy was standing right there and she had to push him right in front of me.”

Camila continued laughing, much to Lauren’s dismay, but the beauty melted under the velvety richness of her voice.

“Hey, will you walk with me for a bit? I have this spot that I think you would really like.”

“Wow, Jauregui. A fabulous dinner on the beach under the stars, and now you want to take a walk in the sand? How could I resist?”

The two joined hands as they descended the dinner platform, toes sinking into the beige gravel along the shore. Camila’s bikini skirt came to life in the wind as they slowly made their way toward the cove. The waves continued to crash, the violent albeit intimate meeting of the water and sand brought a sense of calm perfection to the lovers. The sun had bid the earth adieu, the stars taking home along the moonlight. A coolness wrapped around them as they began their trek, though Lauren’s thumb gently ran over Camila’s hand, leaving behind a trail of warmth. Lauren spotted the beginnings of the cove, the one she scouted along the beach for the perfect and most intimate setting. She craned her neck to view her love, thumb still working its magic on smooth tanned skin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, Camila.”

The younger met Lauren’s gaze, eyes locking onto her favorite green color, even if they were hidden in the darkness of night.

“And I don’t just mean in a physical relationship with someone, I mean in any aspect of my life. I’ve been through so much and I was never certain that I would have someone there to see me through that, you know? I always wondered, back when I was sitting in my childhood bedroom in Miami if I was ever going to find true happiness, if I was ever going to find someone to share the best of parts of myself with. I wasn’t even sure if I had any ‘best parts’ but I knew that I wanted someone special by my side. And once I found them, I was going to make sure that I never let them go.”

Camila fought back tears as they rounded a sandy corner, entering Lauren’s cove with their fingers still entwined. She barely noticed the façade of their new setting: the beach here was more peaceful, a perfect wide strip of light sand tucked behind a valley of rocks. The waves washed along a rocky formation of a new fire pit, no doubt of Lauren’s creation, complete with a beach towel and another small cooler stocked with water and wine. She blinked twice when she took in the scenery and the ambiance that Lauren had set; it was so cozy, so intimate, so them that she brought her hand to cover her increasingly erratic heartbeat. She had dreams of this very spot, of an oasis segregated from the rest of the world, of her little parcel of earth upon which she and Lauren could live surrounded by happiness. How did Lauren manage to intercept her thoughts and design this very setting, she didn’t know, but when she turned to face her with a look of pure admiration dripping from her features, she found the Latina matching her look with the same ardor.

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful!”

“Yes…” Lauren leaned closer to Camila’s awe-struck face “…she is”

Once again, Lauren remained caught in the net of her thoughts, though this time they managed to seep from her orifice and into the heady air wrapped around them. She hadn’t intended to say that aloud, but around Camila she was vulnerable, and her mind often found itself unable to react properly. She really is beautiful.

“Oh Lauren. Thank you so much, for all of this.”

Camila pecked Lauren on the lips, the older girl hoping to deepen the kiss before realizing that her earlier love confession remained unfinished.

“You’re welcome. Would you like to sit down?”

She gestured towards the beach towel she had strewn about earlier and reached for a bottle of water and she helped Camila sit. Once they were seated, Lauren gulped half of the water bottle, thinking back to how Camila did so in the record studio in Los Angeles, the day she told her that she didn’t want to be with her. She couldn’t believe how wrong she was.

“Camila…”

The brunette peered lovingly at Lauren as she listened to the waves rut along the beach, waiting to hear the other girl’s raspy albeit soothing voice.

“…I didn’t know what my life would become. I wasn’t ready to accept myself, wasn’t ready to love that part of myself and I now realize that if I didn’t accept myself, then no one else was going to love that part of me either. When I joined the group, I was just a fleeting soul and being a part of something gave me structure, which you know I love. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I had someone help construct my image, which involved me being a badass with a rebellious streak and I was fine with that, because we each played our part. I finally fit somewhere, and I had four beautiful women to love me for me, for my talents, not for what was expected of me. I felt beautiful for the first time. I still struggle with that.”

Camila inched closer to Lauren as she saw the other girl’s eyes turn glossy. Whatever this was, Lauren needed to get it out, to expel it from the depths within her, to make it possible to free without harboring such a sad ugliness that she was currently describing.

“Lauren, how could you ever think that you weren’t beautiful?”

