#it was fun to compare drawings to the last time did a colour /piece/ for pehn-- improvement!

[theavianlady]

Thank you so much for making such a fantastic art piece! Every single detail is incredible!!! I've stayed at it hour what adds up to literal hours today

I'm amazed with the work you put into it. I hope that the asks that I answered were helpful for you. I'm very impressed at how thorough you were in your research. The whole drawing is just SO COOL and I DID cry as I stared at it because of the loving detail in literally every pixel

Again, IT'S ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

You are very much welcome! I had so much fun, and all of you are making me blush. So worth it.

Oh, jeez. More under the cut; I can't keep anything short.

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Being completely honest, I spent so much time on it over the last few days (first piece I've finished on a deadline, too), that I now have no clue what to do with my life. I'm lost.

And honestly, I'm liking it more and more the less I look at it. I knew I was biased (I see gore-covered-turtles when I close my eyes).

====================================

The details have always been my favourite part. It's the little things that really breathe life into art. It's like telling a story. Whenever I write, I find myself drawing parallels between drawing and writing. Like word choice and colours. Sentence structure and contrast. It's incredible how the smallest little things can completely change a piece.

My sister loves writing as well, and she plans this stuff way more than I've seen anyone do before. Like, she has exact dates and times when stuff happens, so she can make sure it makes sense. So-and-so gets together with so-and-so on this day, they have their first kiss a month later, so it'll be in a winter setting, etc. I aspire to achieve that level of detail one day. A good example of planning like this could be @/kathaynesart's timeline for Replica. Like, most of those events won't be focused on, only mentioned in passing, but it's so helpful to actually understand what's going on in the background.

Also the details are just the easiest part for me. No tricky anatomy, just a lot of time and fun.

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And yeah! I love research. A lot. One of the things I'm kind of working on a bit is going through the different human and testudine systems and comparing them to figure out what would make sense in TMNT (I call it: "Chelonian and Human Comparative Anatomy and Physiology").

(Chelonian and testudine both mean turtles. Testudine is taxonomic and chelonian is more general.)

I showed my uncle a diagram of skin I spent forever drawing, and he was like, "It's Saturday. In the middle of summer." Lots of people think I'm weird. I love it.

====================================

And yes, those answered asks were incredibly helpful. I was very impressed with that whole chart you made, and I'm relieved you already had it. I had like, a whole list on the canvas while I was drawing to make sure I didn't forget anything.

Also, side note, I was also (also also also. So many alsos.) the anon who asked what timezone you were in. And guess what? I'm also in MDT. And also have an unreliable, chaotic, and probably really unhealthy sleep schedule. And then you were talking about the new season of the Dragon Prince, which I just binged, and I'm constantly being shocked by how many people in this fandom I have things in common with, holy cow.

...I wonder where the phrase "holy cow" came from. It's so weird.

[hollyorwin]

‘Touch’ Digital piece

This sample was made from images I took for the project, 

I changed the brightness of the original images and added in a grain filter to the background. I didn't want to just add in the flower images as is and so I used the pen tool and drew over them in a similar style to all the other pieces and added a few green highlights around the piece to give off the look of leaves.

I them drew over the hand and for a while struggled to find the right colour for the sketch, eventually I decided to pick a orange and pink colour and brighten it by changing the saturation. For the text I did the same thing as the last piece

By adding a section from the original image over top of it to to tie it better into the piece. 

Once I felt everything was done I changed the hue and saturation to try and find a tone for the sample that would work best.

I'm happy with how this piece came out, I really like the drawings in the corner as they were fun and interesting to stylise, if I were to do something differently, I would want to spend a bit more time on the hand as I feel like it's too subtle compared to what I wanted.

[too-many-lavellans]

[Class Swap] Pehn Lavellan | Artificer

[sanstropfremir]

With the latest bp album dropping today and seeing that nothing has changed the last two years, I’m curious if you can help me understand why I find it all so….mediocre. I can tell that part of it is the effect you’ve brought up with Hybe of too much money smoothing out all character. I also feel like this is a case where keeping the same collaborators has meant doing the same song with tiny changes 5 times, unlike a lot of other groups where they still have variety while keeping a more consistent overall identity. But they feel very bland in a different way than hybe groups do, and I can’t put my finger on why.

nothing blackpink does has a concept.

well, that's mildly facetious: their concepts are 'what if we were cool and influencers and most importantly GIRLS', and that's a non-entity at this point. visually, none of that means anything and all of it is indistinguishable from each other.

i think this is a great question to illustrate exactly why spectacle (the form) is not as simple as slapping together the most bombastic set pieces and ideas you can think of and calling it a day. in order to make good spectacle, you have to put just as much work in as you do with any other type of art. your ideas have to be grounded in a visual logic that drives the entire world you create: sets, costumes, lighting, even text and sound all have to be interlinked, to communicate with each other.

since it's also on everyone's minds right now, let's use nct 127 as an example. specifically, let's use 2 baddies and sticker. both of these mvs superficially carry the same basic visual ideas: there's very bright and highly saturated colouring and a lot of neon, there's a car, and there's a lot of highly decorated costuming. but each of these mvs have highly specific themes and concepts in which they ground both these more general principles.

sticker draws a direct comparative between the old west and the aestheticized neo(n) techno future that has a basis in science fiction and techno orientalism, and within that comparative there's a line drawn between hackers and cowboys, as figures that operate outside of the law on their own moral codes. throwing in the lowrider is another connection to operating outside the law, as lowriders can only be created via modding/customization and the mods themselves are technically illegal. one can pick apart several different meanings from sticker however they desire, but my point is here that the concept has a context and logic. the imagery and production design are all based around that specific theme, and the styling is uses very obvious markers from cowboy/western fashion to further drive the point home.

and 2 baddies. oh there are some LAYERS to 2 baddies. firstly, one of the main visual motifs is geometric art deco style patterning, which is an arts and design movement that started in the mid 1920s and continued up until around the 40s. this movement did not just impact visual arts, but it also heavily impacted commercial and industrial design, which included both architecture (famously, the chrysler building) and, very notably: cars. this era is the boom of the automobile and the art deco movement in particular produced some of THE most beautiful cars of all time, including:

the bugatti aerolithe

the delahaye 177 rs

the delahaye 165 cabriolet

and one of my personal favourites, the phantom corsair

you know who else was designing cars in the 1930s and 40s? porsche:

the porsche type 12, 1931

the porsche 356 no. 1, 1948

and just as an extra fun lil detail, in the chorus of the actual song, there's a sample of a vintage car horn (it's right after the line 'don and manner'), which is the horn of a ford model a, which was ford's second model that replaced the model t, the car that popularized driving. and when was the model a produced?

and like with sticker, the styling draws directly from the clothing associated with concept, as it has very distinctive visual signifiers. we haven't seen any of the stages yet but i'm willing to bet that most of the styling is going to be based around motorsport gear. this goes across the board for pretty much every 127 styling: it is very obvious which era a performance is from just by looking at the costumes, because they use those very distinctive unified visual signifiers.

now, can you do this with a blackpink cb? name me a significant visual difference between any of their mvs. any of their stylings. all their mvs are colour graded the same, they reuse the same general imagery, there's no coherent theme holding anything together, and all their outfits are typical heightened kpop girl group. using just pure bombast works once or twice, but like as we've seen with their music, when you reuse the same imagery over and over again it loses impact. there's no spark. it gets boring.

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

@dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee

[lifeofkaze]

Hi love!

Sorry for bothering you, but could you do something like really cute and fluffy between Charlie Weasley and reader where he's all shy and delicate maybe teaching her about dragons and their characteristics pls? Like, something that feels really intimate, you know?

I absolutely love your writing and I believe that you could make justice to the character.

Take care darling,

-A

Thank you for the request, loveliest anon! This is actually the first fic request I’ve ever gotten and I’m so happy you like my stuff so much, this makes me very very soft.

This fluff piece was just what I needed to get my mojo back hopefully. Please let me know if this is like what you had in mind - I for one had a lot of fun with it! <3

***

Favourites

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.800

As a Care of Magical Creatures test covering dragons of all things is imminent and you were too distracted in class to pay proper attention, you know just who to turn to for help.

“You want me to do what?”

Charlie Weasley blinked at you in confusion. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears as he looked at you standing in front of him, clutching you Care for Magical Creatures book to your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I asked if you could help me studying for the test next week?” you repeated your question, brow slightly furrowed. “I can’t keep track of all these dragon traits and who would know them better than you?”

Charlie felt the heat creeping up on his face. Of course, the test. It was all he had been able to think about ever since Professor Kettleburn had announced the topic; all except you of course.

He tried to formulate a coherent answer that wouldn’t make him look like a blabbering fool in front of you, but the way the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees reflected in your hair distracted him more than he cared to admit.

So he resorted to a weak nod. “Uhm, sure, I’d love to. See you at six in the library?” he managed to stammer out eventually.

A beautiful smile formed on your face as you nodded in enthusiasm. “Sounds great, see you there!”

Charlie watched as you swished around and walked back to your friends, who greeted you with giggles and whispers as they glanced in his direction. You gave one of them a playful swat on the arm, before your clear laugh carried over to him onto the warm summer air and made his heart clench.

He knew all of his dragons by heart, of course he did; this test was the first he hadn’t bothered studying for at all. But now, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to prepare himself.

 *

The light of the sun had already started to turn into the beautiful golden shade that heralded the end of a warm autumn day as you skittered into the library. You were a little bit late for your study session with Charlie, and the exertion from running all the way from your Common Room flushed your cheeks slightly red. Your friends just hadn’t let you go, all of them just as excited for what they called ‘your dragon date’ as you were. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You found Charlie sitting at a table near the windows and your breath caught for a moment as you took in the warm light that washed around his frame; it was making his ginger hair glow like fire, the only vibrant speck of colour in this dusty old room full of books.

He had his nose buried in a big, leather-bound tome, his eyes darting over the pages frantically; you noticed how the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. He was so immersed in his reading, that he only noticed you approaching as you sat down next to him. Jumping in shock at your sudden appearance, he almost knocked over his ink bottle, only catching it at the last second before its dark, inky content could wash over the thin pages of his book.

“Oh, you’re here already, I didn’t even notice you until now.” His freckled face had flushed a shade darker than usual as he put his ink bottle back into its position and made room for you on the table.

“I’d rather say I’m here finally,” you responded, feeling a little bit guilty at making Charlie wait. “But I see that you started without me.”

He hurriedly closed the book. “No, I was just reading up on some facts about Welsh Greens so I have them sharp in my mind,” he explained, “in case you have questions, you know?”

It was only now that your eyes took in the numerous heaps of books piled up on your table. “First question,” you said as you ran your fingers over the backs of the tomes stacked on top of each other. “I thought the test was about dragons native to Europe and not every single one in existence,” you pulled out a particularly old looking book containing myths and fables, “and beyond.”

You silently counted the numbers of books Charlie had amassed and your eyes went wide. “Charlie, these must be all the books about dragons in the whole library,” you laughed, giggling at the flustered expression of the boy beside you.

“Well, not all the books,” he clarified sheepishly. “There are quite a few in the Restricted Section and then there’s the two I have up in my dorm but forgot to bring and- “

You cut off his rambling by gently touching his arm; he shut up almost instantly, glancing nervously down to where your hand was lying. “It’s alright, it was just a joke.”

“Of course,” Charlie muttered slightly embarrassed. What was wrong with him?

He watched as you pulled your notes from your bag; they were rather sparse compared to the almost three scrolls of parchment he had scribbled down himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

You hummed to yourself as you considered your choices. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread inside Charlie’s chest as you drew your lips into a pensive pout and tapped your index finger against it.

Finally, a neat stack of white flashcards, that lay hidden behind a book on Sea Serpents, caught your attention. You reached over Charlie and pulled them towards you.

Your mouth dropped open as you flicked through them; on every one of the laminated cards was an extensive profile of every kind of dragon imaginable. The descriptions were written out in a neat, accurate hand that looked nothing like the careless scrawl you’d seen on Charlie’s class notes.

But what took your breath away were the detailed drawings below the text. They were done by pencil and although they didn’t move like magical pictures often did, they were so lively as if they only waited to pounce off the paper and take into the air.

Charlie watched you apprehensively as your fingers traced the outline of what appeared to be a Swedish Short-snout. He felt his heart beat faster at the soft, admiring look in your eyes as you turned towards him.

“Did you do these yourself?”

He nodded in response. “It’s hard to find decent descriptions all in one place,” he explained quietly. “I don’t know how accurate the sketches are though; I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

You flashed him a radiant smile that had his heart rate pick up considerably. “I don’t care if they’re realistic; they’re brilliant!”

Encouraged by your excitement, he took the flashcards out of your hands and fanned them out, their blank backs facing you. “Then I’d suggest we start with them; pick one!”

Running the fingers along the cards twice, you finally settled on one and drew it out of his grasp. Charlie’s freckled face lit up as he saw which one you had chosen.

“The Ukrainian Ironbelly,” he exclaimed, “my favourite!”

All of his former shyness was suddenly forgotten; this was his prime discipline.

