#pinpointing the light source...and shading it...is..hard...

[stinkyoldsocks]

Colouring practice~

[newluvrs]

Sohee ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: ゆめうつつ - LAMP word count: 4.9k bb note: tried something a little different with this one

The first time Sohee sees you he doesn’t actually see you.  It’s the first day of his Drawing Foundations class and truly he would rather be anywhere else.  He’s so shit at drawing and art, but he needed it to fill a gen ed requirement and he’s heard that the class is an easy A.  The professor is reviewing the syllabus and everything inside him wants to drop the class.  It’s a studio art class meaning it’s 3 hours long, the class is smack in the middle of his day on a Monday of all days, and every assignment the professor reads off sounds terrifying.  What the fuck is conte anyways? Sohee’s never heard of it and he’s not sure he gives a shit about it.  Sohee wants to roll his eyes when the professor is expecting an assignment completed by the end of class because of course he would ask something like that on the first day.  He’s assigned an easel where he props up a rather large drawing pad.  Sohee dreads the thought of having to fill such a large space with artwork when he can barely draw a straight line.  Sure the class is for beginners, but Sohee feels like he is embarrassingly bad.  

He’s attempting a very poor rendition of still life comprised of his bag’s contents when he’s positive he’s made up his mind.  He needs to drop this class before he has to face this for an entire semester.  But when he contemplates ducking out of the class early so he can spend the rest of the day browsing for a different one, something in the room shifts.  It’s like something within him is screaming at him to turn around.  When he does he sees you, well he doesn’t actually see you because your hidden behind your designated easel, but it’s like he feels you.  It makes him so badly want to see who it is that is sitting behind the imposing object.  It irks him for the rest of class until the professor announces that the time is up and it’s time for everyone to show what it is that they’ve done.  Sohee lays his eyes on you when you make your way to the front of the room to display your drawing pad.  It’s like all the breath in his lungs gets knocked out of him when he sees you.  His mouth goes dry and he starts fidgeting with his hands, nerves overtaking him.  And what you’ve drawn is far too good for a class that is intended for beginners, lines clean and neat, shading added, a singular light source indicated in your piece.  If it were anyone else Sohee would scoff and call it pretentious, but you are far cry from what he would designate pretentious.  Any and all praise that gets awarded to you (and the professor is sure to give you plenty) is well deserved, and if anything Sohee thinks you deserve more.  Needless to say he changes the mind about leaving, even after presenting his poor attempt at a still life and proceeding to get picked apart.  Is he a little insane for choosing to stay in a 3-hour class for a girl who he saw for the first time that day? Maybe, but nobody could ever convince him of that.  

The second time Sohee sees you, he realizes that there’s something… off about you.  But for the life of him he cannot pinpoint what exactly it is.  As the class proceeds, he thinks he’s glanced at you about 100 times in an hour alone.  You’re frighteningly beautiful, but in a way that should never be looked at, like if you stare too long it’ll hurt you.  The longer he watches you, the harder it is for him to figure you out.  Maybe it’s your mannerisms.. the way you hold eye contact a little too long or the way you never speak.  Or maybe it’s the way you look, your lips a little too pink, eyes a little too doe eyed. He can’t pinpoint what is about you that made him so nervous.  It’s not that you looked mean, you just looked.. blank; unreadable.  Aura overpowering everyone elses, making it hard for him to just breathe next to you.  Sohee’s convinced your like an actual angel who fell to earth and doesn’t know how to act.  He finds himself wanting to do things he’s never done before.  He wants so badly to make you laugh, to change your blank expression for once into something he actually recognizes.  Something within him makes him feel like he would do anything to entertain you, and it’s a dangerous feeling.  

The first time he actually hears you speak without first being spoken to, it’s a critique day.  Your first official project is being presented for all of class to see, and Sohee is truthfully dreading it.  He feels like he has improved in his art skills absolutely none at all and he does not want to hear it from the professor.  It does not help that the professor has tasked you all with drawing the exact same thing, meaning his art skills will be put up against everyone else’s.  He tries to comfort himself by saying that at least he gets to see what you’ve done, to him it feels like a small peek into your brain.  And of course you’re critique is perfect, the professor not criticizing you in the slightest even though it’s quite literally in the name that you have to.  Sohee looks at your lines, and he can see where you intentionally smudged the graphite of the pencil to make a blurred effect.  For a moment he thinks about copying some of the techniques you use, maybe he’d actually learn a thing or two. 

The professor approaches his piece and Sohee shuts his eyes like it’ll help him get through the critique any faster.  Spoiler alert it does not and the professor hates this one just as much as he has hated every other thing Sohee has done.  If you weren’t so pretty Sohee thinks he might hate you for every glowing review you receive alone.  He nods his head to every comment the professor makes, pretending to make mental notes about what the professor is saying.  He lets out a breath he didn’t recognize he was holding when the professor finally moves past his.  He tries his best to act like he doesn’t care about whether or not his art is good, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed.  Sohee had actually put in a lot of work into this piece, making trips to the studio when it was open on the weekend.  He had even tried using charcoal in an attempt to cover up his scratchy lines, hoping that maybe that way they would at least look intentional.  When he resigns himself to the idea that he’s just not gonna be good at art, he feels that you’re standing near him.  

“it’s very tender.”

The way your voice cuts through the air is melodic, like a song made just for him, and if he wasn’t already watching you when you said it, he would think he imagined it.  He looks at your profile, and you’re not speaking to him, but speaking to yourself.  He wonders if you’re aware that he’s even there because you’re so immersed in looking at what he’s done.  The thought occurs to him again that you’re weirdly off putting.  But in a way that makes him want to be around you more.  Like he doesn’t ever want to leave your side so he can watch you a little longer.  He’s never felt such an intense urge to crawl inside someone’s mind

As the weeks pass, he starts to recognize that he’s not the only one who can tell that you’re different.  He watches how people interact with you in class, how they can’t hold eye contact with you, or how they stumble over their words when they speak to you.  He feels a little bit better to realize it’s a universal feeling and that he’s not completely insane.  Unfortunately this also means that he’s not the only one who can see that you’re beautiful.  At this point he’s seen you outside of class multiple times, always unable to take his eyes off you no matter where he is or what he’s doing.  He’s come across you in the dining hall, seen you with your friends in the student union, he’s even starting to realize that you frequent the same parties he does.  This means he’s subjected to the sight of men approaching you.  Time and time again he watches a boy approach you with the intention of making you laugh and getting your number, maybe even getting into your pants.  

The first time he sees it a fear envelops him, like he was too late to make a move and now here comes some random guy to sweep you off your feet.  Jealousy sweeping over him when he watches a boy approach you with ease at a party in a way he never could bring himself to do.  He recognizes that it’s a friend of a friend and it just makes him more annoyed. But as he continues to watch on, he feels satisfaction settling in his chest.  He sees the boy’s futile attempts to make you laugh as you just watch him with your standard expression, drink in your hand.  It’s obvious when the boy is starting to catch on that he’s not charming you like he thought.  Sohee breaks into a smile when the boy starts fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot nervously before finally retreating in defeat.  This will not be the first time Sohee watches someone approach you and honestly, he’s starting to develop a sick fascination with watching the interaction.  He likes to see the moment they realize they aren’t gonna get with you, it makes him feel better for already knowing that it’s not going to work on you.  Like he’s better for recognizing that you aren’t easy to impress.  

Sohee tries to scheme up ways to speak to you, but every time he sees you he draws a blank.  Sure he’s relatively introverted, but he knows he can at least talk to pretty girls.  He’s done it plenty times before, if anything he’s good at it; but something about you just makes him completely change.  He knows he’s obnoxious when he’s with his friends, cracking jokes and loud mouthed when with familiar company.  But if he sees you coming near or even remotely in the same space, his personality is doing a complete 180.  His friends make fun of him each time he does it, laughing at how he goes from being rambunctious to immediately on his best behavior.  And Sohee will take the jabs any day as long as it means that you don’t see him like one of the stupid boys who choose to approach you.  He just wishes one day you’ll let him close enough to even scratch the surface of your true personality.  To give him something to indicate what it is that you’re into.  

His opportunity comes extremely unexpectedly and completely on accident.  He’s late leaving class one day, too caught up in trying to perfect his midterm project to notice that it’s 15 minutes past class time being up.  He doesn’t realize it until the next professor is entering the room to set up the studio space.  He apologizes as he throws his supplies in his bag, leaving the room as quickly as he can.  He doesn’t even realize that you were late leaving too, not until he enters the elevator and you immediately follow behind him.  Sohee feels like he’s going to burn up in the small space, so he tucks himself in the back of the elevator and tries to be as still as he can, like maybe if he doesn’t move you won’t see him.  That’s when he sees it, the tiniest indication of your interests.  As the elevator starts its trek to the first floor he’s staring at your bag which for the most part is unassuming.  But the glint of a korok charm hanging from your zipper catches his eye.  Before he can stop himself he’s speaking, breaking the silence of the elevator ride.

“You like Zelda?”

As soon as he speaks he wants to slap a hand over his mouth, like he can’t believe he just spoke to you for one, and for two he can’t believe he asked it in such a bewildered tone.  He half considers getting off on the next stop and just taking the stairs the rest of the way down.  But then you do the unexpected; you turn to him.  

“I love Zelda.”

A smile graces your features, and Sohee can physically feel the way his heart cracks in two.  He realizes right then and there that he would do anything to get you to smile at him again. 

“I’m Sohee.”  

“I know.”  

You’re terrifying and Sohee can feel the way his palms are starting to sweat.  

“I’m y/n.”

“I know.” 

You smile at him wider when he says it, and he hears the way you exhale a breath through your nose.  It’s the closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from you and Sohee tries not to let it immediately go to his head.  He glances behind you and he can see the way the numbers are getting closer and closer to the bottom floor.  

“My favorite is Twilight Princess.”  

He’s shocked when you speak again and he thinks about how he wants to stand in your light for as long as you’ll let him.  

“I have an affinity for Majora’s Mask.”  

You hum to yourself in acknowledgement when he says this, and when you open your mouth to speak again the elevator doors open with a ding.  Sohee curses to himself in his head, he’s never wished for an elevator to malfunction more than now.  You smile at him one more time before you turn to leave and Sohee has to look away at how overwhelming it is.  

“See you next time Sohee.” 

And then you’re gone.  Sohee stands there so long that the elevator doors try to close on him.  He can’t believe that that just happened, and instead of scratching the itch he had to talk to you, all it does is feed into it further.  He thinks about how he needs to hear you speak to him again, how he needs to hear you say his name again.  He smiles like an idiot for the rest of the day as he schemes of something else to say to you the next time he sees you.  

In a suprising turn of events, he does not have to try hard at all.  Matter of fact he doesn’t even have to try because the next time you have class together, you choose the easel next to his.  At first Sohee thinks maybe it’s a fluke, like the universe has decided to smile kindly on him this one time.  It only dawns on him that this was intentional when you speak up next to him, clearing your throat as the both of you work on drawing the fruits displayed on the table in front of you.  

“So do you play any other Nintendo?” 

Sohee prays that you don’t see the way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you spoke.  For the rest of class that’s what the two of you talk about.  Every now and then in between you lean over to look at what it is he’s drawing and you give him a few tips.  Sohee revels in the smile you give him when you catch him utilizing your advice.  Much to Sohee’s dismay, apparently 3 hours passes by extremely quickly when you’re actually enjoying yourself.  When the time is called and everyone starts packing their belongings Sohee does his best not to be disappointed.  He’s failing terribly at it but then he notices how you linger after you’ve packed your things.  There’s no way you’re actually waiting on him.  When you follow Sohee out of the studio he still thinks it’s a coincidence.  The elevator ride this time around is silent, and when it’s almost at the bottom you speak up.

“We should play together sometime.”  