“Because Camila…” she lowered her head to prevent from looking at Camila. She didn’t want to know what the other Cuban was presently thinking, for fear of judgement.

“…I’m not like you. I wasn’t always strong like you are. I was born like this…” she pointed to her lap, tears falling from her eyes, voice riddled with anger as she glanced at her crotch.

“…and I hated that for so, so long. You were the first person I ever fell for. The very first person whose smile made me laugh, whose voice made me happy, who could make me experience so many emotions that I didn’t even know I had. But I was scared. I was terrified because you were so beautiful Camila. No one questioned you, and from the outside, it seemed like you weren’t questioning yourself. I couldn’t do anything about my feelings for you because I couldn’t even handle my feelings about myself.”

Camila waited for Lauren to continue, though she was content to begin her interlude at Lauren’s prolonged silence.

“Lauren, listen to me. I did question myself, maybe not about that, but I questioned my feelings for women for a long time. I knew I was different even before we met on the X Factor. I had always liked girls but never felt like I could act on them, not to mention that I felt so much responsibility with being a role model for Sofi. I couldn’t handle myself if I let her down since she looks up to me. But now, with you, I realize that I wouldn’t be disappointing her if I were to come out, I would be empowering her, encouraging her to follow her heart, wherever that may take her. But I too was lost and confused and unwilling to explore, discover, and embrace that part of myself.”

Lauren tentatively looked into Camila’s eyes, her frame softening once she found peaceful pools of brown.

“You were?” Her voice was light and frothy, choked by tears.

“I was, believe me.”

Camila laid her hand upon Lauren knee, enveloping her hand in a cozy embrace.

“It’s just, after meeting you guys, I knew I could have friends but who was ever going to love me, sexually. People back home were all happy to be with me until they got close to me and found out that I have a…a…you know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I shunned my feelings for you and you didn’t even seem interested in girls…or whatever you would call me.”

“Lauren, you are a woman. Don’t ever let anyone, not even myself tell you otherwise. You are who and what you believe you are. Please don’t let one thing deter you from that. You are beautiful in more ways than one, not just physically.”

“Yea?”

“Yes. You are one of the kindest and most compassionate people I have ever met. You hid it under this rough interior, but I know that’s to protect the ones you care the most about. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you aren’t afraid to stand up for what you believe in, even if the backlash from that is going to be difficult. You are so smart without even trying and you really invest yourself in causes that you’re concerned about. Like I said, you’re not afraid to put yourself out there and that is something that a lot of people aren’t willing to do. You are so talented, that is one of my favorite things about you. You can paint, you can write, you can dance, you can sing, obviously…”

The two shared a light laugh before Camila continued.

“…you construct beautiful works of art so effortlessly and it just makes me fall more in love with your mind. Everything you do has a deep purpose, a strong sense of meaning. Like your tattoos. What others may view as sexy symbols of ‘badass Lauren’ I see thoughtfulness. You’re not just ‘marking up your body’ like your family has suggested, but your representing people or entities that mean so much to you. And believe it or not, you’re also strong. I can only imagine what you went through before I met you, but you’re resilient. Just look at where you are in your life right now, Lauren. You’re successful with a platform that can touch millions of people, many of whom may be looking for their pillar of inspiration. Why can’t that be you?”

Lauren beamed as she watched Camila speak, words leaving her mind only to be replaced by strong incessant tugging at her heartstrings. Here she was pouring out her heart and soul to this incredible woman and she wasn’t running away, wasn’t leaving her in this sandy cove to drown in her own sorrow. Camila was…fighting…for her, doing something that no one else had ever done.

“You’re funny, Lauren. You make all of us laugh with your witty sense of humor, and you can sense that we need that even when we can’t say it out loud. That means you’re intuitive Lauren; you take the time to really know people and you always remember the best in them. Like when you said that Lucy and Shawn deserved better from us, that we should give them a chance to make us happy. You really put your heart into everything you do, almost like you have no regrets, and I can’t imagine a Lauren Jauregui that isn’t that way.”

It took Lauren several minutes before she could reveal more of herself, but she wanted to enter into this relationship with everything out in the open.

“You know, I never told anyone this, but not too long after I started seeing Lucy, I thought about getting it removed.”

Camila gasped, hand still concentrated on Lauren’s knee. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing; Lauren was mentioning removing the most intimate part of herself, and to Camila, that was heartbreaking and utterly unacceptable.