“The Ironbelly is native to the Ukraine, as its name suggests, obviously. It’s considered the largest dragon species in existence with an immense wingspan, long talons and scales that are said to be harder to pierce than steel. It’s name stems from the metallic grey colour of his underside and ever since one particular large specimen carried off a whole sailing ship in the late 18th century, they are under strict observation by wizarding authorities.”

You did your best to jot down the information Charlie dumped on you with impressive speed but there was no way you could keep up with his excited ramblings. So you resorted to listening to him as he lectured you about feeding habits, hunting methods and the average temperature of the flames an Ironbelly could produce.

He sighed wistfully as he paused for breath. “They’re amazing.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at his dreamy expression as you picked out your next card from the stack. “Okay, how about this one?”

The dragon it showed had ridges running along its back, ending in a nasty, arrow-shaped spike at the tip of its tail. It barred its teeth at you in a vicious snarl.

“That’s my favourite, the Hebridean Black,” he repeated his words from before, positively bouncing with energy this time around.  

You glanced at the card you two had just worked your way through. “I thought the Ukrainian Ironbelly was your favourite?” you teased him.

Charlie’s bouncing stopped instantly as he blushed bright red; you hadn’t meant to bring him down and felt sorry all of a sudden. So you propped the card against one of the book piles and turned to him.

“So, tell me more about it.”

Relieved to be able to tread on secure ground again, Charlie immediately recounted all the facts about one of the two dragon breeds native to the British Isles to you.

You continued in this fashion; your pulled a random card from the stash and Charlie would tell you everything he knew about it. He grew more animated with every new flashcard; as it turned out, every dragon you talked about was his favourite.

Seeing him so caught up in his favourite subject had a warmth spread in your chest and the smile on your lips never vanished even once. You had given up on writing Charlie’s words down about four cards ago and were merely staring at him explaining to you everything about these fantastic beasts that made up all of his dreams and musings.

His excitement quickly spread to you and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. But the more you were listening to him, the more you found your concentration shift from the dragons you were discussing to the boy beside you.

Your head propped on your hand, you admired how recounting scale colours and preferred environments of Romanian Longhorns brought a twinkle to his blue eyes and how his contagious laugh had you chuckle at the idea that people would confuse a Hungarian Horntail with a Norwegian Ridgeback.

The dimples forming in his freckled cheeks as he smiled at you were the exact reason why you had needed help with studying for this test in the first place. When you had talked about dragons in class, the eager smile and the slight scrunch of his nose as he scribbled down every single word Professor Kettleburn had to spare had left you breathless and unable to concentrate on anything but the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The pile of flash cards had dwindled down until only a few more were left. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned around your next pick; the pictured showed a slender dragon directly from the front. It’s wings were outstretched and it seemed to be staring directly at you out of wide, pupil-less eyes. It was the only drawing so far that was coloured.

Your finger traced the subtle colour gradient rippling over its pearly scales as Charlie looked over to see which one was next.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he murmured, taking in your fascinated expression, “it’s singularly coloured scales and eyes are the stuff of legends.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, trying to imagine how the scales of a real life Opaleye might shimmer in the sunlight.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Charlie suddenly blurted out. The words had fallen from his lips before he’d even had a chance to stop them.

Both of you froze as what he had said sank into your consciousness. You couldn’t believe your ears and were half sure that your mind must have played a trick on you.

You carefully glanced over to Charlie out of the side of your eyes; he looked incredulous and you could watch the colour of his face turning from ghostly white to a deep, vivid scarlet that clashed with his ginger hair in a matter of seconds.

Feeling your own cheeks starting to blush at the unexpected compliment, you desperately were looking for something to say to take the shock out of his widened eyes. But your mind wasn’t working properly anymore, so all you managed was a meek “Wow, uhm, thank you Charlie, that’s really sweet.”

It was apparent your words didn’t help his flustered situation as he covered his face with his hands and groaned “I can’t believe I said that out loud; I’m such an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to do to help him; you felt utterly flattered and confused at the same time. You thought about putting your hand on his arm to reassure him what he had said actually made you happy, but paused halfway, not quite daring to touch him again.

Still unsure of what to do, you got up and picked up one of the books he had used to illustrate the facts on his flashcards.

“I’d better get going, I guess,” you stammered without looking at the wretched boy sitting at the table next to you, “thank you so much for helping me, I think I’ll manage the rest on my own. Can I borrow that book though?”

He didn’t raise his face from his hands, but nodded anyways. You felt bad for leaving him like that, but your head was spinning and you desperately needed to sort out your thoughts.

But seeing Charlie’s slumped frame sitting at the table, all the bubbly excitement from before completely drained from him, tugged at your heartstrings so hard it almost hurt. So instead of turning around and leaving, you drew a deep breath, gathered your courage and stepped behind him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

You could feel his shoulders tense and his breath hitch as your hair tickled his jaw and were glad he couldn’t see the deep blush on your cheeks as you straightened up, picked up your bag and his book and hurried out of the library with a racing heart, too afraid to turn around once more.

*

Charlie and you hadn’t spoken again after what had happened in the library. It had taken him quite some time to be able to think properly again after you had left; he had just sat at his table, hand on his cheek where you had kissed him, staring into nothingness, the peachy smell of your hair still hanging in the air.

Even though the thought of how soft your lips had felt on your cheek had been the most prominent thing in his mind, he had passed his test with flying colours; some things just couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter what was happening around him.

He had just returned to his dorm after a particularly tiring Quidditch practise when he saw it lying on his bed, propped up against his head bord; the book you had borrowed from him to finish studying on your own.

For a brief moment, he wondered how you had managed to get it up here, when he noticed something white sticking out of the pages. Curious, he picked up the book and flicked it open.

Even without looking, he knew what chapter it was you had marked with whatever you had put in there; he had read this book more times than he could remember. It was the chapter on the Antipodean Opaleye; he grimaced at the memory of when he had last thought about this particular dragon.

A white flashcard was stuck between the pages, its laminated surface flashing as Charlie turned it around to read it.

A big smile stole onto his face as he saw the photograph of you laughing and waving at him that you had stuck on the front side. His eyes swept over the lines written in your feminine hand and his smile grew even wider as he read the ‘special characteristics’ section:

It has to be remarked, that this particular specimen was able to pass her test with full marks.

He was glad to hear his blurted out compliment hadn’t affected your marks in the end. He sighed wistfully, when he noticed the very small, scribbled note at the very end of the card; it wasn’t as neatly written as the rest, almost as if your hands had shaken while writing it down.

Greatest weakness: While not many weaknesses are recorded of this specimen, it is said that it can be easily tamed by ginger-haired dragon trainers in the making. Whether these rumours are true, remains to be determined.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open as he read the last section over and over again, not daring to believe what he thought they said. But after the tenth time, he finally allowed the butterflies that  had been fluttering in his stomach to spread into the rest of his body, his smile growing into the widest grin as he tucked the flashcard carefully into the book again.

This time, he was sure; this one was his favourite.

  Tagging: @weasleysandwheezes

[someonestolemyshoes]

Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one! 

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration) 

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.  

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

**

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

**

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.  

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.  

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."  

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."  

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

[hawksugarbaby]

Todoroki x reader- Fix you with gold

Angst + Villain reader Au

Quirk: kintsugi- you can manipulate strings of gold hardening it as soon as you need to you can also remelt it.

Crimson lights flooded the bare brick room as you watched from the corner waiting for your dear hero to wake up. Shoto todoroki. You had been well acquainted a few years back. When you haven't been coined as (y/n) (y/ln) the UA traitor but now, well not so much for obvious reasons.

Thankfully, the boy you had once loved more than anything was chained up against a chair with his head hanging low avoiding the glare of the red filter. No no this isn't your boring old yandere simulator storyline. You had no intentions of killing everyone who looked at your dear peppermint boy, you had no of killing him because you loved him that was just absolutely ridiculous... no, you were killing him because he was a hero. But was he really?

Your chair screeched as you pulled it along behind you appearing from your corner and sitting yourself down drinking a lovely tea from a beautiful porcelain cup... well, beauty is subjective. "Good morning shoto" you greeted, your cheery attitude slipping between your grit teeth. Yes, today would be a good day "lovely day, isn't it? For a little chit chat hm?" silence. Once again your response was silence "oh come on my little hero I know you're not dead. Yet" it was a fun game you two had. You would talk, he would not, but all your conversations were rather one-sided and you decided chess was more fun with 2 people. Today was going to be the day you broke him once again.

"Shoto, are you interested in what would happen to you if you keep up this silly game of silence?" you asked and finished off the tea spinning the handle around your index finger. You stood up and launched the cup against the wall fragmenting into small pieces that rained down like drops of blood, he winced knowing that the cup was expensive and not easily found. rich boys and their pottery. "I wonder how easily you shatter compared to a teacup. Shall we find out?"

You put your finger on his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His mismatched eyes bore into you with sadness "I used to love you" he whispered. You let go of him and maniacal laugh erupted from inside you which bounced off the walls into his ears "Shoto you still love me. You want me to change my ways and go back to the way I was, maybe join you as your sidekick hm?" he looked at you his eyes wide with the kindling of hope "WELL NEWSFLASH HERO I never was that girl. I was a lie, a book wrote and edited to suit you" you watched as the hope dwindled away the kindles blowing out in the icy wind of your words you leaned down to his ear and whispered "everything you saw in me was an illusion. I could never be a hero, do you know why? Because heroes aren't real"

you stood back up stretching your arms behind your back a Cheshire smile graced your face. "you still have so much time to join me sho, no ones coming to find you, dearest" you sat back down on your chair leaning forward on your hand "you're a villain (y/n) there isn't a way in hell you could convince me to come to your side" you bit the inside of your cheek and pushed yourself off the chair and walking up to him, your face barely inches apart. You kicked his chair over, flicking a butterfly knife out holding it close to his neck "NO. I'M THE GOOD GUY HERE I-IM THE GOOD ONE. YOUR NO HERO I'M CLOSER TO A HERO THAN YOU'LL EVER BE" you spat while he struggled on his back like a helpless tortoise. You were in the right of course you were. Heroes aren't real anymore just read the news the hierarchy was crumbling and the ones who were at the top had the furthest to fall.

No one needs saviours anymore. "Your insane (y/n) your sick please just let me help you" you hated it when they told you that "SHUT UP. I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT. I'M NORMAL. YOU'RE THE SICK ONE YOU KNOW WHY" you pushed the knife up drawing pinpricks of blood that trickled to the floor slowly "because you crave to feed a hunger you cannot satisfy. You want to save as many people as possible, lock up all the villains yes?" he couldn't look away from the intense expression that hadn't left your face since he told you you were a villain "what happens when you lock up the villains hm? When you run out of people to save? Who runs wild through the city then? You pump out heroes every day leaving less and less for you and between you and me it looks like your going to run out of us soon" you pulled the knife back and todoroki released the breath stored up. Now he looked at it, you weren't wrong? What would happen when the villains disappeared. The heroes that were supposed to make people feel safe no matter what had struck fear into the hearts of every civilian in the world, no one dared to steal, to murder, to light their fires across the country for them to trace back to a warehouse in the middle of the wood?

No, he couldn't be thinking about that. He was a hero through and through you wouldn't change his mind with a petty butterfly knife. You scoffed at his pathetic state squirming under you and stood up pulling his chair back up along with you "you're still so handsome shoto, it really would be the biggest shame to ruin you" you sighed remembering a time when you truly wanted to be with him no matter what. But your ideologies just weren't compatible. "Do you know what happens when you mix bleach and rubbing alcohol?" you pulled a bottle of anti-septic out of your pocket and slipped a white cloth down from your sleeve to your hand "no answer? Or are you being ignorant again" he pursed his lips keeping his words sealed in the front of his mouth "fine. Let me show you." you poured the anti-septic on the cloth and walked up to the gorgeous boy in front of you stooping down "last chance my love" he looked at the wall and you groaned in annoyance. You forced the cloth in front of his mouth and nose and smiled sweetly "you make chloroform"

Day 2

Well, it turns out yesterday wasn't the day. But he was getting close you could feel it, you would take a slightly softer approach today there was another name for this, manipulation. "Morning shoto, are you feeling chatty today?" he looked up from his chair quickly when you entered. Despite what others thought, you weren't completely heartless, you would bring him food and water, and for a hostage, it was pretty good food. Maybe it was the remnants of your love that made you treat him differently. You unlocked his chains and passed him his plate. He knew there was no chance of escape, he had tried and failed a hundred times, he couldn't use his quirk in this room, and you were waiting around every corner when he tried to run.