Sohee’s head snaps up at this and when he looks at you you’re already staring at him, making his heart feel like it’s in his stomach.  Sohee may be a little dense sometimes but he can at least recognize that this is a clear invitation from you, so he leaps at the chance.  

“Do you want to come over Saturday night for Mario Kart?”

The way it takes you less than a second to agree makes Sohee feel a little too cocky for someone who can’t hold eye contact with you for longer than 5 seconds.  He feels like he’s in a daze when you hand him your phone to put in his number.  He only comes to after you say goodbye and there’s a message on his phone.  It’s simple enough, all it reads is ‘y/n’, but he feels like he’s on cloud 9.  

Sohee’s excitement quickly shifts to dread when he realizes that despite the interactions he’s had with you, he still cannot read you at all.  It drives him crazy, the way that you’ve showed him nothing about you.  It’s a stark contrast to how he feels so exposed every time he speaks to you.  It’s like you can see all of him and it plagues his thoughts for the rest of the week.  In the days leading up to Saturday you don’t message him, so he doesn’t message you.  He’s not even sure what he would say, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself.  He spends all of Friday cleaning his apartment, making sure everything is spick and span.  He bans his roommate from spending anytime in the common living area until after Saturday.  He even goes out and buys candles for each room, just so it’ll be a little more appealing.  When Saturday comes, he finds himself paying his roommate 40 bucks to fuck off for the evening.  He thinks it’s worth it if it means he’ll have your undivided attention. 

When you’re knocking on his door, he’s a mess of excitement and nerves.  You greet him with a smile and your wide-eyed stare.  Immediately he’s stepping aside to let you in, telling you to make yourself more comfortable.  You toe off your shoes at his front door, making your way further into his living room to see his switch already set up, Mario Kart ready to go.  Sohee thought about having it in his room, but he felt like maybe it would seem a little presumptuous of him.  When you take a seat on his couch, he thinks the sight of you in his living room is something he wants to see forever.  You curl into the blankets left for you, covering your exposed legs, and to Sohee you just look like you belong.  When you catch him staring he rips his eyes away from you and all you can do is smirk to yourself.  He makes sure to leave room between you and him on the couch when he goes to sit and you make a mental note of the distance between you.  

Sohee quickly learns that you’re extremely competitive and way better at mario kart than you let on, and he makes sure you know that.  He almost feels embarrassed about how he boasted that he beats every one of his friends every time, because right now you have won every single round.  You didn’t even fall off the track a single time on rainbow road, making sure to use the drift controls to pad your turns.  When you turn to look at him mid round, you can see how he pouts his lips in concentration and it makes you want to lean over and crowd his space.  As the game proceeds, the volume and familiarity in which the two of you speaks only gets more extreme.  The two of you went from only saying a few words to each other and speaking only when needed to calling the other names and claiming the unfair use of an item.  Sohee even rolled his eyes at you after you called him a loser.  

After winning your 5th cup in a row, Sohee decides it’s time to for a break.  He throws his head back on the couch in frustration as your victory screen plays for the millionth time it feels like.  When you reach out a hand to push on his shoulder at his dramaticism, only then does he notice how close the two of you managed to get throughout the games played.  When he looks between the two of you your legs are nearly touching, with only a few inches of space between the two of you.  He does his best not to seem nervous when he subtly tries to slide away from you, but when you close the space between the two of you he feels like his heart is gonna leap from his chest.  Instead of looking at you, he turns away, avoiding your gaze and playing dumb.  When you place a hand on his knee he feels heat make its way up his spine.  Your delicate fingers glide to the inside of his knee as you open your mouth to speak.  

“You’re really cute Sohee.”  

Finally he’s turning to look at you, and the heaviness in your gaze is enough to floor him.  For once, you are easy to read, the lust obvious in your eyes and in the way your fingers are inching closer to his thigh.  He leans in before you have time to react and kisses you.  It’s brief, just a quick peck and he mostly did it on instinct.  When he sees that he caught you off guard, he feels cockiness starting to set in.  He knows that you’re having fun toying with him at this point, so to be able to catch you off guard even for a moment makes him satisfied.  Your eyes flicker down to his lips and he’s leaning in again, with conviction this time, plush lips slotting against yours.  It takes you no time before your kissing him back, moving your mouth in tandem with his.  He brings a hand to cup your jaw as the kiss intensifies, both of you breathing heavily through your nose.  The way your lips feel against his is so soft, and he can taste the sweetness of your lip balm.  

Your hand creeps up to rest on his inner thigh and Sohee feels his cock jump in his shorts.  He presses his hips forward to indicate that its okay, not wanting to break the kiss he so badly longed for.  When he feels your hand finally touch where he needs you most he moans against your lips and the sound makes you want to devour him whole.  You press your palm against him as you break away from the kiss, trying to catch your breath while simultaneously trying to get a look at his pretty face.  He looks so dazed, his lips are swollen from your kisses with his chest heaving with each breath he takes.  He grinds against your palm and the action makes you rub your thighs together, he’s just so cute.  He can tell the effect he’s having on you and all it does is stroke his ego.  

“Is this turning you on?”  

His voice is a wreck and borders on whiny, but he doesn’t care, not when your pupils look so blown.  You nod your head as you bite your lip, starting to feel restless now, the achiness beginning to be a little too much.  Sohee spreads his legs to give you more room, shamelessly pushing into your hand each time you press down.  He looks at you and he can see you’re practically panting as you watch him.  You pull your hand away, ceasing your movements, obsessed with the way you can see him twitch in his pants.  Sohee realizes then that you’re just as fascinated with him as he is with you.  He guides your hand back down to grip him, but this time he holds it against him.  He looks you in the eyes as he grinds his hips up into your combined hands, moaning into the air as he does so.  He watches the way you cross your legs a little tighter, trying to give yourself something.

He pulls you in for another kiss with his unoccupied hand on the back of your neck.  It’s sloppy and uncoordinated but Sohee doesn’t care, he just needs to be pressed against you.  When you start to whine into his mouth he breaks away to see the reason you sound that way, coming face to face with the sight of you sticking your own hand in your shorts.  He swears he could cum right then and there.  His view is obstructed, and he hates it, he wants to see the exact way you like your clit played with.  The angle is the awkward with how your kneeled next to him on the couch and Sohee gets an idea.  When he pulls your hand away from him, the distressed look on your face makes him want to let you keep going.  Wordlessly, he moves to one end of the couch, sitting so his back is against the arm rest, legs resting on the cushions.  

“Come sit on my lap.”

You think that you would do anything he asked when he sounds that pretty saying it.  Reluctantly, you pull your fingers off your clit and crawl towards him on the couch until your resting against his thighs.  Sohee sees the wet patch against your shorts and lets out a groan, reaching a hand into his own.  He pulls his waistband down just enough to be able to wrap his hand fully around his cock.  You follow his lead, reaching your hand back into your pants to resume your earlier movement, but now you can see all of him.  The room is so hot Sohee thinks he may burn alive, but it would be a good way to go.  Especially when you’re moaning so prettily for him on his lap, touching yourself to him.  

“You’re so pretty y/n”

He means it.  Everything about you draws him in, consuming him with the need to be around you and hear your every thought.  His hand not being used to touch himself rests on your inner thigh, stroking up and down, resisting the urge to touch you exactly where he wants to.  When you start to hump your own hand, Sohee begins to stroke himself faster, matching your movements.  He sees the wet patch on your shorts getting darker and he thinks about how bad he wants to taste you.  When he realizes he can hear how wet you sound even with your shorts still covering you, Sohee thinks he might combust.  Your movements are starting to get jerky, hips kicking involuntarily as you rub yourself faster.

“Sohee ’m gonna cum.”

Your voice is still as sweet and melodic as ever, whines making it sound severely more erotic.  He hears the way you moan his name and thinks that’s the only sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life.  He watches on with boyish fascination as you grind against your hand a few more times, body shaking as you cum.  He takes in how your thighs try and close, your fingers working you through your orgasm, body letting out twitches from above him as you gasp.   You have to put a hand on Sohee’s shoulder to stop yourself from collapsing completely against him.  Hand still once you’re too sensitive.  

Sohee is almost there, he can feel it, his lower stomach tensing as his movements grow faster.  You pull the hand that’s from your pants and swat his hand away, replacing it with your own.  Sohee groans at how warm and wet your hand is, thinking about how you were just using that same hand to play with your pussy.  You flick your wrist quickly, trying to get him there as he whines, squirming from the friction of your hand.  When he finally comes it’s intense and overwhelming, your thumb brushing over the head as he spills all over your hand, his body shuddering as he cries out your name.  You watch on as his whole body shakes and twitches until he's finally had enough, pushing at your hand to stop.  

You both can’t stop staring at each other as you sit there and catch your breath.  Absentmindedly he reaches his clean hand out to trace the features of your face.  You mirror him, starting at his eyebrows and ending at his lips.  You start to giggle and Sohee thinks about how terribly he wanted to hear that sound a few weeks ago and how gratifying it is to hear it now.  He wishes you would let him record it so he could hear it whenever he wanted to.  He looks at you with a smile of his own, letting out a ‘hm?’ Your answer being something he never expected to hear.  

“I think I’m a little obsessed with you.”

The irony is not lost on him.  

[hadesglance]

All Hail the New Queen Chapter 1 (Rewrite)

Hey all! That's right I am slowly getting back to this and wanted to share the rewrite! There are a couple changes though.

1st, this is no longer a reader insert! But it should read the same. I am just preparing this for potential publication. That being said I won't be sharing a whole lot of 'rewrite' content, but I am in the process of outlining BOOK TWO! AHHHH...and since my first process was to write as a reader insert you can hopefully look forward to it!

Would love thoughtful critics! Please enjoy and dive into Hades' world again!

via GIPHY

-Hades-

The Underworld…a place for departed souls. A place for those lost before their time and those who have finally found rest. Ruled by the strict hand of the god, Hades, who’s golden eyes now moved across the five rivers that divided the dominion separating the souls into their proper places. This king frowned as another shaded soul slipped from the bank into the Acheron. Human souls were so fragile and easily gave into pain instead of attempting to stay on the banks for their time. This king didn’t decide the time spent on the banks, that fell to the judges he appointed and truly it was a recommendation. If their time was spent serving the Underworld, they would make it to Asphodel.

The pale king tensed feeling a presence enter his realm. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get visitors. His brothers worried that he worked too hard and would attempt to get him to stop for a while. This was not the presence of a god though…this was a living presence…at mortal.

He walked a long open rotunda of this tower looking for the source. If it was a living soul, there would be a sign. Those that weren’t dead shed a light here that would attract attention of everything that resided in his realm. Sure enough, toward Minos’ maze there was an unmistakable shimmer. Curiosity burned in Hades’ chest. It had been nearly a millennium since some mortal had entered his realm, but instead of pursuing it he turned away. If the maze didn’t stop them the rest of the realm would. He would not concern himself with a fool.

Try as he might to ignore the small fearful presence, it remained. For hours it nagged and pulled on the back of his mind alerting him that this mortal was getting closer. Yet he was certain that a mortal from the 21st century would not make it to his sanctum.

So, when the creak of the doors groaned from disuse his heart jumped to his throat. He planted himself against one of the large white marble pillars of the rotunda. What mortal could make it here? And for what purpose? Heavy slow footsteps echoed against the domed roof accompanied by soft sobs. He dared not make a move yet. He wasn’t afraid, just shocked.

“I want to make a deal!” He jumped slightly at the shout. A strong but strained voice pierced the quiet room hanging there before a soft heartfelt plea, “Please…please answer me…”

Hades swallowed and slowing chanced to peer out of his hiding spot. He watched a young woman slowly fall to her knees. She was covered head to toe in ash, perhaps she came from Avernus? Her long brown hair was braided to one side hanging over her shoulder as she leaned forward in…prayer? Yes…yes, she was praying to him. What a strange sensation to be sought after. Of course he still had some followers which was certainly better then most of his brethren. A warmth spread through him from a believer. He slowly stepped out from behind the pillar watching her getting no sense of danger. She was praying for him to appear. A simple request, one he felt he could grant. When he spoke, his voice echoed against the walls making his location hard to pinpoint in the dark temple, “You think yourself worthy to deal with the King of the Underworld?”