“What?! Are you serious?”

“Yes. I even called a doctor to ask about the surgery. I’ll never forget the first time I had sex, it wasn’t with Lucy, it was another friend of ours from high school and I remember her being so…turned off by off that we stopped soon after we started. She got weird after that and never spoke to me again. I hated myself, not just because I had a terrible first time but because I had lost yet another friend over my condition. It took some time but I figured that maybe that first time was bad because I didn’t have feelings for her. So you can imagine how excited I was when I started dating Lucy. I thought ‘this is going to feel right, I’ll finally be able to not just feel the kind of pleasure that people always talk about, but I’ll be able to give someone that pleasure as well’. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. It wasn’t as weird as my first time, but Lucy was still uncomfortable. I found myself falling in love with a girl that I couldn’t please, and I didn’t feel sexy around her. We both agreed that she needed some time to get used to the idea of having sex with me, so we waited…and waited…and waited. I went back to a really ugly place inside of me because my girlfriend couldn’t stand my body, which meant that I couldn’t stand my body.”

Camila gave a gentle reassuring squeeze to Lauren’s hand.

“I called about the procedure and was going to meet with the doctor when Lucy said she felt more comfortable. We worked it out but I got the sense that she too wished that I was normal.”

Lauren finished her bottle of water before she sighed, willing herself to continue.

“I still think about having it removed and just becoming a normal female, even now that you seem ok with it.”

Camila gave her signature kiss to Lauren’s lips, doing whatever she could to ensure to her mate that she was undeniable attracted to her.

“Is it something that you really want to do?”

Their eyes connected as their conversation continued to turn into serious territory.

“Honestly, I don’t know. You seem to really like it, more than anyone else ever has. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Camila gave a hearty laugh as Lauren smiled, a tentative respite in the current tenor of their dialogue.

“Well, I can’t argue with that. But let me tell you something Lauren. I would love you even if you didn’t have this…”

Her hands inched closer to Lauren’s patient crotch, coming to rest on her upper thigh.

“…I would love you no matter what your body looks like. When I fell in love with you, I fell for your mind, your soul, your spirit. I fell for your personality, for your outlook on life and love. I fell for everything that is you, and that includes but is not limited to your body, Lauren. I’ve never been this in love before, but one thing that I know will sustain a lasting relationship is not the physical stuff. Our bodies change all the time, but who you are, that person I’ve fallen so deeply, madly, and head over heels in love with will always be there. And she can always show me she loves me, with any part of her body. But…you know what I do love about your body? About this part of you?”

Lauren offered her a firm shake of her head, curious to ascertain Camila’s logic behind this that had plagued her mind for so long.

“I love that you can make love to me in a way that no other woman can. I love how you can be gentle and passionate in way that no man will ever understand. I love how you could impregnate me some day with your sperm, not sperm that we have to get from someone else. The baby that will grow inside of me will really be ours. We made him or her through our love, with our bodies, with you being inside me, not someone else. One of my favorite parts about sex with you Lauren is that when you enter me, it’s really you, as you were born, as you were made to be on this planet. Your penis is literally an extension of you, which is why I love it so much. If you choose to remove it, I will support you, but you would be sacrificing so much if you did. I can’t answer the question for you, but is it worth it to you?”

Lauren felt tears prick her eyes once more at Camila’s words. It dawned on her that she could have a family of her own someday, a family that she could form with her lover, the future mother of her children. She wasn’t sure she wanted one someday, had never been sure she was ever worthy of a family, but here Camila sat, genuine smile breaking her gorgeous features, voice bursting with love and nothing else, practically telling Lauren she would be the vessel for the ultimate product of their love, a love Lauren never dreamed she would experience. In others’ eyes she saw distrust, an unwillingness to swim further into the sea of love. In Camila’s eyes she saw the exact antithesis, wandering brown eyes wondering why Lauren had yet to jump.

“I’ve never felt this way before, Camila. You’re so amazing, and I’m so in love with you. Any day that you wake up and I can’t see your face shouldn’t exist. Any time you laugh and someone else is the cause should never happen. Anyone who tries to be your everything should be that for someone else, because I want to be your everything Camila…if you’ll have me.”

“I love you so much, Lauren.” Her voice was barely audible above the thrashing of the ocean in the distance, but Lauren heard it loud and clear.

“I love you too, Camila.”