"You know what I really don't understand shoto?" you wandered around the ruby room admiring the walls that kept him inside "when I first met you you said you despised your father and you would go against him in every way possible" he ceased eating at the mention of his father his appetite suddenly lost in the crowd of emotions "so why even become a hero. Why did you not run off? be the opposite of what he ever told you to be?" you were getting there you could feel it ripping through the air. He was lost, and confused? Who did he want to be? Certainly not anything like his father? Why did he ever want to be a hero? To save children who had to bear what he bore, why should he care for them if no hero ever cared for him "as I see it your father is worse than ever is he not? He lost Touya, he can't find you, he's wearing fuyumi and natsuo away desperate to have his perfect creation. Wouldn't now be the best time to join me sho" the plate hit the floor splitting apart just like his own sanity. Here we go. This would be so fun.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and picked up the pieces of the broken plate stacking them in your hand "you've heard of kintsugi I assume?" of course he had he grew up with everything, he nodded hesitantly his dual coloured fringe hanging in front of his eye as he leaned over watching you intently. You started laying the pieces of the plate out like a jigsaw fitting them together perfectly "if you just took my offer sho..." you started pushing the pieces together and lines of gold brushed over the old cracks, you lifted up the plate and put it on his lap "I could fix you up with gold" you whispered he gulped and traced his finger over the gold that welded the plate making it better than before. "We could get to know each other again. Love each other REALLY love each other shoto please I'm begging you" you really hated playing the broken lover card especially to someone you truly did love, and of course, you wanted to know him all over again but the begging really was a chore you had to fake so much emotion.

"I-i missed you (y/n) I really did I want you to come back to me the way you were before. Don't do this please" he begged. He knew this was it. He couldn't hang on any longer he had missed you for so long he couldn't stand being away from you again and ... you were right! Why should he strive to be a hero when none had ever cared for him when he was almost dead, beaten up by his own father who had the audacity to call himself a hero. He was nothing more than the creature to be puppeteered by Viktor Frankenstein. "THIS IS ME. can't you see that shoto this is who I am? The way I was before was fictional I tailored for you" you brushed your hand across his scarred cheek and brushed his hair out of his face "but you could know me, you could love me like this, couldn't you. You just need to join my side."

he looked at you, taking in your details for the first time in 4 years. You're (e/c) orbs didn't even try to attempt hiding the craziness behind them, the way your grin had a sadistic twist that could make any god coil in fear, your (h/l) (h/c) that was matted and bloody, the way the red light mimicked the bloodlust radiating off of you, yet he could still find comfort in it. "I want to know you," he said in his low monotone voice. The breaking point. You were his breaking point. "Let's get to know each other then hm?"

[lover-of-queens]

Farah Dowling is Alive Part 2

The follow up to Part 1 or as I like to call it: look mom, I told you this degree would have uses in the real world! 

If you haven’t had a chance to read it yet, you can find Part 1: Here 

You know the drill, under the cut cause this is probably going to get long!

Episode 4: Some Wrecked Angel

Episode opens with our favourite trio. If you’ve read the first part then you’ll be familiar with my argument that it could be possible the writers are leaving Farah x Saul threads to pick up at a later date. I think this scene has some interesting ones. There’s a lot of effort in this scene to set Farah and Saul up as parallels - in a way that also makes them stand apart from Ben. We have them saying his name together, but also, when they discover Callum’s body, both Farah and Saul are in sync as they move into a kneeling position. 

I don’t necessarily know if this could be considered an argument for them bringing Farah back, however, in the scene with Farah, Stella and Luna, Stella brings up an interesting point about Farah’s pedagogy. We’re told that Farah chooses care and time over “solely results” when it comes to teaching. In the next episode we learn Rosalind’s own teaching style involves putting her students “through hell”. I don’t necessarily know when the change will happen but given this, I don’t see any way Rosalind can remain Headmistress, especially when they’re taking pains to show Farah as better suited for the role.

Also important in this scene is Farah and Luna’s last exchange. We know what appearances Luna has helped Farah maintain - the barrier/illusion that stops Aster Dell from being seen. So, what’s interesting is Farah’s next line:

Farah: “Yes, we’ve both done a great deal to preserve Solaria’s reputation.” 

This does not get addressed during the remaining episodes. Personally, this line and the amount of tension between Farah and Luna also strikes me as a potential thread that could be picked up later. I’m going to wager that I’m not alone in wanting to know what exactly they did to “preserve” Solaria’s rep. And my guess is, because Brian has mentioned that they’re going to expand on the winx world, we’re going to be finding out more about Solaria in S2. Theoretically, I suppose whatever event that is being referenced here could be dealt with without Farah on screen, but then we’d miss out on all the fun tension! Also, as of right now, fan response to Luna is nothing compared to Farah (at least from what I’ve seen). 

Tattoo theory, several people have already spoken on this and I don’t want to speak over them. I’m still sorting out my own thoughts on whether it’s Farah’s or Eve’s but I will say that Farah is always wearing rings so it seems to me that if they wanted it covered they could easily do it with a ring (or makeup). If the tattoo is purposely put there then I’m going to assume its for a reason that the writers may want to deal with at a later date (hint, hint: bring back Farah). 

Episode 5: Wither Into the Truth

I may do another post on this at some point if I can find enough to say to warrant it but Farah’s eye colour when she does magic. Up until now every time Farah’s done magic her eyes have glowed blue and yet in the scene where she questions Beatrix they glow light orange. Now I’d always assumed that the colour of the glow = element, which was why I didn’t know why Farah’s glowed blue to begin with; she’s a mind fairy so I would have expected the purple that Musa has. And actually the confirmation of her being a mind fairy comes from Fate’s IG page shown below, I don’t know if it’s ever explicitly stated in the show? Further, to my knowledge, Farah is the only fairy we’ve seen whose eyes glow different colours. So, a thread to pick up in season 2, perhaps? 

Also I’m very interested in the use of the word “Once”. In this instance I would almost take it to mean ‘no longer is’ but the tense is present perfect (I think?) which can suggest the continuance of an action. But now I’m being overly nitpicky and technical. Also I don’t know how ‘principle’ made it through what I’m assuming are several stages before making it onto IG, but it gave me a laugh!

“Incredibly powerful” yet loses to Rosalind without a fight? Not buying it. Additionally, the use of “other forms of magic” is interesting and I figure could be taken to mean other elements. But I wonder if there’s more to it than just that. Farah shows knowledge of archaic Fairy Magic with the Nettle Amalgam, so maybe there’s more archaic knowledge out there that she knows ... that could prove helpful. 

Now, back to the episode. When Farah and Hologram Luna are talking, the fact that there are two burned ones travelling together is cause for concern. 

Farah: “There are two of them travelling together. That hasn’t happened since … In a long time.” 

Once again we are left with a thread of something that has happened. In the same IG post as above, in the section for Saul, it mentions that he and Farah became confidants “after experiencing the Black Woods Massacre”. I wonder if that could be what Farah’s referring to here? I know the massacre has come up once or twice in conversation and correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t believe it’s ever been properly explained? To me, it looks like a great bit of backstory to get into at a later date. It may not confirm Farah being alive necessarily, but you could take it as a sign that we might see Eve again. 

Lastly, for this episode, is the scene between Farah and Bloom. Specifically this part: 

Farah: “I will help you get the answers you need. I give you my word.” 

You can probably guess what I’m going to say at this point, a thread that can be picked up in season 2! You could counterargue that Rosalind could help Bloom with answers (as she offers in the next episode) but in my humble opinion, I don’t think it would offer narrative satisfaction. First, because we’ve been shown what a terrible mentor Rosalind is. Second, they’ve spent the first season showing how Farah and Bloom’s mentor-student relationship has developed (bloomed?) so it seems a waste to go through all of that development for nothing. 

Episode 6: A Fanatic Heart

Rosalind has her little prison break. Personally, I still think there’s a lot of unanswered questions about what happened after Aster Dell, how they imprisoned Rosalind, etc. And I do hope that we get some answers in Season 2 - again these answers may not necessarily involve Farah on the screen but as every writer gets told the age old advice of “show, don’t tell”, I think there’s potential for that. 

Farah immediately tries to disprove my points about her intelligence by wandering alone in the woods at night. But she’s pretty, so I’ll allow it. 

Rosalind gives Bloom some answers but not all, so I do think that my point above about Farah helping Bloom find more answers still stands. Further, I find the Farah is Bloom’s mother theory to be unlikely for several reasons (this is not the post for them) but I do want to draw our attention to several lines of dialogue here. 

Bloom: “You hid me from Miss Dowling.” ….

Rosalind: “The guidance you needed was love. Farah couldn’t give that to you. Vanessa and Michael could.” 

There are SO many reasons why this exchange is fascinating. I’m interested in why Bloom brings up Farah to begin with - her other points could stand alone to the same affect. I’m also really interested in the direct comparison between Farah and Bloom’s adoptive parents -- if Bloom hadn’t gone to them, she would have gone to Farah? It almost seems as though the direct comparison implies that. Also, considering Bloom’s relationship with her adoptive parents, I really doubt the validity of the statement. Plus, I wouldn’t trust Rosalind’s idea of love in general. 

Also, Rosalind is just so certain that Farah couldn’t love Bloom … can’t love in general? There’s just so much of Farah and Rosalind’s relationship that hasn’t been explored that I think really needs to be. 

Now, the scene that always makes me cry! Farah and Bloom have had a difficult time this season and it’s all lead up to this moment of trust and vulnerability - on both sides. If you ask me, this season has been setting Farah up to be the mentor figure that Rosalind was not - Rosalind’s opposite. And they’ve worked hard at it, even when they were trying to convince us Farah might be the evil one which like lmao. I find it hard to believe that they would go through all of that work just to discard it by leaving Farah dead. Especially because what Farah admits to Bloom in this sequence feels like a changing moment for her - she recognizes things she wishes she would have done differently (being less of a figurehead, being more open) and I think its only fair that Fate allows her to follow through on those things. 

And onto the scene that I really don’t want to rewatch but I’m going to do it for y’all. I’ve touched on Farah x Saul moments so it’s only fair that I touch on Farah x Rosalind ones. There is tension here (looking at each other’s lips, Rosalind getting closer to Farah, Farah grabbing her), I mean the cast has joked about shipping them. But there are several different ways to read this and you are more than welcome to your pick! It doesn’t really change my point, which is … thread to pick up in season 2? Have you started taking a shot every time I’ve said that (please don’t <3). 

Farah who has shown herself to be incredibly intelligent and cautious when it comes to Rosalind turns her back on her. And we get what is probably the most important piece of evidence: the eye glow. It can mean absolutely anything, but I’d wager one of the reasons its there is to have people do exactly what I’m doing here. Theorizing about whether Farah could still be alive. I’m going to take that as a sign there’s hope (mainly because I think it would be cruel to suggest a ‘could she come back narrative’ and then … not have her come back). Also, in the Fate novel, it describes Farah’s death as “too easy”. I absolutely refuse to believe that it could be easy to kill Farah when she’s proved time and time again how powerful she is. 

That finishes my episode by episode analysis. It totals well over 2500 words. If you can believe me, I still have more to say on this topic (discussing general counterarguments and possible logistics of Eve’s filming), so stay tuned for a Part 3?

[mandoposting]

1, 9, 25 for art asks?

1. Compare your first and last pieces from this year! Where do you think you improved?

Oh wow. Yeah, definitely got more confident in my style and pushed myself to finish more pieces. So many of my previous works just sit unfinished, but I finished SO Many this year I honestly struggle to believe it sometimes. Also became more confident in my ability to draw from memory! Wolffe was drawn 100% from memory, whereas the Mandos were all referenced in some way. And while my recall isn't great, I'm happy with where it is.

9. Explain the process behind one of your pieces, if you remember!

Putting this under a cut because it ended up getting quite long :')

Whoof, OK. Let's give this a shot! So this piece is one that isn't perfect by any means, but definitely had the most planning put into it!

I knew exactly how I wanted it to look, but I knew it would be trickey to execute because of how tied to background elements it is, which I struggle to integrate with the main characters a lot. So I thumbnailed several variations on the pose and placement and ended up combining the results of two into the final piece.

Obviously these look like uhhh shit, but I just wanted to rough out the basic elements.

Then I gathered some references of the Havoc Marauder's interior and this Black Series set of props!

Then I basically traced over the traditional sketch, adjusting any wonky anatomy that I saw and tried to make it as readable as possible while maintaining a kinda sketchy look that I like.

Then I generally like to have a looser approach to how I drew backgrounds so I basically freehanded the rest without line art, just kinda blocking in color and refining them until they look right. With this one however I did end up going over the panels with lines because of how geometric they are. I remember constantly checking references to make sure I was getting all the buttons, all the little details, all the right shapes. What was also fun to experiment with was how to make the buttons glow! I ended up going with an airbrush layer of colours with an Add (Glow) layer on top that I slightly motion blurred. I really like how it came out!

I then colored in The Fellas. What's quite fun about Bad Batch armor is that it has a bit more texture to it than reg armor, so I gave the armor its own noise layer to emphasise that, as well as just generally scuffing it up.

After that it was pretty much just messing around with blending layers and such to get the nice darks and glow effects in the ship. I did play around with giving each character their own glowing rim, but it ended up being more distracting than anything, so I just outlined the lineart in white where the highlights should be.

And that's it! I hope that was interesting.

25. Did you have any art goals coming into the year? How far did you achieve them?

I did indeed have art goals this year! As with most years, my goal is to complete more pieces. Lineart, color, shading backgrounds, the whole lot. And this year it the first year I've really done it! Which I'm super happy about. Another goal was to do more non-fandom art, but between university work and the stuff I made for here, I didn't really have time! While I am happy with the pieces I made for university, I wish I had done more non-fandom art outside of it. But doing fandom art makes me happy, so I'm still glad I did it! Balancing I guess.