“No.” The answer surprised him. It wasn’t often a mortal could pull that off. Her face was pitiful when she lifted it to look around, sweat and tears fell down her face, “No, I am not worthy, but my brother is. He gave everything to a country that doesn’t even want to recognize his sacrifice.”

“Did he die?” He glanced over to the river of souls out the window, a mesmerizing ripple of colors depicting the different souls and their destinations of the afterlife.

“No.” She trembled as she continued to look about the dimly lit space. He ensured he remained out of view moving slowly just out of her perception, “He was paralyzed from the waist down. He’s a strong and proud man but this i-it broke him. He tried to kill himself with his IV tubes. He was completely blue when I found him.”

He paused watching this woman hung her head shutting her eyes letting the painful memory wash over herself. A side effect of the Underworld was that any real memory had was amplified, almost as if you were reliving the moment. Things were meant to be felt down here, a product of a soul being judged and placed. He took another step toward her feeling more secure as the conversation continued, “And you…what? Want me to give his mobility back?”

“Yes…you wouldn’t just be helping him. You’d be helping my whole family. Jonah is the only good thing that has happened…he’s made something of himself…” She tensed for a moment, finally sensing him behind her before beginning to turn her head. She seemed to be very preceptive, interesting…

“Don’t move.” He watched her freeze instantly. Listening could be added to the list of good traits for what might come next. He took another step forward as she turned her head away from him, “And what would you offer in return for this sudden miracle?”

She shivered as his cool presence stopped right behind her. Her trembling didn’t stop in her body, but never showed in her voice, “Whatever it takes.”

Always the answer. Every human was so noble, so ready to throw everything away. Hades sighed before he knelt behind her. He reached out tucking a loose hair behind her ear as he leaned whispering, “Whatever it takes?”

“Yes.” She shut her eyes and swallowed down another wave of emotions, no doubt trying to overtake her.

“Your soul?” He let the backs of his fingers trail down her neck to the collared rust colored plaid shirt she wore. It stood out against the light olive tones of her skin.

“Yes.”

“That’s too easy.” He let both his hands grasp her shoulders suddenly making her more tense. He was playing a game at this point. Anyone who decided to meet a god should expect something of this nature. Afterall he was thousands of years old…boredom happens, and this was new, “Your soul is already going to end up here eventually. No, no…I would need a real sacrifice.”

“Name it.” He tilted his head as her voice firmly declared her resolve, “Whatever the price is, I’ll pay it.”

He flexed his fingers on her tense frame letting his eyes scan over the room. His landed on one of the many statues at the altar. Persephone…She visited when she was required, but thousands of years changed the relationship. No longer married, but when a deal is struck, and the world shifted because of it order needed to remain. The rules dictated she had to help in the winter. They were still friendly though. Perhaps it was the blood of gods that kept them from truly forming a real committed relationship, but now wasn’t the time to speculate on that. Now he had a plan…one rashly made and not entirely thought out.

“I want you.” He whispered finally as fog began rolling in from the annexes as he began to tell her the price of what she asked of him, “All of you…A woman who would find her way down to hell is someone with potential…what say you to that?”

“…” Her silence filled the void, and he was certain the fickleness of man would present itself. But another moment passed by as her eyes opened. He could tell now she was thinking it all through. It wasn’t a simple request, but it would get her everything she asked for. He had eternity, so what was a few more moments.

“One condition-” She gasped as he leaned forward once more asserting himself.

“That’s not how this works, you wanted a deal. I gave it to you.” He pressed his mouth against her ear gripping her shoulders tightly. She grimaced more than he thought she would. It was then he saw the trickle of blood moving down from under her sleeve. Had she been hurt? He’d been so blindsided by her presence he hadn’t taken her in fully.

“P-please it doesn’t stop me from doing ask you ask.” She whispered as her shoulders pulled upward despite his grip loosening. He had never meant to hurt her. She shut her eyes once more before turning her head slightly as if to face him, but still obeying his request from earlier, “Allow me to tell you no on occasion. Little things: eat this…no…read this…no…stand here… Trivial things and small annoyances nothing that would prevent you from really having what you want. I promise I will not do it every day…but allow a small rebellion.”

He tilted his head in thought before taking in a breath. It was an odd request. He should say no take what he offered or leave, but there was something that made him consider it. Likely that he longed for a companion again. Living here alone day after day…he knew why his brothers worried. He let a resigned sigh adding his own amendment, “Only if you look me in the eye when you say no. So, I know it’s that request. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. She was committed he’d give her that.

“Good.” He reached a hand forward producing a part of the ritual that would seal their deal, “Open your eyes.”

She did so, seeing his pale hand in front of her, his palm was open holding pomegranate seeds. She let out a soft laugh that tickled his ears, “I did not think the king of hell would be so poetic…”

The warmth of her fingers didn’t shock him. He was naturally colder than any creature, but when she turned to put the fruit in her mouth making eye contact with him with dark blue eyes, it shook something inside of him for a second. A small act of defiance, for sure. But these were the eyes of a believer. A true believer. His very being vibrated slightly as her eyes locked with his, her side of the deal struck tying their weaves together.

All of this happened in a moment. Just as he also began fulfilling his end of the deal. Somewhere far away on the surface, her brother felt warmth return where he’d been cold for so many months. He regained himself quickly as a smirk fell on this face, “I have my moments as you will find.”

Hades looked her over more trying to ascertain if she had anymore wounds. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, no doubt thinking he was being lewd. He took in a small breath before speaking again, “Tell me your name.”

“Mia Petrakis.” Of course, it was. In his family names were everything and what they meant carried weight. He wondered if his beautiful rock would sink him or anchor him?

[thedarkmistress16]

do you have any tips for coming up with things for ocs? like backstory or just facts about them.

I once took a creative writing class that brainstormed a character's history, motives, personality, etc. as an exercise and it helped a lot in fleshing out one of my oc's for a story project that semester, but you don't have to spend money on an instructed guide like that. The internet is abound with free sources (even at a local library) but writing them down in one place is cost-friendly too (though digital sources can be better, more organized formats).

Can always use a character generator that asks you the harder and more integral/specific questions depending on the kind of oc you plan on creating/fleshing out (d&d, gen roleplay, specific franchises/fandoms, etc.). I tried this out on my phone once and it was neat but not my style. was kinda overwhelming for me, but very useful for on-the-go brainstorming and having it all in one place, tho

Viewing existing character sheets from other artists helps too like seeing how they tackle certain concepts (special abilities, species, family dynamics, personal/physical/mental issues, etc.) or simply just how they word or visualize things (not unlike a writer's thesaurus, lol).

Speaking of art styles, finding various ocs from a single franchise can also help personal oc visualization; diff takes on the art style really helps me visualize simple things such as expressions or clothing in diff lights like the shape/form and shading or even outlining. It can easily inspire me to come up with a whole personality for a character just by a diff in design or style (seeing the outside of diff cardboard boxes??? it's hard to explain, actually XD).

Researching art styles also applies to exploring stories in general. reading a lot helps you understand why certain things occur in a storyline, and if you can easily implant your oc into those circumstances, then you'll be able to correlate similarities and figure out motives, backstories, and behaviors a lot easier (this applies to things that affect the plot, not quirky behaviors or mannerisms that exist to just exist as an extra detail. it also helps to be able to pinpoint how and why a story works in the first place for this kind of practice. ah, the joys of a writer, lol)

Expanding upon the research concept, explore diff mediums of media like tv, movies, fanfiction, and games- whatever your taste is. It never hurts to come across new content or viewing a tried cliche in a different perspective (also applies to reading between the lines, like analyzing the atmosphere of a scene of a couple spending time together, for ex.).

And of course, opening yourself to questions on your ocs really helps you think about their actions easier than trying to for yourself, sometimes. your brain can very easily be overwhelmed by doing that. outside questions can even help flesh out other parts of the oc without you realizing it later on (like a generator, but the q's are more random and specific in diff ways for things you wouldn't have thought of otherwise; mainly due to people's wide array of experiences than the general, most common things a generator will include).

If you daydream a lot, you can easily come up with a plethora of situations for your oc to be in if you already have a basic idea of their personality and visual style. and then analyze the circumstances for that situation to occur as you still remember it. or you can simply write the scenario out and always develop more of it later on.

Music choices help too, but for me it's mainly to set the mood over brainstorming, lol. creating a playlist for your oc can help greatly in terms of story and sometimes even speech patterns? there are playlists that exist to set a certain pov or tone, so it's worth to check out at least one of them (it seems many wattpad writers get inspired from this)

And finally, but most importantly, always keep a record of what you absolutely know you want your oc to be, in a journal or a document. I have diff ones for diff franchises, but also an all-encompassing one for in general what the character boils down to each time (i also love me some aus so this is really helpful). Maybe split it into a list of 'for sure' and 'maybes,' and come up with diff reasons why some trait or piece of history is in the maybe category. Or write everything in one go and condense it later on to a more refined list.

Sometimes, just writing in general, stepping away from it, or coming off of a block can give you oc inspiration like a bolt of lightning. I'd say try a bit of everything and see what works best for you. you wanna make a venn diagram or a web bubble of your oc's traits and facts? Fucking go for it! I go back to some methods now and again, like deviant art's filled and blank character sheets or meme templates or even re-reading my own writings on my oc and going ham on a certain idea. As a writer, there's always something to improve upon or include so you're bound to get something else out of what you created thus far. Just don't feel discouraged or burn yourself out over it if you can't come up with anything- sometimes the lack of one idea leads to a plethora of others.

[skaruresonic]

"Oh, it can't be that ba..."

"nvm, wtf am I looking at" There's something really uncanny about this art style, and while I struggle to pinpoint exactly what about it puts me off, I feel like it might be because the realism clashes with the vague anime aesthetic. It doesn't fully commit to anime or realism, but instead pulls traits from both in a mishmash of styles. But it's like, when you put anime proportions on realistic character designs or vice-versa, such as long pointed wedge-shaped faces on beefy hot-guy bodies, it gives off a feeling of visual dissonance. (Based on your linked post, I'm assuming the strawberry-haired woman is Sylpha, but rn she's looking a lot more like Spock than Sylpha. The harsh angles in her jaw and ears and her wonky proportions almost make her seem inhuman.) Likewise for the shading and the inking. The inking is way too heavy and sharp to mesh well with the soft lighting. It implies that soft light is somehow strong enough to cast harsh, clear-cut shadows, which is a physical impossibility that I think maybe I subconsciously find hard to reconcile. Light does not work Like That. It looks fine in the Nocturne!Alucard example because the glow softens the shadows, but it doesn't seem to make as much sense for the above screenshot or the last one you posted; the middle of the afternoon and evening are treated as bearing roughly the same kind of light source.

Also they joked about this shit in Smoke Signals:

Maybe you could vouch for this? Is it just me, or is the Netflixavania art style, uh. Actually a little ugly? Because I've been seeing screenshots you've posted, as well as ran across an imageset of Olrox and his lover, and each time, I've been like "oh big oof @ that lighting. so did they just copypaste some generic hot guy models. why do everyone's faces look the same. truly the Character Design of all time"

I very much do not like it 😂

It's basically Discount Ayami Kojima... but like. Really discount. "Dollar store" would be generous. I compared original designs vs. Netflix designs here, and you can also see the difference in art.

Now sure, Kojima drew actual paintings while an animated show is bound to have a simpler style... but man, with the exception of some keyframes, the show is nowhere near as impressive looking as hype would make you believe.