“Yes…I’ll have you. On one condition.”

Lauren raised a questioning brow.

“Anything, name it Camila.”

“I have to be your everything”

The heat of the sun could never match the warmth that swelled through Lauren’s chest, the glow from their hearts too radiant with which to compete. A deep and passion kiss was enough response to Camila’s condition, though Lauren ameliorated any chance of misinterpretation. She gathered Camila’s tiny palm in hers, kissing each finger reminiscent of the way Camila did that day in Los Angeles, placing the heated palm above her heart.

“You always have been.”

[welcometophu]

Revelations 1

Twinned Book 1: Commit to the Kick

Revelations 1

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Alaric is wary when Pawel pulls into the driveway of a small farmhouse. They left PHU on Sunday afternoon, right after his second game of the weekend, and they’ve been on the road in Vermont for several hours. The last shopping area Alaric spotted was at least twenty minutes back and when he’d commented on how remote they were, Rory pointed out that the similarities between hippies and Clan were strong. Conor snickered.

They all climb out of the car, and Pawel stands with his hand on Conor’s shoulder, while Alaric stands behind them.

“You don’t need to be afraid of anyone here,” Rory says, and heads straight up the stairs onto the porch, then pauses only long enough to knock once on the door. He pushes it open, calls out, “We’re here, Gram!” He motions for the others to follow, then he steps inside.

Alaric lingers as long as he can, only following after Pawel and Conor both go up the stairs. He can smell magic in this place. Not just the ozone-bright scent that filled the car with Pawel and Conor both there, but a more subtle scent like clean, fresh cotton. It’s pervasive, and it makes him want to sneeze.

He steps inside cautiously, nostrils flared. He expects to smell wariness and concern; instead he’s enveloped in a hug from a short woman who hugs as hard as any Clan and smells like bright outdoors and calm.

She presses her cheek to his, then draws back, both hands on his shoulders. “Don’t be nervous,” she says. “Everyone’s welcome here, no matter the Talent. And we’ve heard about you already. You’re as good as family.”

Alaric looks to Rory, who holds his hands out and shrugs. “This is Gram,” Rory says. “Allison Baker; she’s Dad’s mom, and when you meet Nana later, that’s Dad’s other mom.”

“We’ve never been a traditional family.” Gram pats his cheeks, then finally steps away, leaving Alaric awash in that fresh, sweet, outdoor scent. “From what I know of your folk, we’re probably more like that.”

“You don’t have one big house at the center,” Alaric says slowly.

“No one’s above anyone else here,” Gram responds. “Although most of us have our specialties. This happens to be the library house—our family’s always had a thing for books, and Susan’s downright obsessive.”

“So are you,” Rory bends down to kiss her cheek. “Mind if I take Pawel downstairs? We’re only here tonight and tomorrow morning, and I want to get started. Ric, Gram will show you and Conor to rooms—Pawel and Conor are going to have to share, and I figured I’d share with you.”

Conor looks up at Alaric, his gaze narrowing, and Alaric just looks back. He’s not babysitting. He didn’t plan on babysitting, and he doesn’t know this kid particularly well. Conor’s head tilts, expression sharpening before he smirks slightly.

Gram shows them to the rooms, then Conor helps Alaric haul their overnight bags upstairs. Conor bounces on the bed in his room, says, “You’re not planning on just leaving me here, are you?”

“Do you need watching?”

“Not really, but Dad’d say I do. I’m pretty smart. Talented, too. I make sparks, especially with Alan.” Conor has a tablet in his hands, and despite the conversation, he’s playing some kind of a game at the same time.

“Who’s Alan?” Alaric gets the feeling he’s being suckered into a conversation with a purpose, and when Conor peeks at him, he’s even more positive. He smells of curiosity and just a hint of amusement.

“My husband,” Conor tells him, chin lifting slightly.

“You’re too young to be married,” Alaric says firmly.

Conor smiles then, his scent bright and happy, like Alaric passed some kind of a test. “I know. But we got married at recess and that’s cool, because someday we’ll get married for real. He’s my best friend. Are you going to marry Rory? You hold hands.”

“I’m Clan, we touch a lot.” Alaric sinks onto the bed; he’s obviously not going anywhere at this point. He might not want to babysit, but this kid’s not Clan and he’s probably too young to just be let alone. Besides… Alaric doesn’t want to piss off Pawel. “And Rory’s… you saw Gram.”