Thanks so much for the ask!

End of Year Artist Asks

[elen-aranel]

Golden/Alone

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For: @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I am aware that today is Thursday; this was longer than I expected! Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: violence, references to violence, drug use (kind of), minor character death WC: 7.3k words Tag list: @jusvibbbin - to be added to my Pike x Reader Taglist please let me know <3 A/N: The Engineer is back! And why does she go on away missions? WHY? I genuinely had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy!

“If I were piloting, Number One, I would have flown us through the eye of that storm cell. We would have gotten here quicker,” Chris jokes to Number One as they unstrap themselves from the co-pilot and pilot’s seats, respectively.

“And that is precisely why I was flying and not you, Captain. We may have been slower, but I got us here in one piece.”

“Lieutenant, back me up here. My flying was great in that speeder on Eloma.”

“You kept us ahead of our pursuers, yes sir,” you say with a smile.

“And staying ahead of pursuers is not a valuable skill in an atmosphere like this one where we are not being pursued,” Number One states with some finality, as she presses the control to open the back of the shuttle and extend the ramp.

You are on Caylara, for what you hope will be a boring mission. The captain and Number One, along with security officer Ensign James, are here to open negotiations for Caylara to join the Federation.

You are here because of the atmosphere – it is notoriously difficult to traverse. You can’t transport living things through it, unless you want them to be merged, dead, or both, and even flying through it is a challenge because of the electrical storm layers. There are windows of time when it’s safer, when shuttles and communications can get through, and windows when they can’t.

At Louvier’s instruction you had prepared a shuttle (and a backup – you don’t like to take chances) to travel through the atmosphere. Standard procedure for Caylara was to have an engineer accompany the shuttle to perform any repairs needed on the ground. You had tried to argue your preparations were good enough that you wouldn’t be needed, but Chris had seen straight through you.

“You find diplomacy boring and you don’t want a repeat of Eloma. That’s what’s really going on here, isn’t it?” His mouth had twisted into that smile you found irresistible, and even though you pouted, adopting your best puppy-dog expression, he had just laughed. “It’s all right. I won’t make you go to the reception. I won’t even make you wear your dress uniform. You can stay with the shuttle.”

You hang back as the captain and Ensign James pass you, Chris brushing his hand against yours as he passes. You smile a little, and get your tricorder out – you need to check to make sure the shuttle didn’t get damaged and will be all right to make the return trip. You look down the ramp as you scan, seeing the Caylarans for the first time as their delegation greets the away team.

They are very tall. You estimate the shortest is well over two metres and they tower above the away team, even over Ensign James who is tall for a human. But given the slightly lower gravity of Caylara their height isn’t surprising, you think. They have skin varying from very pale through to olive toned. Their faces are smooth but they have scales around their hairline extending down to the rest of their bodies. Well, their hands, at least. They are wearing long robes.

Your tricorder beeps as the away team starts to move away; there seems to be a charge buildup in one of the EPS controllers, but that’s all and it’s an easy fix. You pop the relevant panel and discharge it, without shocking yourself for once, and replace the panel.

Then there’s nothing left to do but wait. The reception is due to last two, perhaps three hours – short enough that you’ll be able to make your return trip through the atmosphere with time to spare before the current window closes.

You’ve brought some reading, of course, but first you want to get to the bottom of why the EPS controller picked up a charge. You take it as a personal insult, really – you were sure you had accounted for everything from the data you were given to prepare. However, when you compare the preliminary data with the scans the shuttle took as it went through the atmosphere you can clearly see the discrepancies. You’re puzzled for a moment – but of course you had enhanced the sensors to the latest specs when you adapted the shuttle, and you don’t know how old the original readings you were working with were. You almost wish Chris had piloted you through the storm cell; then you would have more data to work with.

You busy yourself combining the shuttle’s readings with your existing model, and calculating how much it was off by. After some time you are pretty sure you’ve got to the bottom of where the charge came from, and you modify the shuttle so that it doesn’t happen again.

You also think you may be able to make predictions with your new model, and perhaps refine your timings for the atmospheric windows. The Caylarans know the timings pretty accurately, but you aren’t at the stage of sharing data on that level as yet.

You run a new set of scans, and frown – there’s only ninety minutes until the window closes. You compare with the original estimates and—

Hang on. When did it get so late? You were supposed to be on the way back by now.

“Shuttle Hubble to away team? Come in please?”

Silence.

“Shuttle Hubble to Captain Pike?”

More silence.

Silence when you try to call Number One and James, too.

“Enterprise to Hubble. Come in, please.”

“Shuttle Hubble here, Lieutenant Spock. I was just about to call you – I have lost contact with the rest of the away team. They should have been back here by now, but they aren’t.”

“I have also tried to contact the captain but to no avail. Three unknown craft have appeared in the system, and have locked weapons on to us and the planet. They are not responding to hails. I have placed the Enterprise on yellow alert and raised shields. We cannot get a sensor lock on individual life signs through the atmosphere, and—”

“They’re firing some sort of energy weapon!”

“Taking evasive action!”

“Lieutenant, I—” Spock sounds uncharacteristically strained as he’s interrupted by what sounds like an overloading console.

“I understand. I’ll look for them. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Enterprise out.”

That’s it, you think.

You’re on your own.

You take a deep breath: what do you need? Communicator. Tricorder. Emergency medkit.

Phaser.

You put the medkit in a backpack, and since there’s space you add a water bottle and some emergency rations. You clip the tricorder to a utility belt, and holster the phaser, set to stun. Your communicator goes in your pants pocket; you’ve got your usual tools in your jacket.

Then you remember your terrible luck with communicators, so you grab a spare and shove it in your backpack. That should do it. You can’t carry the kitchen sink and you don’t have time to keep second guessing yourself.

Okay. Plan: find the away team, bring them to safety.

You exit the shuttle and shut the ramp – you don’t need strangers damaging it.

You take in your surroundings next. The shuttle has landed in the grounds of a large building, elevated on a hill in the middle of a city. It’s only three or four storeys high, but quite wide, and you think it extends back a long way. There are decorative metal accents spaced at regular intervals – lightning conductors, you realise, as you head toward the most important looking doorway – you see burnt grass at their bases. This building isn’t tall, but it is the tallest around; the atmosphere must affect Caylaran architecture, you think.

There’s no one around, which surprises you; shouldn’t there be guards?

You push the door and it opens with a whisper. Inside is the most ornate room you have ever been in. The walls are gold coloured stone, there are dozens of columns in mottled golden marble, and there are decorations finished with real gold leaf everywhere. There are bronze statues and hundreds of warm coloured lights. The ceiling is as decorated as the walls, and the whole effect is beautiful. Imposing. Stunning. Overwhelming.

But again, no one is here. You get your tricorder out, but you can’t resolve anything. Perhaps something is blocking the scan? You look at the stairs. The steps are high, designed with Caylarans in mind, and go up before dividing. There are flights down, too. There are corridors to the left and right, and you have to take a moment to weigh all your options. The largest doors are ahead, though, up the main staircase and over. Perhaps that’s where you would take guests that you wanted to impress?

You think back to what you read on Caylara in your mission briefing as you climb the stairs. Their head of state is Crown Princess Nanren, but although the title remains the same, a princess many generations ago passed laws to end the hereditary monarchy. Now a new crown prince or princess is elected for life when the previous one dies, and you think they have an elected senate too.

Beyond that, you don’t really know anything, you think as you reach the top of the stairs. You cross the landing, trying to stay aware of your surroundings. And as you look down the stairs, you lock eyes with the first person you’ve seen.

A guard is sitting on the ground next to the doors. He’s armed, and the stairs in front of him show signs of having been fired on. But he’s slumped back, his green-blue swirled eyes staring up at you.

“Why’s it so dark? I can see you in the dark. Why did you bring the dark with you? You shouldn’t—” he tries to lift his weapon, and you draw your phaser, but his head lolls and he closes his eyes, dropping the weapon in front of him.

That was unsettling.

You proceed slowly down the stairs, but he doesn’t move again. You kick his weapon away and get your tricorder out. You’re not a medic, this isn’t a medical tricorder, and you don’t know much about Caylaran physiology, but you do have field medic training and you can see that something is terribly wrong. You scan him, and then the air. It seems like there are traces of a molecule around that your tricorder program flags up as having features in common with known hallucinogens. It didn’t flag up on your general scan so it’s probably dissipated enough that it won’t affect you, but still you wish you’d put on an EV suit. There’s no time to second guess yourself now, though.

You put the tricorder away in favour of the phaser, and you gently push the next door open.

If you thought the foyer was large, this room is even larger. It’s all gold again, and should be as beautiful, but it looks like there’s been a fight in here and furniture is in haphazard piles on the floor. It makes you think of playing forts with your cousins in your grandparents’ house as a child. You’re not a strategist but you can easily see that these piles aren’t much better than that – they provide barely any cover.

You pick your way over gilded chairs and past carved wooden tables inlaid with gold, keeping an eye out. About a quarter of the way into the room, under a table with two chairs on top you see a Caylaran. She looks young, wearing what looks like it could be a staff uniform – it’s a plain warm toned brown dress with an embroidered hem, far less fancy than the delegates who had welcomed the others of your team. She’s staring straight ahead, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She pays you no attention as you kneel down by her.

“What’s your name?” You ask, softly.

“My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen. My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, then the Genai are going to kill me.”

She smiles broadly as she finishes her little song, still staring vacantly straight ahead, and you shudder. You shake her shoulder and she blinks, slowly, but she doesn’t move.

You straighten up, thoughtfully, wondering what the Genai are. Some sort of bogeyman, or an alien race? Not that it matters.

Next you find a pair of guards, asleep, holding hands. You move their weapons out of sight and continue through.

But then you find a dead Caylaran. He looks like someone important, but his red robe embroidered with a golden floral patten has a scorch mark right in the middle of his chest. You’re not sure if that killed him, because there’s a pool of blood beneath him too. Either way, you think as you close his grey-purple eyes, he probably didn’t deserve whatever it was. You take a moment to pay your respects before moving on.

You don’t find any more dead bodies in this room, but you find several more Caylarans, either sleeping or talking nonsense. One male asks you where your flowers are, and tries to give you some from a fallen flower arrangement, but most of the rest are just scared.

You think they probably have good cause, as you push another door open. You pick it because the largest number of guards were close to it, so you figure it probably leads somewhere important.

It leads on to a stair well, small but lavishly decorated with tapestries, depicting Caylarans standing in outdoor scenes, sometimes with animals you don’t recognise. They deaden the sound of your footsteps as you climb the tall stone stairs.

Then two things happen: you pause as you notice one of the hangings is moving a little at the bottom, as though in a breeze. And then you hear voices above you.

“She’s not up here,” says a female voice, annoyed. Lucid.

“Well she’s definitely not down there.” The second voice is male. Defensive. “I’ve got a message from Alara. She wants us to look again.”

“Fine. But I want it noted for the record that this is a waste of time,” the first voice says, sounding suddenly quieter – she’s probably passed through a doorway.

“Like anyone cares, Nerela,” the second voice says. You risk a peek up the stairwell. You don’t get a good look as the second person disappears through the door, but they are definitely not Caylaran – he has blue skin.

You lean against a tapestry. There are aliens here, separate from your away team. There are aliens in orbit, too. The odds are good that they’re the same species. And “she” must be the crown princess. But what are they planning?

Regardless, you still need to find your people. It’s been half an hour; you could get back to the shuttle faster if you went straight there, but there isn’t much time left in this window.

You eye the tapestry again. You’re definitely not going to follow the aliens, and this breeze must be coming from somewhere. You push it aside.

This door is the first plain thing you’ve seen in the building. It stands slightly ajar – hence the breeze – and it’s painted beige to match the stonework, but otherwise it’s featureless. It swings as quietly as all the other doors when you push it, but it has some kind of bolt on the other side. Interesting. You try to work it, but you can’t. You think of the tools in your jacket; you could probably figure it out, but no. There’s no time. You push the door to, making sure it’s as shut as it can be, and continue.

You must have entered the service part of the building, you think, as you walk along a corridor. This is functional and plain, like the door. You feel a little more comfortable here; if you’d been interested in fancy, you would have joined the command track. Or Diplomatic Corps. You get your tricorder out again, but it doesn’t show you anything still and you didn’t expect it to. But then you approach a door, and hear whimpering from the other side.

You have your hand on your phaser as you push the door open. It’s dark compared to the rest of the building; there is a small window but there’s not much light coming through the Caylaran atmosphere right now. You take a moment to let your eyes adjust, then head toward the whimpering.

The room is small; some kind of office, perhaps? There’s a desk in the room, and behind it—

“Number One?” She’s crying. Number One is sitting on the floor crying, hair a mess, dress uniform dirty, cradling Ensign James in her lap.

You can barely believe it, but you squat down, reaching for your tricorder. You can see James breathing, at least. You look around, but Chris isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Number One?” You scan them both. They both have traces of the drug in their systems, but a lot less than the guard you scanned earlier. As your eyes adjust you can see though that James has hit his head; there’s blood in his hair and on Una’s uniform. He’s also been hit by a energy discharge, but to the side.