Season 4 had a steep decline in quality, both in still frames...

(why can't this poor man catch a break. now they've gone and shrunk his head while he looks like he smoked the whole weed stash in the castle)

... and in animation.

^ this is used as proof that Powerhouse should animate a Berserk adaptation, by the way. Fight the pain away, my head is in ruins.

no seriously what in the shit happened to hair in this season, what is that creature billowing in the wind. animators blink twice if you need help

And Nocturne? More of the same. You can count the frames in this scene (the season's climax, btw) without pausing:

Actually, speaking of lighting!

any, uh. any reason this vampire's shoulder isn't burned to a crisp, show? she's clearly half standing in the sunlight. bruh.

I wouldn't even care that much, if again both NFCV and Nocturne weren't praised for their excellent animation, among all the other things they sure aren't excellent at.

and hot take i do not understand how so many people thirst for n!alucard when he's the ugliest horseman i've seen in my life, and yes i'm counting bojack horseman. thank kojima he looks more human in Nocturne

[duckprintspress]

Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

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1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

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2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

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3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

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4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

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5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

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6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

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7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

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8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

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9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

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10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

*

Have a question about writing? Drop us an ask!

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[naberiuz]

i'll find you (across five hundred lifetimes)

He remembers her smile, her laughter, and the indescribable feeling of being loved and loving in return.

"Ha! You can’t get rid of me in any lifetime, scumbag!"

(A multiple reincarnations AU wherein Scaramouche takes a glimpse of his many lifetimes, and finds out how fate makes it extremely hard for him just to be with some girl.)

Read on: AO3

When he comes to, he’s in a strange dark room. All around him there’s nothingness. No objects, no shadows, no walls nor any surface. The only thing that catches his attention is a door, illuminated in the dark by the light coming from the other side.

This must be the afterlife. He thinks. Or a very weird dream. Although for some reason, he’s sure the latter option is just not true. He has a vague recollection of the feeling of dying, although he can’t seem to recall any details.

He opens the door and enters a large dark room. At the center of it was a wall of pictures, or rather a collection of moving images. When he moves closer to inspect them, he sees that they display snippets of him doing things he can't seem to remember doing.

“These are all your past lives.” A voice behind him says, startling him out of his inspection. He turns to look at the source, his eyes meeting those of a young man with blond hair tied in a braid, with eyes the same shade as his hair. For some reason, the man seems really familiar to him, but he can’t quite pinpoint his name.

“Five hundred iterations. This one’s your previous life.” The blond man gestures to the lower right corner.

 Ah, I know that. That’s what he thinks as a reflex, however he can’t seem to put into words exactly what he’s seeing. He tries to reach into his mind for bits and pieces of his memory. He was the number 6th of something, he served a queen, or rather two queens, and he was able to wield the power of what seems to be lightning through a small object. His brows furrow in confusion. He thinks he can recognize the images that flash from the frame, but he can’t seem to describe whatever he was doing. It’s as if he knew everything he was seeing, but he conveniently forgets the information the moment he tries to think about it.

He moves his gaze away from the image, instead looking at the other frames one by one starting from the top. One of the images catches his attention. For some reason, even through his hazy mind, through his memory that seemed like it’s failing him more and more through the minute, he recognizes her. 

Mona.  

So he knows her name. That was interesting. Come to think of it, what even was his name?

Only then does he recognize that the other frames show her too, in what seems to be different ages, settings, situations. Without meaning to, his hand reaches out to touch her image.

And suddenly everything flashes white.

---

He’s lying on the ground, coughing blood out of his mouth. Beside him, Mona’s sobbing, trying uselessly to stop his blood from flowing out of his wound.

He raises a shaky hand to her cheek. “Idiot witch...don’t be so surprised…”

“Scaramouche!” She wails, eyes red with panicked tears, her cheeks stained red by the blood from his hand. “Stop talking!”

He chuckles at her sadly. He swallows, though it was unpleasant with all the blood in his mouth. “You told me before…that my existence was an anomaly in fate…” He watches as she nods shakily. “I kept telling you how stupid you were for believing in fate, but all of that was just me trying to selfishly hang on...” Mona’s lip quivers, shaking her head. “You were right. My fate was forfeit a long, long time ago…”

She’d told him about what she saw in her readings, about his fate having met its end 500 years ago, but he’d been living as an anomaly. He proudly called it as him breaking the rules of fate.

Well, he did indeed. And now he got his punishment for it.

“It’s not so bad, considering I got this far…” To meet you. Goes unsaid. He tries to laugh again, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle. Damn, that Traveler really didn’t hesitate to stab him where it hurt.

His eyes began to dim, the vision of her slowly blurring. Along with it did Mona’s crying grew in intensity.

“Don’t cry, Mona. I’m not someone you should cry over.” For I was never worth anything.  

“Next time...don’t fall for such a mean guy like me.” He tells her with a final smile, before closing his eyes.

---

Perhaps he should’ve thought twice before saying that.  

He jumps to the next timeline. This time he’s in a church full of smiling people in suits and dresses. The grand double doors open, the sound alerting everyone to look at the entrance. Everyone turns to stare at the woman in a long white gown, wearing huge smiles on their faces as they marvel at her beauty.

Scaramouche stares at her, transfixed, just like every single time.

She walks slowly, a bouquet of cecilia in her hand, dressed in a long mermaid style dress. Even through the veil, he could see her grey eyes sparkling with joy.

She raises her gaze and their eyes meet, and he can’t breathe as he stays rooted on the spot, unable to react.

It was only a few seconds, but he swears he sees different emotions just from her gaze.

Shock, longing, sadness.

And then the moment breaks as she passes him, eyes moving forward to meet misty blue-green eyes belonging to a sandy-haired man.

Albedo reaches to hold her hand, and that’s when Scaramouche decides he’s had enough, quickly leaving his seat and fleeing from the church doors before anyone could take a glimpse of the angry, hot tears falling over his cheeks because damn it, damn it, the taste of regret is so strong and palpable it’s physically painful.

In the next lifetime, he swears, he’ll make it right.

---

The clock reads 12:48 AM, yet he’s wide awake as he stares down at the beauty beside him.

She’s asleep, one arm propped on his chest as she snuggles her face on the crook of his neck. He has his arm around her waist, his thumb drawing circles on her lower back.

They may have overindulged on each other, he reflects, as he eyes the clothes thrown around the floor. This may not have been the best idea considering it’s only Wednesday and they both have to be up early tomorrow, and he still needs to drive Mona back to her house in the morning.

He makes a mental note to try to convince her to live with him already, to hell with what their coworkers think about them arriving together.

Am I really so bad that she won’t agree to publicizing our relationship? Yes, I am. He answers himself with a chuckle. The nerve of this woman. If everyone knew they were together then that creep Arnold would stop bothering her already during her lunch break. His blood always boils whenever he sees that man approach Mona to ask her personal questions, even going as far as to ask her for a date. That loser? On a date with Mona? Preposterous! Next time I see him, I swear I'm going to kiss Mona in front of the whole-

She stirs beside him, mumbling something in her sleep.

“Must rid material desires…clutter…true world..” She mumbles incomprehensibly. He had a brief moment of temptation of recording the funny scene before him, but ultimately caves in to just staying put instead of getting up and looking for his phone. He’d rather not leave the warmth of her side.

He knows in the morning they’ll go back to their previous routine. Wake up early to drive her to her house and then back to his, get changed fast, and arrive to work with her following a few minutes behind. Her taking the public commute always makes her a little late. "Why can’t you just join me as I drive to work?" "Idiot, I don’t want other people to talk behind our back."  

He presses a kiss to her hair, and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh.

He'll wait. As long as it takes. Maybe even one day they'll have kids...

    ---

“You are so mean, you know that?”

A strong breeze blows around him, swaying the trees and the flowers that surround him. Behind him, a little girl runs around with a doll in her hand.

“You could’ve waited just for a bit more.” He mumbles softly, hands in his pockets. He looks upwards, noticing how the clouds have turned into dark grey.

“Tsuki says you talk to her often. I have no idea what that means, Mona.”

There’s no reply. Apart from the silence, the only sounds around him are from the breeze and the occasional giggles from the little girl.

There’s no reply because he’s talking to a slab of stone with Mona's name on it.

“Talk to me too, please. Just once.” He says softly, his voice breaking at the end. Above him, the sound of thunder cracks through the dimming sky. His eyes start to water, but he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand.

He feels small hands grab his pant legs. Familiar grey eyes stare up at him, unshed tears threatening to fall any minute. He crouches down immediately to look at his daughter with a comforting smile.

 "Yes, baby?"

 “Papa. I’m scared.”

He sighs before gathering her in his arm, and presses a soothing kiss on her cheek. “I told you before, remember? Thunder won't hurt you.” His daughter nods with a pout as she leans to rest on his chest.

 Nothing can hurt you. As long as I’m here.  

 But I wish you were here too.    

---

They complete their wedding vows under the sakura tree.

He holds her in his arms as they both take in the scenery around him, watching pink petals float about in the air. Both of them were wearing kimonos, his in a deep indigo while hers in light blues and deep purples. The guest list was incredibly short with only a few mutual friends.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, inhaling her scent with a content sigh. Mona cranes her neck to give him a peck on the cheek, one hand carding through his indigo hair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get my mother’s blessing.” He murmurs softly to her ear. He feels her disentangle herself from his arms, reaching up to cup his face with both hands.

“Listen, Kuni. It’s fine. I don’t care about what she thinks.”

It had been a pretty unpleasant ordeal. He already knew it was a bad idea the moment he thought about it, but not letting his mother know about their plan to marry, as well as never introducing the love of his life felt unfair. Not to his mother, but to Mona. He thought she at least deserved to know the true nature of his family. She had also insisted on meeting her, even after he’d warned her many times about their terrible relationship.

You are my greatest regret. I see no need to give you any blessing.  

The anger he felt for her had dulled throughout the years. He’d taken the admonition with a simple nod and took it in stride as they left. He’d grown long past the need to gain her love, respect, anything to gain her attention. This last time does nothing to faze him, not anymore.

It was to his surprise however, to see Mona crying angrily as he drove away from the mansion.

“I love you. I need you. That’s all that matters.” She says with a gentle smile, her pale gray eyes holding his indigo gaze. He mirrors her smile, turning one of her hands in his palm to press a kiss on the center.

   ---

He comes back to the room after what seemed like an eternity. Beside him, the blond man is staring at him passively, arms crossed.

He clutched his head, mind still spinning from the barrage of five hundred lifetimes worth of memories.

He had two names. Scaramouche and Raiden Kunikuzushi.

Her name was Mona Megistus, and in each lifetime she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“So how was it? Did you learn anything useful?”

Scaramouche laughs darkly, shaking his head. He runs an agitated hand through his hair.

Five hundred lifetimes. And only in six of them did he spend the end of his lifespan with Mona. Only six times did he get to see her grow ugly and wrinkly and full of happiness and contentment.  Most of the time either he or Mona died, although the former was almost always guaranteed. If neither of them died, he loses her to someone else while he lives on in misery until he withers away pathetically.

The man behind him moves, gesturing at him to come follow him with a flick of his head. He follows wordlessly, because he had nothing else to do in the afterlife.

They stop in front of two closed doors. The blond man moves to stand in the middle.

“These doors will lead you to your next life.” He says, always speaking in that bored tone of his. He points to the left. “If you choose this path, you will probably gain the respect of many people, including your family, and you won’t get involved in some wayward business like you always do.” Scaramouche raises an eyebrow at the last statement.

“And this one?” He points to the right.

“The opposite. You’ll most probably get involved with some shady people, fail to gain the respect of your family, earn the scorn of many people, so on and so forth.” The man tells him, sounding like he had been reciting the same thing over and over again.