“She hugs,” Conor says sagely. “And she smells like sunshine, which is weird. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You can smell her?”

Conor tilts his head, puts his tablet aside. “Not exactly. I smell magic sometimes. Like Alan smells like lightning and smoke, but only when I’m around. And Dad smells like the edge of a candle flame, which does have a smell, kind of waxy and hot and it tickles my nose. Rory smells like nothing, which is really weird.”

“Do I smell?” It’s a strange conversation to have; Alaric’s never thought about this from the other side. “You smell like lightning, like a storm’s about to strike.”

“That’s because I have too much magic.” Conor shrugs. “You smell like old smoke, like something burned a long time ago but never got washed out. It gave me a headache in the car. That’s why I kept trying to open the window, except Dad yelled at me.”

Alaric had thought Conor was playing with the window as it slid up and down until Pawel locked it closed. Huh. “Never met a Mage who smelled magic,” Alaric says.

“You’ve never met a Mage like me.” Conor hops off the bed. “And I’m bored. Did she say we could explore? Because I want to go do something, and Dad’s going to be reading all night. He really likes books.”

“Hang on.” Alaric pulls his phone out, taps out a text to Rory. Should I be helping? Conor’s bored. I could take him outside or something.

That’d be a big help. Pawel said he’s got ADHD and he gets bored easily. Keep him entertained. There are other kids around, too. He might like them.

More kids. Perfect.

It’s not that Alaric doesn’t like kids. There are plenty of them at home, some of them related, some not. Half of them aren’t human when he sees them, and that’s fine. It’s all so much easier when they’re the same ones who’ve been around since he was small. And Clan kids are independent from a young age.

Whereas these are kids who might never have seen someone who’s Clan. Alaric is wary.

“Now you smell like dog,” Conor grumbles. “Wet dog. It’s pretty gross.”

“Rory says there are plenty of other kids around. Let’s go find them.” And if Alaric smells like a dog, then fine, he’ll be a dog. He lets the hound take his place and pads on four feet out of the room and down the stairs, whuffing when Conor doesn’t follow immediately.

Heavy thuds behind him and a thunk at the bottom herald Conor’s arrival as he runs down the stairs and leaps off the bottom few steps. “Okay, that? Is awesome. I can’t do that. I mean, I can make sparks and lightning and I may have broken every light bulb in the room once—don’t tell my dad, okay?—but I can’t do anything like being an actual dog. Can you smell me? Can you track me? Do you think I could track you? Do you smell different now?” Conor gets down on his hands and knees and throws his arms around Alaric’s neck, pressing his face against his ear. “Now you just really smell like dog. All over dog, nothing but dog. I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were just totally a dog.”

Alaric puts his paws up against the door and pushes, looks back at Conor.

“Oh, right, door. You can’t really do that with paws, can you?” Conor yanks the door open and Alaric lopes through and down the stairs. He can smell curiosity in the air, a rising scent, and a moment later there’s a shout. Several shouts. Rory wasn’t kidding about the kids.

There are a half dozen of them in a group, an older teen trailing behind them, and from the way they look around, Alaric’s pretty sure this is just the tip of the iceberg. Alaric guesses that the youngest girl is maybe four, her thumb in her mouth and dark hair curling across her face as she peers out through the tangles. The eldest of the children is still a tween, with that mutinous expression and crossed arms that seems to herald the onset of teenage years. He stands with his feet set and brows furrowed. Standing behind the children, the older teen is maybe a year or two younger than Alaric himself. He has a phone in one hand, typing with one thumb, while his other hand reaches out, fingers splayed.

One of the children—a five or six year old boy—rushes forward and runs headlong into some kind of a barrier. The child whines, and Alaric whuffs.

“Ask before you pet the dog,” the teenager drawls, not looking at them. “I mean it, Caleb. You know better. Never touch a strange dog.”

The smallest girl takes her thumb from her mouth, lisps, “Annette got bit.”

“Exactly. See, listen to Miranda. She knows what’s going on.” The teenager finally looks over at them, tilts his head. “I’m Shawn. You’re the guests Gram said was coming?”

“Is she your Gram too, or do you just call her that?” Conor asks. “Does everyone call her that? She’s Rory’s Gram, but that’s how he introduced her to us. I’m Conor, and we’re just visiting. This is Alaric.” He puts his hand on Alaric’s ruff, pulling it away when Alaric bares his teeth. “I’m not afraid of you,” Conor says quietly. “I know you won’t bite me.”