“Una? What’s wrong?”

“I failed everyone. I didn’t protect my captain. What first officer doesn’t protect her captain? They’re going to throw me in the brig. They’re going to court martial me. I lost my captain, and he’s dead, I—”

Suddenly you’ve had enough. You slap her, hard. “Number One!”

“Lieutenant! What did you just—”

“Oh my goodness! I’m sorry, I—you—” You breathe. “Are you all right?” You strip your backpack off for your medkit. You’re going to need to try to bring Ensign James round.

“I—I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened; everything was normal and then suddenly it wasn’t. I was so scared, Lieutenant. It was—I can still feel it. But it doesn’t feel like me.” She shakes her head, eyes still a little wide, and you pass her the water bottle. She takes a drink as you inject Ensign James with a hypospray. He starts stirring immediately, which is good, but you still think he needs a proper exam to rule out any brain problems.

“Una, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get back to the shuttle with Ensign James. There are alien ships attacking the Enterprise, and I’ve seen aliens here too. I think they may be called the Genai. You go down the corridor, down the stairs, through the big room, through the foyer, and out. Do you think you can do that?”

“Back to the shuttle. Genai.” She shakes her head again, blinking a few times. She squares her shoulders. “Yes, I think so. I can. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find the captain. You can tell the computer to run on autopilot, if you need to – I updated the climate model, so the computer should be able to handle it.”

Together you help Ensign James to his feet.

“Do you have your communicator still?”

“I don’t,” James is still groggy as he pats himself down.

“I do,” Number One brings her communicator out and opens it. “Number One to Enterprise, come in please.”

Static.

“I think there’s a blocking field throughout this building. The tricorder isn’t working for some things either. You’d better get going.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks. You too, Commander.”

You put your medkit away as Number One and James leave. You’re relieved that they’re both okay, and you’re confident in Una, now she recognises her fear isn’t hers.

Back in the corridor you check the door to make sure Una shut it. You push it, but it’s locked. Weird. You could probably unlock it, but you don’t want to go that way anyway.

You turn your back on the door and continue along the corridor. Number One had said the captain – had said Chris – was dead. But he can’t be. She wasn’t, and you think she only had blood from Ensign James on her uniform. But... what if he is?

If he is, you do your duty as a Starfleet officer first. Find his body. Survive. Get out of here. Then mourn him second.

You pass three locked doors on the corridor, but the last opens to more stairs. Still functional, but just going down this time. You go down, listening, hand on you phaser.

Back on the ground floor – you think, but it could be a mezzanine level – there are several rooms that are open.

You go into the first one, hand still on your phaser. It’s a bedroom, and there’s a Caylaran male cowering in the corner, wearing the service uniform.

“Have you come to end it?” He asks, staring past you. You don’t answer, but your heart aches; you think he means his life. The next room is empty, bed neatly made up.

You listen at the door to the third room, and you think you hear breathing. You push the door open slowly. You don’t see anyone at first, but as you head into the room you see the edge of a gold robe, protruding out of what must the en-suite. You think you’re getting a feel for Caylaran fashion, and this is easily the fanciest thing you’ve seen so far. The robe is made of gold fabric, whereas all the others you’ve seen have been colours embroidered with gold. This one has gold and silver embroidery, and multicoloured gemstones picking out the centres of the flowers.

“Crown Princess Nanren?” Your pitch your voice low. Gentle. You remember how Chris spoke to you on Earth in the past, when you were panicking, and try to convey that calm, that confidence, to her. And in that moment you know you can no longer focus on looking for him. If this is the crown princess, more hinges on you looking after her.

“Crown Princess? I’m a Lieutenant from the Enterprise. From Starfleet – the Federation. I’m not a dream or a nightmare. I’m here to help. Will you come out?”

“The Genai are here. They’re going to kill me. I—I can’t—”

“We will find somewhere you can call your people. I will look after you. We will call in your people and they will deal with the Genai.” General Order One doesn’t apply here, you think. Not if the Genai are already interfering. Not that you care about diplomacy anyway. You’ll do what’s right now, and face the consequences later.

“I don’t—Why aren’t they here already?”

“I don’t know, Crown Princess. But we will figure it out. Please trust me.” You put all your belief into your tone, all the hope you still have left... and she steps forward.

She looks every bit the princess. She is tall, even compared to the other Caylara you’ve seen, and her dress is as exquisite as you expected from the tiny part you’d seen. You wonder, briefly, how many she has like that and how many months, perhaps years, it took to sew. She has a gauzy golden cloak hanging behind her, also embroidered, and her dark hair is braided and pinned up into an elaborate style. The only things that are not Princess-like about her are her purple-blue swirled eyes. They are wide, and anxious.

You recall your briefing notes, and bow. “Princess,” you say, staring at the floor.

“Arise,” she replies, and there’s the ghost of a command tone there. Good.

You straighten, looking up at her again, and pause. This is not how you dress if you might need to make a run for it.

You exhale, surveying the room. It’s a bedroom – a staff bedroom.

“Princess, I can get you out of this, I think. But first... you need to change.”

You find staff robes in the wardrobe that fit her, even if they’re a touch short. And sensible shoes. You have to sit her on the bed to take her hair down, but, you reflect with a little smile that she can’t see, taking her pins out is not unlike taking tiny components out of a circuit board.

“You get used to it, you know,” she says as she stands after you’ve finished. “The pomp and ceremony. The robes. People expect it of their princess, and you get used to it.”

“They are lovely,” you say, following her gaze to where her robes are hung up. “But we should get moving. Where can we call your people?”

“That sort of thing is in the wing on the other side of the Room of State,” she says. Right. The other side of that big room. Of course. And there’s a locked door between you and it.

Even so you retrace your steps. She’s much faster up the stairs than you, and you think bad thoughts about differing alien physiologies. But then, she would find the chairs on the Enterprise a bit small, you think. And the beds.

Soon you’re on the corridor with the door at the end, and you finger your jacket’s zipper as you get closer – it’s time for you to brush off your lock-picking skills. You hope the lock is easy like the ones on Eloma.

But the princess pushes the door and it opens with a whisper.

You can’t say anything. But you thank your lucky stars for small favours.

“Let me,” you say, as you approach the bottom of the stairwell. “If anything happens, go back the way we came.” You look the princess in the eye and she nods.

You crack the door open the tiniest bit, and you hear a voice.

You turn back to the princess, reach out and take her hand. You know it isn’t protocol but you squeeze gently, feeling the scales on her skin and a ring round her finger, hoping the touch will keep her calm.

You push the door open again.

“—everywhere. Yes. Me personally. I don’t care what you—yes I know scanners aren’t working. I wish you hadn’t got voice comms back. But she’s not here; she must be on your floor. Fine, Nerela. She could be in the south wing. No don’t come down here, you idiot. Go round. Ugh. Put Yaima on. Yes tell Nerela she’s being a pain. No, they’re still with our vessel, so she can’t be in the garden. It’s the storm cycle; of course we can’t—To the East, yes. I’ll see you there. But tell Nerela she’s done after this. No I don’t care. Alara out.”

You hear footsteps stalking down the room, getting closer. Your heart is in your mouth, one hand on your phaser, as you hold your breath. The steps falter slightly... and then they continue. You stay frozen until you can’t hear them anymore, then you give it a minute after that before you move the door.

The Room of State has changed since you saw it last; almost all the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, apart from a chair cushion in the middle of the floor; that’s what made Alara miss her step.

You take a step forward, and the princess follows, still holding your hand. She gasps, and you follow her gaze; at the end of the room are rows of Caylarans, lying on the floor. You look around, but the coast seems clear. You take your tricorder out one-handed, and you scan them. From here you can pick out their life signs – they may be unconscious but they’re still alive.

“They’re okay. They aren’t dead. Probably stunned with an energy weapon.” You feel the princess relax, and you drop her hand. “We can take care of them later. You need to show me where to go.”

She nods, and you follow her across the room and through the door on the other side. You have time to check on the way across: Number One and James aren’t there. Neither is the captain.

The stairwell on the other side is like the first, except this has paintings rather than tapestries, and your footsteps are louder as you climb.

“I don’t know who any of them are,” the princess says, looking at the paintings on your way up. “I suppose I should, but... they’re not my ancestors, I suppose. Just... predecessors. In a way.”

You resist the impulse to shush her.

On this stairwell a painting opens to the service corridor. You take the lead going through, but the corridor is empty. And when the princess shuts the door, you hear its lock click.

You walk along the corridor, listening carefully, but you can’t hear any signs of life. You have to hustle to keep up with the princess, but you push a couple of doors as you pass them. They’re both locked.

The stairs down at the other end of the corridor carry on further than they do on the other side, and your calves are beginning to ache when you reach the bottom. Your discomfort doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. It’s cooler down here, and you think you must be underground. Some kind of bunker.

“My real office is in my suite. My ceremonial office is downstairs, but this”—she opens the second door you reach—“is for emergencies.”

The office is dark as you go in, but she presses a control and it lights up. You close the door behind you and look around. Unlike the other rooms off the service corridors, this one is lavish once again. The wallpaper has gilded highlights, and the desk is made of a golden brown hardwood and is intricately carved. There’s no window since you’re underground, but the light fittings are made of bronze and remind you of the statues in the foyer. You realise the room is probably this nice in case the princess needs to do an emergency broadcast – her surroundings will still look the part.

The princess sits at the desk, pressing her palm to a sensor. A computer apparatus lifts up, and she enters some commands. You walk round the desk and stand a little way to her side, as a Caylaran man appears on the screen. His expression is blank, confused.

“Is this some kind of joke? At such a time? Using Princess Nanren’s—wait—”

He frowns, tips his head to one side.

“Your highness, is—is that you? The Genai—we were sure they’d killed you. That’s what they said. And the blocking field is on so we couldn’t scan—we had no idea—I—” He closes his eyes and bows his head.

“I am so sorry, your highness. I didn’t want to risk your people on a dangerous mission with no intelligence if you were already dead. But I should have trusted in you, and not believed the Genai without proof.”

Staff robe or not, Crown Princess Nanren straightens up and looks every bit the princess once again.

“Arise. Guard Leader Daymen, I am glad to see you. Please do not apologise; the time for analysing our decisions and learning from this situation is not yet here. First I must survive, and you must take back the palace. The Genai are still here; they have a vessel in the garden and people throughout the palace. Our people have been drugged; most are in the Room of State, but there are likely others dispersed through the palace.”

“They have three vessels in orbit too, I think,” you say, quietly.

“They have vessels in orbit too, although”—she presses a control, and a little data window appears—“they won’t be able to send any reinforcements through the atmosphere for a few more hours. What do you need to retake the building?”

“I will bring my guards now, highness. If you could turn the blocking field off it would make things safer, but—no. You are the most important. Enact the safe-room protocol, and remain where you are until we secure the building.”

“I may be able to lower the blocking field. But I shall keep safe. Do you have any news of our Federation guests?”

“Their shuttle left before the window closed. I was unable to talk to their ship at that time, but...” his expression goes thoughtful. “We use a limited range of communication frequencies. The Genai in orbit could have blocked them.”

You nod to yourself; the Caylaran frequencies had been in your briefing, and they were very different to Federation ones. The blocking field in the Palace was wide-band, but it would take too much power for a block like that over a bigger area. Much more sensible to just block the Caylaran frequencies.

“Thank you. May the skies protect you, Guard Leader.”

“May the skies protect you, highness.” He bows once again and cuts the connection.

“Lieutenant, thank you for all you have done for me so far. May I ask this last favour?”

“To take down the field? Of course, your highness. What do I need to do?”

She slides a ring off her finger and hands it to you. It’s a very narrow band of gold with a small red stone set on it. It’s big for you, though, so you slip it on to your thumb.

“You can use that to gain access to the systems. The security office is down the corridor to the right.”

“Lock the door behind me, your highness.” You smile as you turn to go.

“May the skies protect you, Lieutenant.”

“And you too.” You go through the door, closing it behind you. You hear a loud thunk a moment after you do; it sounds like more than a lock – probably blast doors. At least she’s safe, you think. Even if that means you’re alone.

You wonder about Chris, and where he could be. You have to hold on to hope, don’t you? You can’t think... no. You mustn’t. Instead you think about what he would do in your place. You think he’d be cautious. You’re nearly at your goal, but if you don’t succeed people could get hurt if the Caylaran Guard can’t tell who is who, or where they are. You’ve heard people complain about security officers being trigger happy; you think it’s probably the same for the Guard.

And you’re in a strategically important part of the palace; you don’t know how many Genai there are but they’ll probably find this area eventually. You draw your phaser, and make sure you walk quietly.

There is only one door left between you and where the corridor splits, when you hear a voice. The door opens a little, and you freeze. The voice is familiar – one of the Genai.

“—last time, no. I genuinely, and I am completely sincere on this, do not care what Alara thinks. Not even a tiny little bit! She missed this entire section! Yeah whatever, Yaima, you go tell her what I said. But when I find the Queen—Crown Princess, whatever, and she doesn’t, she’s the one that’ll get fired, not me! Nerela out!”