Scaramouche’s brows furrow even more in confusion. “So? Why would this be an option in the first place?” He asks, as if stating the obvious. He shouldn’t have to think about the choices if that’s how much worse the path on the right is.

The other man lets out a sigh before replying. “Well, because only in this lifetime, you will cross paths with the one you love the most. You know who I mean.”

Scaramouche freezes, unable to reply as he stares at the other with wide eyes. A million thoughts race to his head, ranging from disbelief at this fucked up reincarnation rules, anger at his fate, and despair at the thought of having to fight the uphill battle just to be with some girl.

He remembers her smile, and her laughter, and the indescribable feeling of being loved and loving in return.

Ha! You can’t get rid of me in any lifetime, scumbag!  

He clicks his tongue in annoyance and yanks open the door to the right, stepping over to the other side before turning around and pointing at the blond man with a glare.

“I don’t know your name right now but I swear if you’re the one running this shit, I will kill you once I find you in this life.” He says menacingly before slamming the door closed.

Aether sighs with a roll of his eyes, muttering to himself about why he even bothers to mention the obviously better option. He should just shove him out the door next time.

Author’s Note:

Wow so you made it to the end :) Confession: actually this fic has been sitting around since July but I only finished this now LOL but hey it's finally here

The idea of Scara being so head over heels for Mona that he would go as far as to challenge fate…* clenches fist * it hits different because he’s a nasty mean asshole. Also this is my first Scaramona fic, and I'm so elated to have finally contributed something to this fandom.  

Comments are greatly appreciated <3 gimme them word vomit pls

[legolaslovely]

A Dwarf and His Fairy

A/N: Here it is! The Fíli x Fairy piece I've been working on! This piece taught me a LOT! About editing, plotting, character work, etc., and though it's not perfect, I'm still really proud of it and happy with it. Thanks to all who supported me with this one. I hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Fíli x Ivy (my fairy OC)

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: None!

Summary: Even Fíli needs someone to remind him that self-care is a requirement, and not a reward. Good thing he has a somewhat relentless, but very loving fairy friend to remind him.

Fíli slid the book away in defeat. It was as heavy as stone and full of numbers and dates and plans and problems. Even as the wicked pages turned by, they let out a nasty hiss and the scratchy old leather cover whipped around with a solid, successful splat, fighting Fíli until it’s last breath.

Once it was done, his surrender official, Fíli’s head fell into his hands and he groaned, making one of the last candles in his chambers flicker in his breath. Truthfully, the nub of wax, short wick, and tiny flame was barely a candle at all. It hardly resembled the tall, radiant torch it had previously been. But it wasn’t alone. Similarly, as the night went on, Fíli’s resolve had melted away and his shoulders warped and rounded like hot wax until there was very little light to give.

All because of that damned book.

       “I need a break,” he said to no one but the silver platter of untouched goodies sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a small, shining jug of sweet milk, a tiny jar of honey with a miniscule spoon to match and a delicate bowl of crumbling honey cakes. It was all left waiting, as was Fíli.

He stared at the treats and swore he saw them move. But he dismissed it, ascribing it to fatigue, and closed his eyes, leaning his heavy chin on his wrist.

Then something struck him.

It was a scent he’d long been familiar with. Despite its peculiarity, he could always pinpoint its source from the first time he witnessed it and matched it with its meaning. This was the smell of magic- frozen as fresh winter frost and balmy as sun bathed flower petals- and it effortlessly roused him from his near nap and provoked him to sit up straight and search the room.

At first, he saw nothing, though he did recognize the swishing sound of her clothes rushing through the air. Every spent candle in his chambers now roared to life with new flame and an endless wick. The room glowed as if it was midday, not only with candlelight, but with the hope and warmth of company.

       “Oh, my friend,” Fíli said. “Make yourself known to me. I’ve longed to see you again.”

She stopped, showing herself just below the ceiling in front of the desk. With a smile, she gracefully and silently descended, relaxing her wings and letting them sway through the air rather than furiously flap. When she found her place before Fíli’s eyes, however, the four little wings revolved again in a blur of speed in her otherwise still, hovering flight.

       “Hello, my dear,” he said, holding out a horizontal finger for her to perch on if by chance she was tired from her journey, or simply wanted to be near him.

She only smiled and took his hospitality. Even when her bare feet landed on his knuckle, Fíli barely felt her touch. Though he hadn’t seen her in some weeks and though they’d met decades ago, she still looked the same to him, as if time would never disturb her.

His fairy’s name was Ivy. She was almost as tall as his hand from wrist to fingertip, and she had long waving hair as dark as a winter night’s sky. The dress she wore was sturdy despite its fabric of light leaves and soft petals. Fíli had no doubt her clothing was made of the same flower whence she came. It was the legend, after all, though she herself never told him so. Instead, it was his fascination and, one could even say infatuation, that spurred on his research.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, his little fairy friend always appeared to glow. Fíli didn’t believe it to be magic or the pollen on her dress or the shine on her wings. He thought it was simply her essence that glowed and shone like a piece of a star drifting from its flight for his own sake and pleasure.

She was a pleasure. And she had been missed.

       “Where have you been?” Fíli asked. It wasn’t accusatory or disappointed or cruel. He just wondered. “Tell me of your travels.”

She sat down on him and squeezed his finger with hers, like tangled blades of grass, as if she knew how much he missed traveling himself. Like she knew of that feeling deep down in his bones that defied his kind and his duties, begging and pulling at him to wander and explore.

Still, the bundle of joy that she was, she didn’t dwell or dawdle, but showed him where she’d been, using pictures in lieu of words so he could see these places himself.

The visions flew up behind her head and revealed scenes that were so clear, it was as if Fíli was simply looking through a window and out into the most mystifying bits of the world. He could smell the warm wind that blew through tall grass on the hills and could hear the gurgling of stream water. He recognized the soft, wet, moss-ridden floor of Fangorn Forest and when he asked his fairy what she’d been doing there, she showed him the fresh green leaves of saplings. Her memories unveiled the fairies’ gifts of hardy seeds and fresh water, along with magic, but not artificial sunlight.

       “You helped them grow,” Fíli said, astonished at the ability and yet, not surprised at his friend’s generous deeds.

Ivy smiled and another scene flashed above her head. This one sent real spray into Fíli’s face that knocked him back into his chair with an indignant cry.

Her feet kicked through the air as she laid back and laughed, making the sound of a small bell ringing in the distance. It was the only sound Fíli ever heard from her and upon hearing it, he instantly forgave her antics.

       “What was that?” he asked, voice left high from his surprised yelp.

It only made her giggle more and even louder, like the bell was soaring closer to Fíli’s ears. With a hand over her belly, she leaned back again and in her entertainment, slid right off Fíli’s finger.

       “Hey there, careful!” Fíli chided, grinning all the way. He caught her, sitting her in his palm to avoid another slip. When she calmed and settled in the cushiony pillow of his hand, he said, “I should have let you tumble for that trick!” He winked. “But then again, you would have flapped your wings before you hit the ground, hm?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was fruitless. She giggled again and pointed at him with a shaking finger.

       “You’re right,” he said. “I would never let you fall.”

At that, she turned fully pink. Not just the round of her cheeks or the tips of her pointed ears, but completely pink- wings and all. Fíli loved it when she did that, especially when he was the reason for it.

The bright shade only lasted for a moment, however, and she quickly brushed her hair off her shoulder, pushing the locks down her back, and brought Fíli’s attention back to the scene that had splashed him. With a flick of her finger, she showed him more, uncovering a waterfall that was so tall, it could have reached the parapets of the mountain of Erebor. The water that flowed off the cliff and into the serene lake was as blue as the summer sky and framed with the deep green clouds of the hanging trees and stout bushes near its edges. The bright sunlight left specks of glitter in the fall’s foam and a radiant ribbon through the water’s center that was so blinding, Fíli had to squint hard until the vision moved and gave him a new, less glaring view.

       “It’s so beautiful,” he said.

She let him admire the scene for a long, generous moment before taking him along the trails hidden in the connecting forest to show him its exact location. The exploration was all done through the window of the vision.

       “I know where that is,” he said. “It’s not too far from here, close enough where you and I could sneak away. It seems I’m not the only one who could use a break from my duties.”

The fairy smiled and nodded, hair waving against Fíli’s palm and tickling him. In her eagerness, the shining curtain parted and one stubborn lock fell in her eyes. That rogue twist of hair was something that teased her often, but if it was an imperfection, it was one that only endeared her to Fíli all the more.

Before she could right the tendril herself, Fíli lifted his hand, brushing his fingertip very carefully over her small cheek and pushing her feather soft hair over her shoulder. He let his finger settle against her neck, but she grabbed him in a hurry, pulling him off of her skin, yet still keeping him close to her.

Before he could answer, her entire body shivered and shook and she pouted at him. Then she turned away. As if shaking water from her fingers, her hand flicked to the dark fireplace in the corner of Fíli’s chambers and she built him a fire flame by flame.

She felt that he was cold.

He laughed, immeasurably relieved that was all. He immediately stopped her waving arm.

       “I’ll make a fire. Don’t tire yourself over me, I’ll do it myself.”

She frowned at him, gravely shaking her head as he crossed the room.

       “Don’t give me that look! You know dwarves don’t feel the cold as you do. It’s not like I would let myself freeze over.”

She flew around him, waving over the stone cold bricks to warm them. Then she stopped in front of his eyes with a very unimpressed glare.

       “All right, all right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Then she smiled, wriggled, and flew back to where he’d been sitting.

As he took the firewood from its rack and stacked the logs just so, he checked over his shoulder to assure himself that she hadn’t left in a flurry. But there she was, legs dangling and swinging from her spot on the right arm of his chair.

After singeing a part of his sleeve on the flame she’d ignited for him, he turned back to his work and said, “I’ve missed you, you know,” throwing out the confession before he lost his nerve. “But I knew you must have been busy. Fairies never seem to stop and rest, especially you. Not even for the honey cakes I’ve set out for you every night for the past weeks.”

He finally peeked over his shoulder and chuckled at her wide eyes.

She pointed to herself in question.

       “Yes, they’re for you! I don’t know anyone else who garnishes their honey cakes with even more honey and then finishes them off with sweet milk. Do you?”

He expected a funny little glare from her, but didn’t receive any such thing. She was too grateful, too excited about her treats. She flew around them, as if deciding which one she wanted to indulge in first.

Once the fire was crackling, Fíli returned to his desk chair. He poured the small jug of milk into an even tinier cup for her- one that he’d had made special by the potter at the market. He’d felt the looks burning his back when he purchased it at the stall, but those and the extra work had all been worth it when his fairy first saw it. Specially made for her. And her sweet milk.

       “There’s more where those came from so go ahead and enjoy,” Fíli said.

With two straining hands and trembling arms, she held out an entire honey cake and offered it to him. Only to save her strength, Fíli took it with thanks, and so as not to offend her, he took a bite when she did. As her small piece left her eyes rolling closed as only a delicious delicacy would, the other half of Fíli’s cake crumbled in his fingers as the sweetness dissolved on his tongue.

       “Do you like them?” Fíli asked after a gulp.

In answer, Ivy burst into the air, twirling and spinning, sparkles and glowing fragments of pure joy following her flight. She flew in front of him and nodded.

Then suddenly, she laughed at him.

Before Fíli could lift a finger, she came close to him and her cool hands, like little raindrops, cleaned the mess of cake crumbles from his chin. He was amazed, she didn’t seem to mind the coarse hair of his beard on her delicate fingers. Not at all. In fact, if he could hazard a guess, he would have thought she lingered closeby, touching him, for longer than necessary. Unfortunately, she caught herself. Giving a funny salute, she flew back to her spot on the edge of the silver treat tray. Even when she dipped the next small chunk of cake into the jar of honey, her bite stayed intact all the way from the platter to her mouth. It must have been magic, Fíli thought.