Pawel would probably fail Alaric if he bit Conor, so yeah, Alaric won’t bite him. If he keeps poking though, he might be tempted.

Shawn points to each of the children in turn, reeling off names. “Miranda, Camden, Caleb, Barbie, Jeff, and Simon.” He keeps his hand out; Alaric can smell the ozone in front of him, can almost see the barrier that Caleb keeps pressing against. “Is that a shapeshifter?”

Conor’s eyebrows go wide. “He is Clan and yes, he’s Alaric.” He nudges Alaric with his foot. “Maybe you should be a boy for this.”

Alaric shakes his head, whuffs as strong a negative as he can. If he’s about to be overrun by kids, he is not going to be human for the experience. Instead, he lies down, puts his head on the ground, then carefully rolls over and bares his belly.

It’s humiliating to go belly up for this pack of young Mages, but he doesn’t have any other way to say he won’t bite.

Shawn lowers his hand, and Caleb barrels forward, skidding to a stop on his knees next to Alaric. He bends down, presses his face to Alaric’s ruff. “Good doggie.”

There’s a tug on his ear, and Alaric rolls his head to see Miranda there, petting him. “Soft,” she lisps, and he snorts.

“Shawn.” At the sound of Gram’s voice, the children all roll away from Alaric, and Shawn pauses mid-crouch, straightening up.

“Yeah?”

“Take Conor with you and make sure he gets fed. I suspect his father will be occupied straight through dinner tonight. Conor,” she turns her attention to him. “Shawn will give you the rules, but  this place is a magic safe zone, as long as the magic you do is safe. Please do not do magic without someone else there, and no rituals. Only your own intrinsic magic during playtime. Do no harm.”

Conor’s eyes are wide, and he raises his hands, fingertips spread. Sparks dance along the tips, and he shows them to her; the air is awash in the scent of ozone. “This is okay.” It’s not a question, more a bewildered statement.

Gram nods, smiling gently. “It’s okay, Conor. We’re all Mages here, or families of Mages. Magic is fine. Ask questions. You may think you know a lot, but if there is anything you want to learn, take advantage of being with children like yourself.”

“Sorry Alaric, they’re more interesting.” Conor slips away from Alaric’s side and steps into the group of children. Miranda grabs his hands, pulls them down and immediately shoves one finger into her mouth, making a face as the sparks continue. Conor snickers.

Alaric rolls back to his feet, hunches his back and pushes himself into humanity. Caleb watches him, wide-eyed, as he stands, then runs to join Shawn when he calls.

Gram’s hand falls on Alaric’s shoulder as the children rush off. “I didn’t think you’d want to babysit,” she says quietly. “Shawn’s more than capable, and he’s only one of the teens here. He can call in plenty of reinforcements if he feels he needs to. They’ll be fine.” She tugs slightly, motions for him to follow her around the back of the house. “On the other hand, Conor is right. His father and my grandson will likely be busy for hours. Is there anything you need while you’re here?”

“You’re not afraid of me?” The side of the house is lined with a garden of late-blooming flowers. The scent is bright and fresh, mixing with the sunshine that Gram seems to exude. Alaric rubs at his nose, tries to tamp down the sensitivity to smell.

“Did you think we would be?” Gram leads him to the back where camp chairs ring a fire pit. She gestures, and the pit lights with a bright bonfire. As she sinks slowly into one of the chairs, she looks back at where he stands warily, arms crossed. “You did,” she answers her own question.

“Clan and Mage,” Alaric says. He takes one of the other chairs, leaving space between them.

“Clan and Mage,” she echoes. “It’s a poisonous thing to perpetuate, don’t you think?” She sits back, her hands clasped. “On the other hand, separatism is dangerous, and here we are, more like Clan than other Mages, I know. We like our space, we like having the ability to be ourselves. We don’t feel the need to engage in everything that modern society offers, but we also don’t want to divorce ourselves entirely.”

“Rory says you’re hippies.”

She laughs softly. “He’s not wrong. This commune was started when I was seventeen and first in love with my wife. It wasn’t entirely new. We were typical Mages, with our own neighborhoods within towns nearby. Ten of us banded together—my parents, myself and Susan, and six of our friends—to buy this land and create our own space. We’ve grown since then. There are easily a few hundred of us living here, and we believe in communal family. It takes a village to raise a child. Don’t raise your eyebrows at me—Clan aren’t the only ones who believe in free range children.”