The door slams open, and Nerela stomps out. It’s her or you, but you are ready and she is not. Her black eyes widen as she sees you, and her weapon is in hand, but before she can aim you shoot. She grunts as she falls back, stunned.

Happily, Genai are shorter than Caylarans, although Nerela is wearing high heeled boots which make her look taller. You drag her back into the room she came out of, take her weapon and communicator and leave her lying in the recovery position. You shut the door behind you and it clicks a second later.

You shake your head; the doors are one mystery too many. You put Nerela’s weapon in your phaser holster, and tuck her communicator into your belt. Then you head to the right, toward the security office.

The first thing you notice as you push the door open are the screens. Dozens of them. The second—

“Chris?” He’s frowning, pointing a phaser at you. He looks at you like he can’t believe his eyes. Like you’ve stepped out of a nightmare.

“Chris it’s me. I’m real. I’m really here.” You take a careful step through the doorway, keeping eye contact with his bloodshot blue eyes, letting the door close behind you.

“You don’t need to be afraid any more.” You think about what Number One had said. “This fear... it isn’t really you.” You stoop down and put your phaser on the floor. You take Nerela’s weapon and put that on the floor too. And as you do, something clicks into place in your mind.

“Chris, you’ve been helping me, haven’t you? Locking doors to keep me safe? To help me get where I needed to go?”

“I’ve been so... afraid. I—I needed to keep her—to keep you safe.” He relaxes his grip on his phaser a little, and you reach for your tricorder.

“You were drugged, Chris.” You scan him. “Number One and James are safe, they got a lower dose than you.” A much lower dose, you realise, looking at the numbers. “I sent them back to the shuttle and they returned to the Enterprise. I’m going to end all this, get us home. But I need you to stop pointing that phaser at me.”

He looks at his hand, holding the phaser, then back at you.

“But is she—are you real?”

Your heart melts for him. You haven’t said these words, but you’ve felt it for a while. And—you worried, you genuinely worried, that you would never get to say them. This may not be the moment you planned, but he has to believe you.

“Chris, I love you. I’m real.”

“I—” he drops the phaser, and it clatters to the floor. The next thing you know you’re in front of him, arms around him, holding him. You can’t think; you can speak. You just hold on, letting your body feel his warmth, his solidity. You may not have been drugged, but you had been so afraid

. After a moment he puts his arms around you, too, and you just stay there for a moment more. Holding him. Letting him hold you.

As much as you’d like to forget everything else right now, you still have a job to do. You pull back, take hold of his hand, and look at the security console. You can see feeds of the Room of State, the foyer, the other rooms you’ve been in, and other places, too. Beneath the monitors is a schematic; this is how Chris was locking and unlocking the doors, you realise. But how did he have the credentials to do so?

You look at the desk and see a ring like the one the Crown Princess gave you, nestled in a groove.

“How did you get that?” You ask.

Chris frowns. “I was in that big room, but I was so afraid. I came through the door. Went upstairs. Along the corridors. Looking for somewhere safe enough. I got here and the Caylaran... we struggled, he tried to shoot but I took his weapon.” You follow his gaze to an energy weapon on the ground. “Then he ran. And I stayed. I could see everything. Not get caught out. And then I saw you.”

You squeeze his hand, and work the controls with your other hand. There is a glyph that looks like a shield; you turn it off. You check your tricorder – finally you can detect life signs. Both Caylaran and Genai. As you do, Nerela’s communicator chirrups to life.

“Nerela? I swear, if this was you—! You have the worst timing! The Caylaran guard are here. Put the blocking field back up immediately. That’s an order! Nerela? Nerela, answer me! Ne—”

It lapses into static for a moment. Then silence.

“The Guard are here, Chris. As soon as the atmosphere clears we can go home.”

*

When you return to the Enterprise you go to the captain’s quarters. You know he won’t be there, but you need the sense of his presence. His smell.

Chris had to stay on the planet to complete the original negotiations and help deal with the Genai; the drug’s effects had faded by the time the atmosphere was passable again, and you’d got some water and rations into him. Spock came down and stayed, but you had only left Chris because he ordered you to.

You have a shower, put on one of his sleep shirts, and curl up on the sofa under his throw blanket to write your report.

*

“Sweetheart?” You wake up to Chris kneeling in front of you, hand on your shoulder. His hair is damp and he’s out of his uniform. Your brow creases for a moment – you don’t remember him using that endearment for you before.

“Chris,” you say, stretching. Pushing the throw away, and leaning into his touch. “You’re back.”

“I am.” His mouth quirks into a smile. “There was a lot to sort out; it seems the Genai and the Caylara have a dispute over a world on a system between them. The Genai thought if Caylara joined the Federation, we would take their colony from them. They thought if they disrupted the negotiation and killed Crown Princess Nanren, either we would give up, or the Caylarans would be too afraid to continue.” He moves his thumb along your shoulder.

“Spock put the fear of God into the Genai in orbit. I’m not sure how,” he adds, at your incredulous look, “but they and the Caylarans have requested mediation. And now the Genai want to work towards joining the Federation, too.”

“I wish they’d chosen to talk to us first,” you say, frowning. Thinking of the dead Caylaran. “These breakthroughs always seem to come at such a cost.”

“They do,” he says, gathering you into his arms. Holding you against him.

You stay in his arms for a while, just breathing. But eventually he pulls back, and moves to sit beside you.

“You were amazing today. You’ll be getting a commendation, but Crown Princess Nanren wanted me to convey her thanks, too. You saved her life.” He reaches into his pocket, then leans forward and fastens a chain round your neck. It’s delicate, golden, and from it hangs the ring that she had lent you for the computer. That you had given back before you left. “She wanted you to have this. But she thought a necklace might work better.”

You shake your head, taking hold of the ring. “Saving her was as much you as me, Chris. Locking those doors.”

He looks at you, thoughtful. “I don’t think so. I—I have never felt fear like I did today. Now I look back at it I can tell it wasn’t real, but at the time, seeing you on those screens, moving with purpose, helping our people and the Caylarans... you gave me hope.”

He pauses, blue eyes meeting yours. Hand reaching out to touch your face.

“When we were down there... I remember what you said to me. I love you too.”

You lean forward, meeting him for a kiss, gentle at first but it goes passionate almost immediately, both of you pouring your feelings for each other into the connection between you. You didn’t know it could feel like this, you think, before he pulls you into his lap and thoughts flee away.

*

“Lieutenant, I want to thank you.” Number One says, sitting at her desk. “I was not myself down on Caylara, but you did yourself proud. You saved us.”

“You’re welcome, Commander.” You smile. “I’d say any time, but right now I’d be happy if I never left the ship again.”

“That being said, if you tell anyone—”

“If I tell anyone you were crying, I can expect to spend the next month of duty shifts degaussing the transporter with a microresonator?”

“Oh that’s a good one. I must remember that. Yes. You will be degaussing, Lieutenant.”

“Understood.”

[avizou]

content creator appreciation! list five favorite sets creations you’ve made and send this ask to five other content creators 💖 (awi, i know you did something similar with the ask game some days ago, but having a top five of your beautiful drawings would make me so happy, so if you want to and have time, pls? 🥺🤍)

putting on that content creator clown wig i guess 😔✌️ this was actually insanely hard, and i don't even have a lot of.. created content to choose from 😭

5) i think that my last piece of namjoon at the grammys has been the best painting i've done so far, skill-wise? idk i felt possessed while i was working thanks to him + the gifs that inspired me originally, shoutout to @jimimn and the stunning colouring again <3 basically if i compare him to my first post about a year ago, i can clearly see the way i have improved and that's just really cool! so he's a pretty good reminder of growth. 🌿 (also it's joon and cyan, soooo. two faves)

4) you may have noticed that i love gifting art. this måneskin-ified jimin is pretty special to me because a) it was for miss alice aka @jiminswn whomst i adore and b) in my humble opinion it's the coolest looking thing i've made so far. look at that obnoxious pink/red combo! isn't that just sexy! 😌💖 (on that note, every single thing i've made for or dedicated to someone is insanely precious to me, i spend a lot of time plotting things in advance and i like paying attention to details and ppl's fav things etc <3)

3) sowoozoo namjoon is literally always on my mind 24/7, somebody send help.

2) jimin + his moon tattoo ft. 7 stars. i don't think i need to elaborate much. i saw his new tattoo and felt my brain chemistry permanently change, this was the result. (fun fact: they keep joking about getting these goddamn friendship tattoos and i keep absolutely losing my shit at the thought! what if it's 7 stars huh. what IF..)

1) jimin ft. my cat, i miss kali every day and while it's a bit hard to look at now - experimental shading style + colours, what was i thinking - it means a lot to me.

[hungarianbee]

sightless but steady

A/N: I wanted to try my hand on Warritt the All-Seeing for a while now. Writing a blind character who’s not *really* blind is both fun and a challenge. I have a lot of feelings about the Viper witchers, and so I snuck a lot of headcanons (about Ivar, Warritt, Letho, Auckes) into this piece. You can read about them in detail at the end of the fic. TW for: mention of non-descriptive torture

It is a relatively quiet night at the Blood Gate Keep. The young adepts went to sleep hours ago, safely tucked away in their quarters. To the average witcher, Gorthur Gvaed lays dormant, echoing the silence of its occupants.

But not to Warritt. In his room, the Viper bundles himself in furs, sitting in front of the lit hearth with his back to it. The fire’s heat seeps into his bones, touching his exposed neck, and he tilts his head back into the sensation. To him, the keep always feels just a tad cold. It’s nothing, compared to the Bear’s Haern Caduch or the Wolves’ Kaer Morhen in winter, but the Vipers’  mutations keep their temperatures lower than the other school’s.

As he flicks his fingers, his magic activates the Supirre Sign again, keeping it steady with years of practice. Just like that, the night comes alive around him.

Beneath the sound of the firewood cracking, he notices that there are rats in the walls again, scratching at the stones with their tiny claws. He makes a mental note to alert Evil-Eye to their presence later, then moves on. A floor beneath him, Gerring of Kharkiv is playing with his knives, just as usual. The fast tack-tack-tack reverberates in Warritt’s ears as the knives embed themselves in the wooden surface of the upturned table. A mouser’s yowls break it up, and he pushes the Sign further, taking note of the steady heartbeats of the snakelets. As he concentrates, he feels several that are too fast to be asleep. Auckes, he thinks. And Letho.

Warritt shucks his furs, taking one with him and folding the rest on his unused bed. With a reverse Igni, lowers the temperature of the hearth, leaving the wood smoldering. The smoke of it settles in his barely open mouth, sticking to his palate. Throwing the fur over his shoulder, he opens his door, just as Ivar Evil-Eye takes a corner in his direction, the scent of blood and iron trailing after him like an avenging wraith.

Up until this point, the Viper Grandmaster was pacing his office, as was his bad habit, then changed course, and took a detour around the Keep to the snakelets’ sleeping quarters. To air his head, most likely, and to make sure that everyone was safe. That Letho was safe. There is a lot of weight on the witcher’s shoulders that he refuses to share with them, he knows. Some days, when the pacing gets agitated and Warritt can hear his rapid breathing when he talks his way over an issue, he thinks that this will be Evil-Eye’s end. A fire can only burn bright for so long without kindling.

“Master Evil-Eye,” he greets quietly.

The thumping of Gerring’s weapons stop. A shift of skin on fabric as the man looks up, breathing carefully steadied. He’s listening. Warritt minimizes his Sign to the palm of his hand. He’s been told the yellow glow is quite noticeable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Evil-Eye shakes his head to himself, but breaks the motion midway. A heavy sigh. “I can’t deal with the brats tonight,” he admits. His tone is weary. Warritt tries to imagine what his expression must look like, but it’s been too long and the visuals appear murky in his mind. Something that might match the scents of frustration and fatigue. After all, Evil-Eye doesn’t have to hide from him; he can’t see. Then, the taste of ash ignites, becomes spicy with rekindled rage. “Did you know about Letho of Gulet?”

He can’t even finish the sentence as Warritt flashes his fangs at the leader. The hiss that leaves between his teeth rattles in his throat. “No! I would have stopped Daibesyck. Any of us would have. And you know that.”

In his rise of emotion, his Supirre sputters out. He casts it again with one hand, the other going up to rake through his curls.

Evil-Eye stands still, like a statue. Then a new tension enters his shoulders, and he turns away. “I’ve dealt with Daibesyck,” he states. Disdain colours his voice. “The worm wanted me to thank him. To acknowledge what a marvelous achievement he did, finding the perfect subject for his little successful experiment.” He breathes through his venom. “I paid him in kind. He stopped screaming a few hours ago.”

Warritt’s face tightens, even as dark satisfaction courses through him. He knows. He heard. But it wasn’t aimed at him; it’s a confirmation for their little eavesdropper. This time tomorrow everyone will know that they are one mage down.

“How’s he?”

Evil-Eye cracks his neck to the side. “He’s feverish, still. He asked for you.”

“Then I will be there.” And that’s that. Warritt lengthens his steps, taking the fur beneath one arm, the other still pulsing with Supirre. The Grandmaster matches him until they reach Letho’s quarters, where he lags behind, stopping just by the door.