       “I think these are extra tasty tonight,” he said, popping the rest of his piece past his lips. Then he leaned down to her. “But very short. Care to help me with these crumbs?” he asked, wriggling his scrunched mouth.

In a blink, she flushed pink from her tiny toes to her forehead. But she laughed and tugged on the braided mustache that swung closest to her.

       “Fine! I’ll do it myself,” he joked, enjoying her ringing giggle.

After a neat little swig of sweet milk, Ivy rose from her seat, holding her belly.

       “All finished?”

She shook her head violently.

       “Just a break then? Good. They’d call for a medic if we sent even a crumb back down to the kitchens. They all know no tray of sweets has ever survived the two of us.”

She glowed and left her spot next to the cakes. As always, she effortlessly identified the most recent bane of Fíli’s existence. It made him wonder if it was Ivy’s magic that helped her do it, or if it was simply a freakish skill. Either way, the moment she left the platter, she headed for the leather bound book Fíli had discarded before her arrival. She tapped the binding with her toe, questioning. But Fíli knew she’d seen it before and the little thing was fishing for a confession.

He also knew he’d been caught.

       “I was just putting it away for the night.”

She sent a glare his way whose meaning was as clear as if the letters were written across her round little nose: Liar.

In truth, Fíli had forgotten all about the book and its contents the moment his fairy made her presence known. It was mystical how quickly his mind moved from hopelessness and exhaustion to joy and wonder whenever Ivy was near. He often asked himself if he had the same effect on her, but had yet to gather the courage to ask.

Her peculiar movement pulled him from his thoughts. She’d squatted down like a dwarf about to lift a cart brimming with stone and with all her might, lifted the book’s heavy leather cover. Then with silent, bare feet, she walked over the title page until she’d flipped the book open.

       “Excuse me,” Fíli said with mock offense. “There are trade secrets in this book, you know. For no one’s view but my own.”

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her finger, pointing to the end of the ribbon bookmark. She twirled her wrist and the light shooting out from under her tidy fingernails sent the pages whipping by as if caught in a windstorm. A moment later, the pages fell flat.

The place left open was riddled with smear marks and ink blotches, scrawled notes and words that had been crossed out with enough force to scratch the next few pages.

Her eyebrow crooked like the roof of a village house, accusing Fíli of the mess.

       “Ruling a kingdom isn’t easy,” he explained with a shrug. “Things get a little… untidy.”

Ivy’s lip quirked and she leaned down to skim her hand across the page under her feet. A rippling wave of fresh magic traveled across the paper from Ivy’s toes out to the corner edges, continuing through the air until it hit Fíli’s nose- that light, unique scent he’d always associated with his fairy. It immediately relaxed him, giving him peace wherever the information hidden in that book stole it away.

When the wave cleared, Fíli saw that his entries were organized anew. The spills and blots had vanished, leaving only what he’d intended in their place. Even his notes were left in the margins, now neat and crisp, with not a thought lost. But Ivy’s work hadn’t stopped at one page. Every section was free of crimps or bends, the cover was dusted and the binding was flawlessly refinished all in one singular moment.

It was astonishing.

       “Oh, Ive,” Fíli said, sighing out the rarely used nickname he had for her. From where he stood, he could see the pages were now smooth and soft as silk and he couldn’t help but touch them, running his comparatively rough fingertips over the center of the open book where the pages met. He took a corner and flipped through the last sheets, listening to the soft flaps that rang through the room- a noise that reminded him of the sound of Ivy’s rustling wings flying toward him. This torturous book was now bright and clean with a fairy’s mark.

The best part, however, was the scent left behind, pooling in its pores- that of magic, of his friend, of her belief in him.

Fíli held out his hand and Ivy flew to it.

       “I don’t think I’ll mind this work as much anymore. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She bowed, flashing her petal skirt with a flourish.

Just as Fíli reached for the neatened pages again, Ivy snapped the book closed with a turn of her wrist, almost trapping his hand inside.

       “Hey!” he laughed, startled from his daze. “I wanted to admire your handiwork!”

Once over her giggles, she planted her fists on her hips and with a demanding stare, pointed to the empty spot in the shelf where the hardcover belonged overnight. A stomp of her foot practically shouted: NOW.

       “All right! I’m putting it away.” He let Ivy dismount onto the silver cake platter and did as he was told, with a dwarfling’s grin wide on his lips. When he’d tucked the book into place, Fíli ran a finger down the soft, faultless binding with a whistle.

       “A craft any dwarf would be proud of.”

When he looked over his shoulder Ivy was watching him- carefully and contently admiring him. Even romantically, if Fíli was brave enough to use the word.

While he had her undivided attention, he winked at her, just as a tease to make her flood that pretty shade of pink. As a retort, she stole a sweet cake from his side of the platter and took a violent bite.

With a chuckle, Fíli plopped into his chair and watched her as he felt the exhaustion sneak into his stubborn muscles and his overstretched mind. He still had a sliver of energy, however, to wonder if his fairy’s glow had grown more intense after this time spent together. He could see it in her eyes. Though they were as dark as fertile soil, they were round and shining in the tireless candlelight she brought to the chambers. And now as she watched him, they were fearless in their gaze and brimming with affection in their softness.

Yet, despite it all, Fíli knew they were both aware that their visit couldn’t last much longer.

She rose and brushed the non existent crumbs from the purple petals of her dress, letting her wings flutter to life.

Fíli straightened in a rush at her movement, saying exactly what had been on his mind in a soft, sleepy voice. “I will never know how you always find a way to comfort me. Somehow, you’ve done it again, my friend. Thank you.”

She beamed, her smile like a crescent moon flipped on its side in the night.

       “Will you visit me again?” Fíli asked.

She nodded.

He leaned to her, taking her tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Please don’t let too much time pass before you do.”

Her beating wings stuttered for a moment and her luminous aureola dimmed. Her twinge of sadness squeezed Fíli’s heart, strangling it like a thirsty vine, and he wished he’d never spoken so selfishly. But before he could take his words back, she fluttered up to his face and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek as her goodbye. Then she smiled, eyes brimming with clear sparkle and so many words unspoken.

With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him to follow her lead across the room. As she did at the end of every visit, she flew in neat ringlets through the air above his bed, dropping warmth, rest, and peace into the furs in the form of glistening sparkles like fresh pollen from her own flora. This ritual of theirs left magic on Fíli’s pillow for days to come. It would give him restful sleep, even with the weight of his kingdom on his shoulders. Her magic even seemed to quell the loneliness that often pulled at his heart. She always left a piece of herself with him.

       “You are far too kind to me, Ive,” Fíli said to her, standing next to the bed, close to her one last time before her departure. “Too generous-”

The blankets below him flew up and covered his head in a magical swoop. A fairy’s doing.

       “Fine! No more compliments!” Fíli cried, untangling himself. “But how am I not to, when you-”

With the covers back where they belonged, he was free to look around the room. The empty room. She’d gone.

In his defeated search for her, he found a gift left for him on his bedside table. A billowing purple flower with feather-like petals reminiscent of her dress sat in the now dim candle light. Curled around the deep green stem was a note that he fumbled to open with his round fingertips. When he pulled it flat, that same scent- the scent of magic, of his fairy- flew to his nose in a flurry and a message was illuminated.

Soon.

***

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[takuyakistall]

selcouth | leech twins

Synopsis: An unexpected encounter with a certain pair of twins by the beach.

Tags: Leech twins/Yuu, fluff

Tagging: @myuminn

Notes: Your raffle prize! Thank you so much for joining and for letting me write your Yuu. This was enjoyable to write, I hope you like it!

The gentle, warm breeze caressed Yuu's cheeks as they sat crossed-legged on a huge rock by the shore. The occasional squawking of the seagulls, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand was enough to give them some sense of serenity. Throughout the whole day they were sitting here, they had their pen and sketchbook resting on their lap as they tried to take in the view and replicate fragments of it on their sketchbook.

It was a bit amusing to think about how accustomed they already are in this foreign world. Everything was unusual, they didn't know anything when they were suddenly thrown into this bizarre world. It was terrifying at first, anyone in their place would feel the same—or so they liked to think. Although with the help of certain friends they made along the way, they learned how to love the current reality they faced despite how wrong it may seem.

They let out a tired sigh, setting down the sketchbook and the pen and placed it beside them. They stretched out their arms, eliciting a small groan when they heard a bone make a popping noise. The sunset was beautiful today. Various shades of red and orange-tinted the whole scene—even in a different world, it was nice to know that some things never change. It was oddly comforting for them.

"Oya, Yuu-san?" A sudden voice sliced through the serene silence, making Yuu jolt up from their place and frantically looked at the owner of the voice.

"Eh~? Shrimpy is here?" Two of them. Any other student would've tensed up, sudden nervousness clawing at the pits of their stomach as they catch a glimpse of a certain pair of twins going toward their direction. Oddly enough, Yuu is part of the minority that felt nothing of the sorts, or rather, they felt more relaxed around them.

The tension faded from their shoulders as they let out a curious gasp, "Floyd-senpai? Jade-senpai?" It was a blessing in disguise—they would've never expected the twins to wind up here at the beach of all places, don't they have other things to attend to? Of course, the first thing to ask them was—!

"What are you doing here?" It was a question out of pure curiosity. The only reason why Yuu winded up here was because of the built-up stress over the past week, they barely got enough sleep, tossing and turning whenever they attempted to. Overworking theirself was another thing too. Despite being a student under special circumstances, they were not exempt from the expectations teachers had for the students in a prestigious school. Being magic-less was already big enough of a disadvantage, they have to work twice as hard as a normal student.

Of course, Floyd didn't even bother answering the question as he made his way from his brother's side to Yuu's side. Sitting down beside you on the giant rock with a lollipop candy inside his mouth, holding the stick as he removed it from his mouth to speak, "We should be asking you the same thing, no one usually goes out this far."

Yuu opened their mouth to respond but before they could do, Jade suddenly made his way towards them too—sitting on the opposite end of Yuu as he let out a small hum. "Floyd is correct. It's indeed usual to see someone like you stray this far from the school grounds." Jade mused.

Yuu squinted, wanting to avoid answering the question as they didn't know the answer theirself. That was a lie, of course; they knew why and how they ended up here but, would it be any fun if they just answered their question seeing as how the twins themselves didn't answer theirs? "I don't know either." They acted out, scratching their cheek lightly as if to feign cluelessness.

Floyd didn't want to let this slide, he knew better than to believe the white lies that came from their lips. Although one glance at their expression after saying that lie, so peaceful with an underlying tone of heartache reflected in their eyes, he couldn't help but change his mind. Surely, they must have a reason why they held such a painstakingly heartbreaking look in their face?

"Is that so?" It was a question that came from Jade's lips but oddly enough, he wasn't looking for an answer. "Shrimpy~, you need to be more careful next time. Who knows what might happen and you might get lost." Floyd decided to play along after all, sticking out his tongue as if to make fun of Yuu. They just chuckled in response, a hand going to their neck.

"My, don't tease Yuu-san that much. I'm sure they have a decent sense of direction, am I right?" Even though his words were defending Yuu, the tone of his voice implied otherwise. It was situations like these that made Yuu think that the twins really were alike in some aspects. They couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry, Senpai. I won't get lost that easily." They said in response to both of the twins, it was hard to tell whether or not they were kidding about that. Silence took over the atmosphere once again and yet, oddly enough, it wasn't that awkward. Perhaps it was the presence of the Leech twins? Yuu found their presence as a source of comfort.

It was weird, yes, they'll admit it. Though in their defense, feelings are hard to control—and it's harder when they're stuck in an unfamiliar yet fascinating world. It couldn't be helped, Yuu was also a growing teen like any other student in the school. Save for maybe a few exceptions like Leona or Lilia.