“It’s not what I expected,” Alaric admits.

Gram leans forward, tucks her hair behind her ear. “You’re not what I expected either,” she says softly. “I’ve met Clan who are more beast than anything else. I’ve met Clan who can’t handle the smell of magic. But you’re settled here, and you have a tangible connection to my grandson.” She gets a hand up before Alaric can say anything. “I’m not saying you’re romantically involved, and I’m not asking.”

“He’s like a brother,” Alaric says, and that makes Gram snort.

“That only defines the connection in your mind,” Gram says. “My point is, you’re not locked in the ways of your Clan. You’re not our enemy, and we aren’t yours. And if there is anything we can do to support you, we will. If you’re Rory’s family, then you’re ours as well.”

Alaric licks his lips, inhales the warmth of her scent. “I appreciate the offer,” he says slowly. “Thank you. We just buried Orson last Saturday and right now, the thing I need most is a chance to be quiet. To just be.”

Gram gestures at the fire. “All I have planned for the evening—aside from dinner—is sitting by the fire with a book or possibly knitting. You’re welcome to keep me company.”

“Do you keep your own sheep?” Alaric asks, and Gram lifts an eyebrow. “If you do, I’d like to see them. See your process, if you card and spin. I dye. And knit. And weave.” The words spill out, his hands clenched as he says them, expecting derision.

Gram pushes to her feet, motions for him to follow. “You seem like you won’t mind a walk, but I’m going to take the golf cart,” she says, heading for a building. “If you’re interested in textiles, then we have quite a lot to talk about. And I’ve got someone for you to meet.” She glances over her shoulder, raises an eyebrow. “Maybe we can talk about doing some trading eventually. It’s always good to meet another community that does its own fiber arts.”

Alaric’s fingers itch with the need to do something, and this is so familiar in such a different place. It’s strangely perfect, so he hurries after her. This is something he can offer, something he has experience with. And it’s comfortable. Comforting. Which is just what he needs.

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[fountainpenguin]

You know how you've divided the Fairies into various species, such as pixies and elves and leprechauns? What about the Ghosts? You could have banshees who scream all the time (Ember?), poltergeists who turn invisible and wreak havoc with inanimate objects (Box Ghost?), nature spirits (Frostbite?), genies who grant wishes (Desirée?), doppelgängers who copy other people (is Danny his own doppelgänger?), etc.

Did you seriously Google that accent aigu and umlaut for an Ask because wow dedication you are the kind of support I need in an Anon

I do want to divide a few of the Ghosts (capital G being for their class same way I do for Fairies and encompassing plurals, lowercase g for the species itself). I didn’t think about dividing them much further, but I don’t have my headcanons pinned down, so that’s something I should look into, especially if you’re interested in! I’m not super familiar with ghost subtypes. Research!

If any of you have read “No Anesthetic” yet, you’ve seen my theory for how Ghosts are created: when a dead body falls into one of those portals that randomly opens and stays open for only a few seconds or minutes. Dead things reanimate after nine seconds (so yes, in the Ghost Zone, the Lunch Lady’s meat powers create cows and turkeys and stuff. After nine seconds).

I was thinking that fresher bodies might become ghosts, and bones with little or no meat become skeletons, like those seen in “Prisoners of Love” and “Pirate Radio”. There’s a big distinction between those two classes, with the Ghosts claiming the skies and leaving the Skeletons the ground, so Youngblood’s a weird fellow who links them together. Whoops. I hope that doesn’t turn into something Sueish. As long as I don’t make crowds of backgrounders super mad at him for defying these barriers or all in support of it and just don’t make a big deal about it, I think it should work out fine.

So if that’s the angle I’m working with, I need to decide how one becomes a certain species. Perhaps it was the last thought they had, or something- Ember, for example, may have woken just before the smoke/fire killed her, and died screaming. And I still need to work special abilities in there somehow. Youngblood’s invisibility I think would render him a poltergeist too! 