The blind witcher makes his way to the bed. The scent of sickness leaves a sour note on his tongue, but that’s not his main concern. Because in this close proximity, he’s sure of it - Letho’s usual outline changed.

As he climbs into the bed he bundles the furs under Letho’s bald head, hoping that his own scent will ease the young witcher. A stone sits in Warritt’s stomach; last time he’s been in his presence, the kid had a crown of soft curls. His calloused hands slide on broad, impossibly muscled shoulders that emanate a heat that is uncharacteristic to witchers, then cup the back of Letho’s neck gently.

“Letho,” he calls, and the snakelet twitches under him, turning towards his chest. He can barely fit. A soft sound escapes him, almost a sob, and his hands come up to shield his still sensitive eyes. Warritt immediately releases his Sign to plunge the room in darkness, shushing him. “It’s Warritt, bud. I am here, just as you asked.”

“Warritt,” Letho parrots back, slurring. Without the Sign, Warritt is not prepared for the fingers prodding at the heavy scarring by his eyes, but he lets it happen anyway.

With impossible strength, Letho pulls Warritt down and curls his arms around him in a constricting hug. Warritt stifles his wheeze, breathing through it, and he presses closer still, wrapping himself around the kid as much as he can, tucking him under his chin and tangling their legs. One of his hands comes up to squeeze Letho’s nape. The pressure seems to calm the young witcher, and he mindlessly bites down on Warritt’s leathers on his shoulder, just to hold him still. Warritt notes absentmindedly that Evil-Eye slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Letho’s breathing evens out, slipping into an uneasy sleep. His muscles twitch and release, and Warritt rearranges them so he’s plastered to the snakelet’s back, hugging him tightly, not minding the cold sweat.

“Auckes,” he calls softly. He hears the creak of soft leathers in the rafters as the boy shifts warily. He drops down, landing without difficulty.

“Bloede,” the little snakelet curses in Elder, silently but with feeling. “How did you know I was here? You didn’t even use your Sign.”

“Language,” Warritt chides. “You were so loud I could hear you from a tower away. You were lucky Master Evil-Eye was in a cordial mood, he would have had you for breakfast.”

“Not true,” Auckes sulks.

The boy’s radiating disbelief warms him. He gestures with one hand, beckoning, and Auckes slips onto the bed, curling over Letho. The boy shakes a little and Warritt scents the residue of distress on him, so he presses a warm hand between his shoulder blades, drawing slow circles.

Auckes presses into his touch, then blurts out. “If I asked you, would you shave my head?”

Warritt doesn’t stop his motions, despite his surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

For a long moment, Auckes doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fist in Letho’s sleeping shirt. He smooths the soft material between his fingers anxiously. “Letho cried ,” he whispers it like a secret, and his tone belies his astonishment. Letho never cries. “He saw his reflection, you know.”

“I don’t know, Auckes,” prompts Warritt gently, lying through his teeth. “Why would he be upset because of that?”

“He’s big. And bald. He tried to hug Serrit and hurt him. Twas an axi-” he trips on the word in his haste, then tries again, slowly. “Ac-ci-dent. He didn’t mean it, I know. It scared him. And Serrit said that he wasn’t mad, so it’s okay.”

Warritt hides his sad smile, endeared by Auckes’ sharp perception and big heart. “Aye,” he breathes.

Another beat passes between them.

“I want you to cut my hair, so Letho knows it’s okay, too. That he’s not alone.” Auckes’ voice is so very small, like the breeze in Tir Tochair’s sheltered meadows.

Warritt’s throat constricts. His fingers follow the thin braid that hangs on each side of  Auckes’ face, then cards into his soft ponytail.

“Alright,” he rasps. “Alright.”

--------- * ---------

Note: Auckes canonically can speak really good Elder. The little curse word “Bloede” can be translated to “bloody hell”.

Headcanons:

Warritt is the big-brother of the keep - he’s both a blind badass and the resident kidwrangler (and everyone clearly knows it)

Warritt is a genius - this is kiiind of canon, but regardless: he has an unorthodox thought process; he likes thinking outside of the box, and that’s how he isn’t bothered by his blindness and modified an already existing Sign (Supirre in canon; and also Igni in this fic)

Vipers are not shy of physical touch, on the contrary! - a little bit of cutagen here; Vipers like to coil up together in almost constricting hugs. Even those who haven’t gone through the Trials adopt this habit; the physical touch (hugs) is something they can claim as their own good thing

Letho went through the Grasses twice, like Geralt (aka twicegrassed) - compared to the rest of the School, Letho is an outlier. I explained his proportions with him surviving the Trials twice

Ivar was unaware of the further experimentations, and he flipped - a hc i adopted from @lookoutrogue. Ivar himself went through multiple Trials, that’s how he ended up with his mutated eye. My throwaway mage OC, Daibesyck was tortured to death because he went over the invisible line Ivar carved, hurting one of his own and disrespecting his authority

Auckes shaved his head in solidarity for Letho - originally i thought he would have done it when he was older, but tiny Auckes said no, i wanna do it now

Gerring of Kharkiv wasn’t supposed to appear, but he didn’t budge. So I guess now he’s an insomniac old witcher who likes to waste time and furniture with knife-throwing *shrug*

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

The new Shadowhunter Academy (Fan Fic) - Chapter 1

In the mood for a bit of Shadowhunter Academy drama so there goes chap 1 of my new fic (it's part of my "To never being parted series" though it can be read as a standalone story).

Ao3 link here.

*****

This is how I die, Ash thought. He was surprised by how indifferent he was to the news. He had always imagined he would have more fighting in him.

If he were honest, it was not such a bad place to die. Green grass had started to grow again in the lands of Faerie, where there had only been wasteland and death before. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Ash was exactly what he had been named after. Ash, the symbol of rebirth, his blood fertilizing the land and giving way to lush vegetation and the chirping of birds. Through his blurred vision, he could see Jace lying a few feet away, unconscious. He held on to the steady rise of his chest that told him he was still alive. But barely.

Ash coughed up blood in the already drenched soil. He tried to lift himself up, but the muscles in his arms were failing him and the slightest move equalled to excruciating pain. He felt as if all the bones in his body had been crushed into small pieces that were piercing through his organs.

He thought about the girl he had met in the weapons room, the girl in the drawing. Drusilla Blackthorn. There had been loneliness in her blue-green eyes, yet there had also been a fierce will to live despite everything. A hope beyond despair. You and I are the same, he told her in his mind. We witness the worst horrors, suffer the most intense grief, but keep our chins up and stand ready to fight to live another day. We do not give up.

Ash craned his neck sluggishly to get a better look at his opponent.

The new King of both Seelie and Unseelie Courts, a Herondale no less, who looked more like a Californian surfer boy with his tousled blond hair and unforgiving bright blue eyes, was standing before him, hands curled into fists against his hips, his white wings tipped with gold rustling behind him. He was glorious, an angel of death, and Ash idly wondered how someone so beautiful could be so cruel.

“Stand. Now. There is no fun in striking someone lying on the ground,” the King said, his blue eyes rolling in a very unkingly manner. Even his voice was not that of a monster. It was a nice, clear voice, that sounded like it belonged to a sweet boy. Ash knew, though, that he was anything but. He needed to distract him, to play for time.

“All these faeries that you have massacred,” Ash managed to utter through the blood in his throat. He flinched at the pain that the mere act of talking caused him. “And you call yourself their ruler… I don’t understand. Why this… bloodbath? What did they do to you?”

“What did they do to me? What did they do to me?” If the King’s face bore any expression at all, it would be pure hatred and contempt. “How about what did they do to my mother? And her parents, and their parents before that? Did they really think I would never find out, stay in the dark forever? Remain a blind and helpless mundane my whole life? I see them every single night in my dreams, you know… I am haunted by the cries and howls of my ancestors. Always running, always hiding, never allowed to rest, never allowed to live. No more. I crushed the faeries who stood in my way as if they were cockroaches under my shoe. If there was still such a thing as Shadowhunters, I would have them suffer the same fate, if not worse, for they have betrayed my bloodline just as much.”

As the Herondale King talked, Ash slowly moved his hand to clutch the folded paper inside the left pocket of his jacket. The psychopathic witch that had grown so fond of him – Annabel, the mere thought of her still sent shivers down his spine – had at least taught him one useful thing. How to get out of this hell hole.

He held on tight to the drawing in his bloody fingers. If he focused enough on creating an interdimensional Portal to her… Surely, he would go back to where he came from himself. The drawing had probably been made with material found in Thule, but the artist… the artist was from the other world. Maybe it could work. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he and Jace had.

My blood, willingly given. He had lost enough blood as it was, but it had certainly not been willingly given. Trying to grab his sword, which was lying a few feet away, would draw too much attention. A deep paper cut could work. That’s how potent his blood was. He brought the paper to the palm of his hand and sliced through the skin, murmuring the incantation.

As the Portal started shimmering before him, Ash heaved a sigh of relief, causing a sting in his lungs. That was the first step. Now, how the hell would he find the strength to haul himself and Jace through it, without being stopped by the Faerie King?

“Wow, you will have to teach me how to do that,” the Herondale King said, showing for the first time a flicker of emotion. “I mean, I probably have enough power for that – Aren’t you like a cheap knockoff of me?”

Ash was spared to give an answer as the King whipped around at the sound of swords being drawn out behind him. The Riders of Mannan. There were only five of them left.

“You again?” The King rolled his eyes. “Ever thought of a retirement plan? Aren’t you like, thousands of years old?”

One of the Riders shrieked. “You killed two of our brothers. It has become personal. We will never acknowledge you as our new King. So that leaves us with only one option.”

“Yep, got it. You pick option B. Getting your decrepit asses kicked by me, myself and I.”

The Faerie King advanced with a casual stride on the five Riders, drawing two longswords that he immediately started twirling as if they were cheerleaders’ batons.

This was Ash’s chance.

He crawled to Jace, grabbing their two swords - Heosphorus and Phaesphorus - on his way. Pulling on a strength he didn’t know he still had, he finally managed to stand, ignoring the ache in his limbs – he had known torture and pain had become a familiar companion – and hauled Jace’s body up and they both stepped through the Portal, with only two swords and a folded bloodstained paper as their interdimensional trip’s luggage. He let himself be transported in between worlds, drained and already fainting from the strained effort.

When he came to, he was lying on a sand beach, the sun barely peeking out from the horizon, casting a reddish glow on the sea. He inhaled deeply the clean and salty air, like a treat to his lungs, so pure compared to the one in Thule. He turned his head to find Jace’s limp body a few feet away. If only he had been taught how to draw the Angel’s Runes his uncle had told him about. The ones that could heal the wounds and ease the pain.

He heard voices and started to drag Jace’s battered body behind a nearby rock, breathing heavily as he did. The fresh air and the sound of the soft push-pull of the ocean made him feel better already.

He peered around to see three figures approaching.

He instantly recognized the girl. Drusilla. She looked a little bit older than he remembered but she had the same thick and luscious dark brown hair and freckled milky skin. She was wearing her pyjamas, black fabric with a pattern of white skulls. She was laughing carelessly, throwing her head back, and it made Ash smile, his zygomatic muscles almost aching as they awakened from their deep slumber. They hadn’t been put to such use in a while. She was holding the hand of a younger boy with rumpled hair of the exact same colour. Their eyes shared the same singular summer-blue shade. Probably her little brother. He seemed to be around ten years old, but Ash wasn’t very good at guessing age.

The third person was a very tall boy, with hair as black as a crow’s feathers, walking along the water’s edge. Ash couldn’t see his face because he was looking away, toward the sea. There was something fragile, almost poetic, in the graceful curve of his neck and the delicate line of his jaw. Something hypnotising about the careful yet purposeful way he moved his long limbs. Ash almost felt disappointed he could not see the face of the person they belonged to.

“Tavvy!” Drusilla cried out as the younger boy released her hand to run to the edge of a tide pool.

He picked something in the water and held it up in triumph.

“Starfish,” he yelled, hopping up and down excitedly. “I have found a starfish!”

Tavvy ran, though not in the direction of his sister, but of the older dark-haired boy.

The tall boy held out his hand and the younger one put the starfish gingerly into the other’s palm.

“Pisaster ochraceus, also known as the purple or ochre sea star,” the mysterious boy said, after a single, swift glance at the starfish. He had a deep, raspy voice.

“It’s beautiful! Please! Please! Can I dry it and keep it in my bedroom at the Institute? I could have it framed, and maybe even painted by Jules!”

“It’s a keystone species that controls mussel populations. It was nearly wiped out by the sea star wasting syndrome. In other words… Waste of a perfectly good starfish,” the voice of the graceful boy caught at his last words and he trailed off, his head still turned toward the sea, almost as if he was no longer talking to Tavvy. He lifted his free hand absently to grasp a shiny object - a silver pendant? - resting on his chest.

The three Shadowhunters snapped their heads in the opposite direction from where Ash was hiding, when a fourth person called. A blond-haired girl – probably a Shadowhunter as well, though she had pointy ears - was coming down the beach wearing slippers, an apron tied around her slender body.

“Breakfast is ready! I have managed not to burn the whole stack of pancakes this time.”