Floyd fumbled a bit in his seat, saying something incoherent under his breath. He looked at Yuu at the corner of his eye and he felt something tug at him with the strings of his heart. His lips formed a thin line, the almost unnoticeable hue of pink tinting his cheeks.

Jade was as calm as ever, admiring the view of the beautiful sunset along with the other two. He kept quiet, the graceful poise he always retained during normal days still present until now—it was astounding. He didn't like being uncertain at all. When he glanced at Yuu, a certain kind of uncertainty loomed over his mind as something unreadable flashes over his expression. Yet, he retained his mask—smoothing over the cracks he may have caused as he let out a quiet sigh.

Yuu let out a yawn, eyes droopy and their whole body felt heavy. "I'm sleepy…" they let out, trying their best to stay awake. Yet the urge was too strong for them to simply ignore so they found theirself resting their head against someone's shoulder. Floyd, in particular.

His body stiffened up slightly, surprised at how much Yuu lets down their guard around them—it was unusual. Although he told himself he should've expected this, they weren't exactly normal after all. Coming from another world and all of that jazz. He didn't dare move his head to glance at them and just stayed perfectly still as if to not bother them.

Jade saw that from the corner of his eye, hands twitching slightly when he saw it. "Oya, it seems like someone is sleepy." He chuckled, lifting a hand to place it on their head—giving it a soft ruffle before retracting it back to his side. A warm gaze falling into his indifferent eyes. Floyd suddenly complained, "Eh? Why is shrimpy leaning on me?" One look at him and it was enough to know that he said those words just to cover up his face which was tinted light pink.

"Now, now, Floyd. You mustn't wake them up." Jade told his brother in a hushed tone, bringing a finger up to his lips—an indicator for him to seal his lips shut or to lower his voice.

Floyd may have been grumbling about this under his breath but in truth, he personally didn't mind it. In fact, he may even go to the extent of thinking that he liked it!

"Tch, what a pain." He clicked his tongue, the annoyed tone in his voice betraying the blush that spread on his lovely, lovely cheeks. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what he felt like, multiple emotions playing out inside his head and his head—Shrimpy was confusing him too much! Though the usual response he would show was to click his tongue and move on, feigning annoyance. Or perhaps he wasn't really feigning that feeling, who knows?

Yuu stirred a little, knocking over their pen off the ledge of the rock. Thankfully, it didn't go to the water but it was a close call. Jade stood up and excused himself from the two, on his way to pick up the pen near the shore.

Alone for a brief moment.

Floyd glanced ever so slightly at the person leaning on him, dozing off without another care in the world. 'They must be tired.' He thought. Floyd didn't really think about his next actions, he usually went with the flow—it's how he kept a free and unhinged lifestyle up until now.

Slowly, he turned his head around while wrapping his arm around their shoulders—his actions were slightly filled with hesitation. Afraid that they might wake up and question what he was about to do. In the end, he went along with it anyway.

He placed a chaste kiss on their head, his surprisingly soft yet rough lips making contact with their head. The action was light enough so it wouldn't wake them up. When he pulled away, his face was redder than before. Cursing at himself underneath his breath.

"Is this it?"

"It seems so."

"Then I'll put them here."

"Make sure to be gentle-- Ah! You just dropped them like a sack. Nice going, Floyd."

"Shut it. See? They're still fast asleep. No biggie." Floyd waved his hand dismissively, already making his exit through the door, leaving Jade behind to clean up after his mess.

Jade could only let out a sigh, staring at his brother's back in disbelief before averting his gaze to Yuu on their bed. As an attempt, he tried to put them under the covers and actually succeeded. It was nice to see that despite the rough attempts, they were still fast asleep—'How cute.' He thought.

He stared at their face for a solid minute, incomprehensible thoughts running through his mind before lifting up his hand to remove the glasses from their face. Folding them and placing them on the bedside table, he wouldn't want them to break when they twist or turn now, wouldn't he?

He allowed himself another moment of weakness, a fond gaze replacing his once neutral expression. Of course, he wouldn't let anyone see him like this and the only reason why he is the way he is right now is because of the absence of his twin brother.

Gently, with enough courage mustered up, he cupped their face as his face inched closer and closer. Only centimeters away before speeding up and placing a quick kiss on their forehead. Pulling away before he gets caught, although a part of him—just a small part—wanted Yuu to stirr up awake.

He stood up, dusting his clothes a bit before walking away. Muttering a soft goodnight before closing the door shut, heading home towards his own dormitory along with Floyd.

Omake!

Yuu woke up, hair all tangled up and messy. "What happened yesterday…?" Memories were a blur and they couldn't really recall anything else after meeting the twins by the shore. It feels like they just woke up from a very very long, fleeting dream.

[hiddendreamer67]

A Slippery Slope pt. 1

Summary: Logan, a graduate student studying the local ecosystem, discovers that the mystical creature populations are dwindling. He proposes a new theory, of a creature larger than life hiding out in the forest. Logan searches the forest for the beast, forgetting one important detail- in order to find a dangerous apex predator, the predator has to find you. 

(Also quick credit- I’ve been brainstorming this world with the wonderful @delimeful who suggested the initial idea. :D )

Check out more of my work at @hiddendreamerwriting!

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Logan stared at his notes, running a hand through his hair distractedly as he looked over the numbers he had practically memorized. “It doesn’t make sense.” He murmured, blinking suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “Or perhaps… it makes perfect sense.”

“What are you on about, Sanders?” His mentor asked, glancing up from his own research work.

“Sir, I’ve been going over the numbers of harpy populations again.” Logan explained, looking up as he tried to work out the logistics of his new theory. “It doesn’t add up. Based on the observations of subjects in captivity, their lifespan is averaged to be fifty years. With the birth expectancy rate being what it is, and conditions being optimal the past few decades, the population should be twice its actual size, if not more.”

“So I take it the Chimeras have been busy.” His mentor shrugged, both of them sharing a brief grim look. Chimeras were awful beasts that dominated the surrounding forests, giant monsters with a lion’s head, goat’s body, and snake tail. They were known for breathing fire and decimating clearings, feasting on whatever creature was foolish enough to cross its path. 

“That’s where the anomaly occurs.” Logan adjusted his glasses, pulling together his papers. “The evidence of Chimeras in the area has… decreased.”

“Migrated elsewhere?” 

Logan shook his head at the suggestion. “No, evidence has not appeared in any of the surrounding areas. In fact, based on the reports from various rangers, there’s even evidence of deceased Chimeras, in the form of discarded partial remains.”

His mentor hummed, considering this new information. “So then, what, the Chimeras are growing territorial? Beating each other up?”

“The chances of such behavior being the case are infinitesimal.” Logan negated. “Chimeras are known to welcome pack tactics. Even with the decrease in harpy populations there are plenty of other sources of food in the area so as not to necessitate violence over resources, and certainly no reason to resort to cannibalism.”

“Cannibalism?” The mentor’s eyebrows raised.

“Why else would a whole corpse not be discarded?” Logan supported his statement. “These reports indicate only small portions of the Chimera’s structure being left behind. In several accounts the horns were discovered, as well as the snake tail looking as though it were severed.”

“Hmm.” His mentor slowly turned in his chair, facing Logan head on. “So you have a theory then?”

“I do.” Logan nodded, taking a moment to straighten up. He took a deep breath. “I believe there’s a larger apex predator hunting them.”

Unsurprisingly, his mentor looked at him in disbelief. “What? What do ya mean, you think there’s something bigger than a Chimera? How the hell would we miss something like that?”

“I have no idea.” Logan admitted. “Perhaps it is new to the area, or especially skilled at camouflage. It’s exceptionally possible that there have been previous fatal encounters chalked up to be caused by one of the other several dangers of the forest. But regardless, all the evidence points to-”

“To a disease.” His mentor cut him off. “The Chimera’s likely developed some virus that’s working through their system and driving ‘em all mad. It would explain their behavior and is more plausible than a giant man eating beast nobody’s seen.”

Logan pursed his lips, never a fan of being told he was wrong. 

“Look, Logan, you’re a smart kid.” His mentor explained gently, hitting another one of Logan’s buttons by calling him a child. “I think this research of yours is really admirable, it’ll make a fine thesis. You’re really onto something here. But don’t go blowing it by hypothesizing outside the realm of reality.”

Logan did not deign him with a response, appearing a bit huffy as he began to pack up his papers. It almost appeared he was a pouting child, if not for his business attire indicating his seriousness.

“I don’t want to discourage you.” His mentor continued. “This is truly remarkable! If you could discover the disease that’s infecting the Chimera population, your research would be published for certain. I can help you gain the necessary resources, it may be difficult to gain access to live samples but until then I have some friends down in the lab-”

“Thank you.” Logan cut him off with a curt nod. “I… appreciate the assistance. But I want to re-investigate my own claims before I pursue this route.”

His mentor sighed knowingly. “I know, your first discovery is always difficult. Take your time, if you want to look into this ‘apex predator’ thing by all means don’t let me stop you, but remember that your thesis needs to be built on hard evidence- not just theories.”

“Yes, I understand.” Logan gave him a soft smile. He gathered up the last of his belongings, bidding his mentor farewell before heading out the door. As soon as he left the room, Logan’s smile faded. Evidence. How was he supposed to gain evidence of a creature thought to not exist?

Well, there was only one thing to it, Logan supposed- Logan would just have to find the apex predator himself. 

Now Logan was no fool, he’d grown up in the town of Sireville and knew the dangers as well as any inhabitant. It was a risky business, traversing into the forest, but Logan also knew that numbers would attract unwanted attention. He knew these woods well enough to recognize signs of danger as well as any anomalies that would prove he was on the right track. Logan was also intelligent enough to wait until the following morning, not venturing out at a time when night could befall him. To be caught in the woods at night never ended well. 

It would be perhaps wise to let someone know where he was going, but if something went wrong to the point where Logan couldn’t handle himself the only thing a rescued party would discover would be his remains. Logan shuddered briefly at the thought as he entered his kitchen, giving his mother a wave before gathering the necessary supplies for his trip.

“What’s got you all dressed up?” His mother asked, peering over the counter at his attire. Logan had changed from his usual business casual into something more fitting for the forest, equipping a sturdy set of boots over his hiking pants and throwing on his tactical long sleeved shirt. 

“Field study.” Logan explained, purposefully being vague as he finished packing his backpack. 

“Alright, be safe.” She frowned lightly at him. “Don’t wander too far, alright? And stay on the paths.”

“I’ll be alright.” Logan reassured her, purposefully avoiding making any promises as he stepped out the door. This certainly wasn’t the first time he went out to gather evidence, having done it on several occasions throughout his studies, but it would certainly be the furthest journey yet if his expedition proved successful. Logan had taken the necessary precautions, packing extra rations should the day grow long. He didn’t pack anything for camping through the night, intending on hiking back before nightfall. At the very least he wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall asleep in the middle of the woods with so many creatures patrolling.

Logan took a deep breath, stepping in amongst the trees that had grown so familiar. He made a quick pace, wanting to get as deep as possible before the light faded. The college student took note of his surroundings, waiting for any sign of the extraordinary that he had not viewed before. The further he traveled the less familiar the trees became, growing further apart- a sure sign that larger beings had pushed them aside and nature adapted to the creature’s whims. It was truly terrifying the things that some beasts could accomplish, the impact they could have on the world around them possibly without even noticing it.

What sort of beast was Logan tracking, anyhow? He began to ponder this, growing tense as the background chattering of birds became accompanied with the low shifting of some great beasts far off. Logan paused, observing his surroundings and trying to pinpoint the noise. Could that be his target? Surely not, it wouldn’t be so easy. And yet Logan hardly recognized this clearing, and the markings upon the trees were different from any left by a harpy taking flight. Instead the limbs seemed… weary, as if something of great weight had been draped across them.