I’m still trying to figure out if he’s friends or enemies with the Box Ghost (because a pirate would want storage crates on his ship, and did the Box Ghost lend them to him because Youngblood bought/borrowed them, or do they constantly fight over who gets them, and am I going to be able to have Youngblood waltz into the wedding ‘fic, or is he going to have to sneak in, and if he’s sneaking in then why would our narrator Poindexter put up with this pirate whose job description is literally being a bully if he doesn’t have to?), but being the same species - especially if it turned out to be an uncommon one - would add another layer to their relationship. 

Or maybe it wouldn’t be the last thought, but based on a strong aspect of their personality- in this case, Youngblood constantly playing pranks when he was alive. Box Ghost, uh… moving boxes around because that was his job when he was alive. Genies would be those who lived and died wanting to help people (although dying to save others might result in a species of its own).

The problem with genies (as usual) is that they’re so overpowered. I mean, I guess there’s the possible limitation of not being able to use any magic themselves, only for others… but if helpful people are dying, that leads to too many genies, I think. Hmm. Maybe genies tend to live in a special area of the Ghost Zone because they get sick of being bothered.

We know every ghost has a talent related to their personality. I’m trying to figure out if they are always related to that person’s personality, or if they go with certain species, Pokémon-style, and personalities build around them. Do I want, say, six major subspecies, or do I want twenty or more?

I could possibly go off skin colors here, but there doesn’t appear to be a correlation between colors and abilities, and probably species either. And I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to misinterpret such a headcanon as me implying negative connotations between “unpleasant” types of ghosts and groups of real-life people, so I guess it’s better to just end that idea here.

On the subject though, my guess would be skin color probably relates to human skin color, maybe? Black skin to blue, Latinx to green, white to gray? Maybe purple for those of Asian descent? Are there any purple ghosts (I think Bullet)? I haven’t looked into it a lot and I haven’t double-checked this with Dora, who has green skin and might have a canon color palette for when she was alive (even though having a colored photo makes zero sense given how old she is), so don’t hold me to this, though. What do you guys think?

(What baffles me is that Danny’s clothes, eyes, and hair change colors when he goes ghost, but his skin stays the same. That would’ve been awesome to see, for example, a Black or Latino Phantom, and definitely would’ve made it more difficult for people to recognize the similarities between the two Dannys. Ghostly gray skin would have been cool too, since I think he’s the only ghost with skin that looks human. Welp.)

Ghosts are very complicated. I would have liked to see more world-building like this explained in the show, but I guess it is fun to do the work myself too. Sometimes (It is a lot of work and I can’t find quite the thrill I get from FOP. I like fantasy, magic, and animals- not sci-fi, tech, and buildings).

I wish I had more to draw from. I need Ghost Zone flora and fauna, and I need more Ghost culture. I don’t want to use all my good ideas in fanfiction for a show that, while enjoyable, doesn’t strike as strong a chord with me as FOP, TD, and CZ when I’m trying to design my own fantasy world at the same time The “Name” prompt kind of drained me on magic plants and I do wish sometimes I could take certain headcanons back for personal project use but hey, if it gets me Followers then that’s a good thing ‘cuz my aunt who’s an editor says publishers immediately snap to attention if they hear you have a lot of Followers on social media because of the possibility of y’all buying my books so having you guys click that button might help me someday soon.

Honestly, I can’t see myself ever getting as involved with “Danny Phantom” as I have with FOP. I want to write Youngblood’s ‘fic because he’s underrated and I like him and want him to have one. I want to write the Box Ghost/Lunch Lady wedding ‘fic. I want to finish that one-shot I have of Danny in the hospital after the accident. I want to participate in Phanniemay. I’d love to write a ‘fic about Skulker and Ember and the Christmas celebration from Season 2, with some Youngblood adjusting to life after Sitarist’s death, but I can already feel a few of you rolling your eyes at the thought. Yes I like Youngblood okay I like him a lot.

Otherwise, unless I go for that DP/“ChalkZone” crossover that I have zero plans for, I’ll probably bow out of the phandom, only popping back to answer Asks or do a few doodles. I want to work on personal works and novels that I can publish, and balancing that with FOP is difficult enough (I still have to get through Origin, Knots, and the Prompts, all of which I think about constantly on a daily basis. Geez, then there’s “Lyin Queen”, “Beatin’ Path”, “Lions Under Palm Trees”… Yeah, no wonder all my personal projects are hardly drafts).

Do you guys like this species idea? It’ll take me some time to research ghosts and stuff. If you have suggestions, feel free to offer them for consideration.