Ash heard his stomach growl. How long had it been since he had last eaten? Probably days. But much sharper than the pain caused by hunger or even by the battle wounds, he felt longing… Longing for a normal life, in a normal happy family. What would he not give for carefree strolls on the beach in the dawn, surrounded by loved ones, followed by something as simple as a breakfast of – even burnt he didn’t mind – pancakes?

The landscape swirled and changed into the dark, dirty and moisty walls of a cell. He was so thirsty, so hungry, and so cold. Two Unseelie guards were staring at him through the bars, with a smirk on their narrow faces.

“We are here to bring you to your bedroom. Yes, you will get a bedroom. How fancy is that? The King just wanted to make sure you knew it was in your best interest to fully cooperate. From now on, and for as long as you behave, you will benefit from the most luxurious accommodation befitting to your royal lineage.” Ash – the younger, clueless version of him – found he did not care for a fancy room. He had known the most decadent living conditions and the worst. Knowing the full spectrum, he had realized nothing really mattered but a place to call home. Mom, where are you when I need you the most?

The door rattled and one of the guards came in.

“You have a pretty face, skinny boy,” he said, as he opened Ash’s bloody shackles. “When we will have cleaned you up, maybe you and I could have a little fun.”

Ash spat on the rude intruder.

The faerie was about to slap him when the other guard grabbed his wrist.

“Careful… He is the Seelie Queen’s son. You can’t take liberties with him as you can with other regular prisoners.”

“He may be of royal blood, but his father Sebastian Morgenstern died leaving us alone to bear the consequences of his mad plans, to suffer the Cold Peace. The traitor is the reason why the Fair Folk are treated as if they are less than nothing.”

A wave of pure hatred – that he had not felt at the time, having never met his father – woke Ash up from his dreams, his whole body drenched in sweat. He almost sighed in relief as he realized he was in his wide bedroom, in the house in the hollow hill.

There was a pain in his stomach, different from the one caused by hunger. He immediately ran to his bathroom and retched above the sink. There had been no time to run to the toilet. He opened the tap and splashed water over his face. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he noticed there were dark circles under his eyes and that his features, although smooth and ageless as all faeries’ were, bore the permanent mark of having seen too much horror, suffered too much pain, loneliness, and sorrow before he had even reached adulthood. He swiftly schooled them into the mask he wore in public. He had become good at that.

****

“Riders of Mannan, tremble!” Mina cried out as she burst into the kitchen and started running around the table on her little legs, brandishing her Cortana baby-sized wooden replica. Her dark hair was now long enough that she could wear them in two tiny braids. It was Kit’s job, and Mina loved to barge into his room at ungodly hours with a hairbrush to jump up and down on his bed until he had performed his daily task. So much for privacy.

“Oh no, here comes Emma Carstairs!” Kit raised an empty pan from the stove to use it as a shield. “Quick, run! Or she will end us all!”

“Nooooo, Kit-Kat” Mina paused to strike a dramatic pose and rolled her eyes. “You are not a Rider.”

“No? What am I today?” He asked, putting down the pan.

“My fiancéééé!”

“Ooooh.” Kit drew himself to his full height, putting on a very serious don’t-mess-with-mine-and-I-won’t-mess-with-you face and brushed his hand through his hair in a mock nervous gesture. “Beware Riders, I will strike you with my wits, if not my crossbow.”

“No. Not Julian. I have changed my mind. I want to marry Tiberius Blackthorn!” She said and shook both her hands in front of her the way she always did when she was very excited about something.

“Oh. Oh. Well don’t tell Julian that, I am not sure he will appreciate the swap.”

“Do Tiberius! Do Tiberius!” Mina exclaimed, hopping up and down. Kit knelt in front of her and rested his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Do him, please!” Mina whined.

“Sure, Min. I will imitate Tiberius but please stop shouting that,” Kit said, feeling heat rush up his entire face.

“Yeaaay! Do him!”

“SHHHHhhh,” Kit said, putting a finger on her pouty lips. “Understood, Min-Min. I will play Ty’s part.”

Their parents were in the room next door and though both knew that he and Ty were a thing now, Kit had obviously not gone into detail as to the physical part of their relationship. He expected that they would simply guess and leave it at that.

He had a vivid memory of the time he had been cornered to sit through the “sex talk.” Tessa and Jem had made some Earl Grey tea and scones for the occasion and had taken the opportunity during one of Mina’s naps, to go through the whole process of explaining to Kit that it was the most natural thing in the world and that he shouldn’t feel uncomfortable raising any questions he had on the subject. Kit had dutifully listened, his head bent and his ears red, slouched in the middle of the couch, fingers knotting and unknotting where they rested on his lap. As the awkward conversation had gone on and on, he had disappeared little by little into the plump cushions, wishing he could vanish entirely inside the furniture.

Jem had been the old-fashioned gentleman, talking about “mutual respect” and “the shared responsibility of contraception and adequate protection”, but had been clearly as red faced as Kit, while Tessa had been the modern mom, freely and animatedly speaking about “exploring one’s sexuality” and “ignoring peer pressure and imaginary standards”.

When Jem had started listing all the STDs he had encountered in his life as a Silent Brother, Kit had secretly hoped there was poison in the tea. Dropping dead in the middle of the living room would have made for an adequate diversion. Fortunately, Tessa had silenced Jem with a glare.

In the back of his mind, Kit had wondered if Ty had gone through the same ordeal. He had imagined scary-overprotective Julian discussing sexual intercourse and condoms and had suddenly been profoundly relieved that – where Kit was concerned – the task had befallen to Tessa and Jem.

Kit had to admit, they employed the same thoroughness and dedication in everything they taught him. With Jem, Kit had learnt how to fight, how to heal wounds, how to waltz and – though that part still required a lot of training to get over his bad habits – how to behave like a gentleman. Tessa had taught Kit how to drive, how to cook and how to uncover and harness his First Heir powers. Both his parents had given him history lessons and they were the reason why he now knew how to speak five languages. He had read more books since he had joined their home than throughout the rest of his previous life. While Johnny Rook had taught Kit how to pick locks and steal pockets, Tessa and Jem had taught him trust and boundless generosity.

Truth be told, they were the best parents he could ever have dreamt of. He had the best family he could ever dream of, he thought, watching Mina’s big dark eyes widening as her gaze caught the plate of homemade chocolate cookies.

“Oooh you baked cookies! Can I have one Kit-Kat? Pleeeeeease?” Thank God for her short attention span.

“You already had a croissant this morning, Mina. You can have a cookie tomorrow. Remember, us Shadowhunters must eat healthily.”

Mina raised her eyebrow at him, in a way that reminded him of his boyfriend. Kit slipped a cookie in her tiny fingers.

“One. And remember how generous I was when I am sent away to sugar-addicts rehab and I beg you for one last shot of candy for the road.”

Mina nodded. He loved the way she always acted as if she understood his ramblings.

“Kit?” Tessa called as she entered the kitchen, waving her phone. “It’s Jace. He tells me you’ve been dodging his calls.”

“I am not here,” Kit mouthed.

“He told me you would say that. So, he wants you to know he still has this picture of you from last Christmas and he will not hesitate to send it to a certain dark-haired Centurion if you don’t take the call.”

Kit shot out his hand, palm up, and Tessa handed over her phone.

“This is blackmail.” Kit tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he swept the plate of cookies away from sight.

“Never said I was above blackmail. Just make sure it’ll work if you are ever to use it.”

“Is it another one of your cardinal rules and guidelines to being a proper Herondale? I am pretty sure half of them are made up.”

“They’re not.”

“They are,” Tessa mouthed, grimacing, as she whisked Mina away from the kitchen.

“So, here’s the thing. I usually act as a guest lecturer at the Academy, you know, for basic stuff. Learning how to jump and fall properly, balance in swordfight, choice of weapon… I was scheduled for next week, but Clary decided to plan her art gallery opening at the same time. So, I was looking for the best person to fill my shoes and of course immediately thought… who else than Kit?”

“Liar. I know you asked Emma first. What’s her excuse?”

“She sprained her ankle during training two days ago.”

“She posted a video of herself dancing in a nightclub with Cristina and Mark. That was yesterday.”

“This girl sure knows how to put on a brave face.”

“She was doing backflips in front of a cheering crowd.”

“Like I said, brave face. So, you’re in?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Not really, but I thought it would be nicer if I asked.”

“Whatever.” Kit grumbled.

“Great. You won’t regret it. I will even buy you dinner in Manhattan while you’re in New York. Fancy restaurant with amazing desserts.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Jace Herondale?”

“Just lie down and let me do the rest.”

“WHAT?”

“Sorry, not talking to you. I’m in the middle of a training session. We’re stretching. Have you trained this morning?”

“It’s 2 PM here, Jace. I’m on my break. I already trained for six hours, starting at the crack of dawn.”

“You put us all to shame.”

“So, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“I was not finished.”

“Raziel, what else is there?”

“The Scholomance is sending a Centurion to represent them and provide a two-days training course for the Academy’s senior students who wish to apply to join them after they graduate.”

“Oh,” Kit said, with a familiar flutter around his stomach. “Do you…” He swallowed. “Do they already know who they will send?”

“Probably that Joshi guy. But it’s not set in stone. Jia Penhallow told me they have been trying to convince their best Centurion to go for months now, but he keeps saying no.”

“Oh, so he gets to say no.”

“I told her Herondales can’t resist a challenge...”

“You didn’t.”

“… and that I had a secret weapon to convince him to go this time.”

“You mean me.”

“Use your body!”

“WHAT?”

“Not talking to you, sorry. Beatriz, use your whole body’s strength, not just the muscles in your arms!”

“Thank the Angel.”

“What was I saying?”

“You were using me to try to convince Tiberius Blackthorn – who absolutely loathes talking in public, by the way – to give a two-days training course at the Academy for Scholomance applicants. Jace, I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t want him to feel obligated in any way, just because…”

“… just because you let him play with your sword?” Jace offered.

“God, Jace. I am going to pretend you never said that.”

“Make us proud.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too. Gotta go. Catch up later.”

“Jace,” Kit groaned in frustration, but Jace had already hung up.

Tagging @gabtapia <3

[sanstropfremir]

I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

1.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

2.

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

3.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

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the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

[palettepainter]

Just out of curiousity what's your individual thoughts on the Meta Liberation Army and the villains from Heroes Rising? Btw I do hope you're feeling better.

Still feeling kinda eh at the moment but hopefully some drabbles may help me feel better so here we go!

Obs there may be spoilers to Hereos Rising in this so if you haven't seen the movie yet don't read

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I'll start with the MLA. I haven't seen the actual episode of them yet since I prefer the dub but I have read the manga so I have a vague idea on the characters.

Skeptic, to no surprise if you know me well, is my favourite. He's a hoity toity whinny stuck up prude, and I love him UwU but GOD is he hard to draw! Also his voice actor, one of the best voice actors in the series in my opinion. I kid you not when we got the preview of him in the anime the only reason I was so hyped for the next episode was purely to hear his voice, and I was not disappointed! I listened to his lines over and over cuz the voice matched his lil stuck up personality SO WELL!

Also can we acknowledge the fact that Skeptic basically told Slide-n-Go to know his place when he back chatted Hawks? Lowkey Skeptic x Hawks is a crackship of mine-

Trumpet is second place cuz come on, look at him. I'm also trash and ship him with Skeptic, there is no doubt in my mind that Trumpet totally gets on Skeptic's nerves for the fun of it

Curious is in last for now cuz honestly I found her a little weird when I first saw her, no hate to the creator but her colour palette really confused me. When I first saw her in a MHA fanart piece someone did of the MLA I thought she was an OC. Her colour palette just doesn't sit right with me. Re-Destro I have a love-hate thing going on, he looks cool but at the same time I cannot take him seriously with that giant ass Pinocchio nose they gave him (also he had Giran kidnapped which was not okay-)

So Mummy, I thought he was an interesting villain. He's not my favorite by any means but he had a cool design and an interesting quirk that he used well, honestly was disappointed he was captured so quickly. It honestly threw me through a loop it happened that fast, one minute he's on screen then the next, boom, captured.

Also does anyone know how old Mummy is?? I tried looking it up once but couldn't find it in his wiki, I always guessed he was around Toga's age or something but if anyone knows feel free to correct me

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Slice again was also okay, if I had to choose between her and Mummy I'd probably put Mummy above her in terms of who I like better. Mummy I felt like could have been used more, his quirk was cool to watch in action, compared to Slice's quirk which was just hardening hair - I got nothing against Slice, she's still a cool villain and I will say it was interesting to see her up against Tokoyami, more so when she was actually giving Tokoyami a run for his money and beating him in the fight (till Tokoyami went from 0 to 100 real fast with DS-)

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Chimera. Three words: I LOVE HIM

I love him so much! By far the coolest one in the movie! I know you're not supposed to pick a favorite child but Chimera is my favorite child and I'm not ashamed. His design: chef kiss - Personality: Gold - Voice actor: Never before seen beauty - His backstory: A masterpiece

And while I do not condon him grabbing my sunshine Shoji by the face which was also not okay, he's my favourite!

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Nine I was neutral on, I didn't really have an opinion of him