Observing further, Logan grabbed his journal and began to take diligent notes of his surroundings, adding accompanying drawings when necessary for illustration purposes. Now keeping a keen eye out for details, Logan spotted a familiar slithering track upon the forest floor. A lesser field scientist might have dismissed it for that of a Chimera’s tail, but Logan noticed there were no accompanying footprints. Furthermore, the track was far too thick to belong to a Chimera snake. 

No, whatever creature laid these tracks was larger than a Chimera. Logan was practically giddy with excitement, scribbling frantically into his notebook. He was right! Some disease, indeed. Curiosity overtaking him, Logan wasn’t thinking clearly as he blindly followed the tracks deeper into the forest. The trees began to twist and curl in unnatural patterns, bent out of shape to make shade or revealing clearings of sunlight in others. Logan leapt over a fallen decaying trunk, pondering what other evidence he might discover. Perhaps some of the Chimera pieces? A discarded scale or feather? Or perhaps…

Logan froze, hearing a soft whistling noise coming from further up the path. It had a familiar pattern to it, slowly Logan recognizing the sound as faint snoring. He crept closer, now incredibly mindful of where his feet were placed. Logan peeked through the underbrush, barely holding in his gasp at the sight that awaited him.

Or perhaps the creature itself.

Logan couldn’t comprehend what was before him. At first, all Logan could process was the gigantic, ever so slightly shifting wall of red scales before him, aligned in the familiar pattern of a reptile. Before he even made an initial hypothesis Logan’s head snapped up at the sound of another snore, a hand going to his mouth at the sight. It seemed that this giant reptilian beast had a homo sapien upper half, not unlike a harpy or the merfolk. A naga. 

Logan had only heard tales of them, always assumed to be mere legends or perhaps having gone extinct ages ago. But looking at the sight before him the notion of going extinct seemed ridiculous. What could possibly wipe out such a gargantuan creature, clearly bred to dominate the ecosystem? Certainly nothing less than another meteor shower.

Entranced, Logan was ever cautious as he raised his pencil to his notepad, giving one practice skritch across the paper. He flinched at the noise, but the clearing remained undisturbed. Logan gave the tiniest sigh of relief, knowing that at any moment he could be in very imminent danger.

But what was the harm in staying one moment longer to observe? If the beast were to wake this moment, Logan would certainly be unable to outrun it should the naga pursue. He would be in harm’s way anywhere, so Logan took advantage of this opportunity and began to expertly sketch the creature. He had come this far after all. Best not to waste it.

Logan stuck his tongue out in concentration, not wanting to miss a detail even in his haste to finish and get out before the creature woke. His eyes glanced up every few moments, taking in the monster’s posture. It’s position was languid, relaxed back upon its own tail as if using it as a bean bag chair. It appeared to be quite pleased, likely taking pleasure from soaking in the sun that poured through. One arm lay across its forehead, the other straight back so its fingers just grazed the ground. Logan took careful note of these appendages, aware of the sharp claws on each one and how they twitched every so often in sleep. 

His drawing was beginning to take form, having captured most details he could from this angle. Logan was debating the pros and cons of attempting to move to get another angle when the naga let out a large yawn, briefly displaying its fangs. Eagerly Logan flipped to a new page, jotting down a new sketch before the sight disappeared entirely. Why, by his estimations one of those fangs could easily dwarf his entire arm in length. 

So enraptured in his work was he that Logan failed to notice the yawn was only the beginning of a chain of events. The creature’s claws left the ground, coming up to stretch above its head with a creaking of bones that got Logan’s attention. He froze, watching the intimidating beast stretch skyward as it lifted its torso and basked in the sun for a moment more. 

Slowly it dawned on Logan what a precarious situation he was in; his research would all be for naught if he died before presenting his findings. Logan clutched his journal to his chest, heart pounding as he watched the naga sniff the air. It didn’t take a student fluent in animal behaviors to know exactly what scent the creature had picked up as it frowned, tongue stuck out to sniff the air again.

Under normal circumstances, Logan would hope estimate that, being so small in comparison, a naga would pay a human no mind. There were much larger creatures in the forest that would make more filling prey. However, half-humans always seemed to have a dangerous curiosity about their counterparts, and Logan had trespassed into this being’s territory. 

Logan gulped, all color draining from his face as those piercing red eyes bore directly down onto him. Immediately Logan turned to run (a fruitless effort), but before he had even fully turned Logan felt himself yanked backwards and into the air, eliciting a cry from the startled human who frantically tried to keep a grip on both his glasses and his book as he found himself dangling painfully upside-down, only the grip of those claws on his left leg keeping him from falling to a quick demise. 

Logan found himself feeling a bit dizzy as he was brought before the naga’s face. Those fangs were perhaps a bit less intriguing as they cruelly smiled at him, the naga’s eyes boring into his soul as he was turned this way and that like a curious bauble. 

“Why hello there, my little morsel.” The naga’s statement rumbled with dangerous curiosity, sending a wave of warm breath over Logan that made the human shudder. If he were not so entranced with those perilous teeth (was that a venomous sac below the rearmost fangs?) Logan might have noticed the alarming glint in its eyes. “I don’t think one of you has ever wandered this far, not without my rancid brother getting a hand on them first at least.”

Oh good lord there’s two of them. Logan jolted at this newest realization. Two? No wonder the populations were dwindling so drastically.

“So what makes you so special?” The naga tilted its head, poking Logan with a single claw, eliciting a startled breath in from the human who was very surprised he hadn’t just been torn to shreds. For now the naga seemed amused enough to watch as Logan slowly began to rotate, clearly toying with him in its ‘playful’ demeanor. “Well? Go on then, does the meager human speak?”

“I-I-” Logan cringed, loathing the sound of his own voice as it had raised an octave. It didn’t help that all the blood was rushing to his head. He cleared his throat, holding on to the minuscule hope that such a beast could be reasoned with. “Yes, I can speak.”

With a flick of its wrist Logan once again found himself airborne, letting out a high pitched noise of protest before finding himself one skipped heartbeat later once again within the monster’s clutches, this time right side up.

“‘Squeak’ is more like it.” The naga chuckled, prodding Logan’s side. The human winced away from the touch, though it was difficult with how tightly the claws were curled around him. Logan could feel his journal digging into his side. 

Still, Logan couldn’t help but frown, feeling that he was being mocked.

The naga hummed, seeming to debate with itself for a moment. “So what were you doing spying on me anyhow?” It asked, its expression betraying a hint of confusion. “I heard your heart racing a mile a minute in that bush.”

Logan cringed. “You… you did?”

“Why I would have expected to find a hummingbird, I could hardly have missed it!” The naga scoffed. “And yet for all your jitters you didn’t move a muscle. Did fear make you freeze? Are you simply stupid?”

“No.” Logan answered, perhaps a bit too petulantly for dealing with a gigantic predator. He coughed, checking his temper. “I mean, ah, I was perhaps too absorbed in my own jubilation, as I had been looking for you.”

“For me?” The creature seemed to almost purr, its smile returning as Logan felt the grip around him loosen ever so slightly. “Oh, how you flatter me. Then of course you must have appreciated what you found?”

“Well...yes?” Logan turned a bit red, unaccustomed to this line of socialization. T’was a true pity his life was resting on his perilous social skills. “That is to say, you’re certainly extraordinary, surpassing all my initial expectations.”

“Hmm.” Pleased with this response, the naga settled to lay stomach down on its own scales, holding Logan out before it. The claws shifted again, now forming a sort of basin so that Logan could sit freely. “How so?”

By all of Logan’s calculations, this was going well. The creature seemed entertained enough to spare his life, for now. Logan just needed to keep the conversation going until… well, Logan preferred to focus on the present even as those perilous jaws loomed so casually above him.

“I suppose, firstly, your very existence was an unexpected surprise.” Logan adjusted his glasses, the frames having become skewed in all the excitement. “Very rarely are my assumptions incorrect, so I knew there was some manner of apex predator roaming these woods, but as to your exact classification I admit that was a mystery. There is a common understanding that nagas are creatures of legend, or perhaps long extinct. Certainly…” Logan paused, realizing perhaps this wasn’t the most logical point to bring up. “Certainly if others have discovered  you, none have returned to tell the tale.”

The naga gave a scoff. “That’d be my brother’s doing, no doubt. Did you know we used to be worshiped apparently? Back in the golden days we were like gods. That was before people like him started experimenting with other uses for humans. Wasteful, if you ask me, disposing of such large numbers so quickly-”

“I wholly agree.” Logan spoke up too soon.

The naga snorted, clearly amused by the human’s timing. “I, on the other hand, prefer to play with my food.”

“...ah.” Well, that was a less than ideal response. Logan cleared his throat, trying to hide his nerves as he curled a bit in on himself, readjusting the grip on his journal. “So, ah, you mentioned a brother twice now, as well as hinting at others. How many of you are there?”

The monster frowned slightly, and Logan immediately regretted his question. “...Well I hardly think it matters, we nagas keep to ourselves well enough. Lucky you for stumbling upon the best naga of them all.” This last statement was accompanied by a very cocky smile.

“Hmm.” Logan wasn’t certain he agreed, but naturally he had no subjects to compare. “I was merely curious as I conduct research on local wildlife and wanted to compare behavioral traits between your kind and the Coachwhip species, of which your scale pattern most resembles.”

The naga blinked, glancing down at its tail as if for the first time. “It does?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.” Logan turned to his journal, flipping back through the pages. He cursed, realizing his reptile notes were in a different book. “Alright, my apologies, I forgot my scale reference sketches back home, but see?” Logan pulled up the sketch of the naga himself instead, pointing at the tail pattern. “The pattern of your scales represents a braided whip-”

“Is that me?” The naga cut him off excitedly, Logan’s stomach lurching as he was raised higher. 

Logan blinked, glancing between his drawing and its inspiration. “...yes?” 

He watched the naga’s reaction very carefully, hoping the monster was pleased with what it observed. At first Logan worried that the beast would be enraged at the fact Logan had been spying for an extended period, or worse yet perhaps it would feel the need to destroy his notebook to remove any evidence of its existence. To his relief, the creature seemed to be almost pleased as it took in the intricacies of the drawing.

“You made this?” A careful pair of claws pinched at the journal. Logan tightened his grip, before realizing that in a strength contest either the naga would win or his book would be shredded. With this in mind he reluctantly released, watching the massive being lift the journal ever higher to view it above its head as if to shine light through counterfeit currency. 

“Yes, I have always been known for my attention to detail, and illustrations have been proven to assist in comprehension of reports-”

“Can you do it again?” The naga cut him off, handing Logan back his notebook.

“I, yes, I suppose.” Logan furrowed his brow, confused. “Right now?”

“Well it hardly appears as if you’re doing much else at the moment.” The naga gave a loud, purposeful yawn, displaying its fangs. “Of course, I’m certain I can find other, tastier ways to spend our time together…”

“Understood.” Logan grimaced, the monster’s subtlety lacking. “Very well then, is there a- particular feature you want me to illustrate?”

“Don’t go cutting any of my gorgeous figure off!” The naga scoffed. “I best be seeing my beauty tip to tail, you hear me?”

“It would be impossible not to.” Logan tried to hide his growing irritation. “But to create such a piece, I’ll need to be placed on the ground so as to have an appropriate vantage point.”

His request was considered. “Very well.” The naga agreed, setting him once again down on the ground. 

Logan stumbled, surprised to once again feel solid ground under his feet. It was astounding- just moments ago, Logan would have doubted his ability to experience this ever again. 

“Tick tock, come now with your tiny talents.” The naga poked him with an impatient claw. Quickly regaining his composure, Logan pulled out his writing utensil and opened to a clean page.

“Is there a particular angle you’d prefer?” Logan asked.

“I am a priceless gem, I sparkle from all angles.” The creature purred, striking a pose where it was once again draped over its own tail as if lounging on a fainting couch.

Logan huffed, fighting the urge to rant about how light reflection actually works. He glanced around, taking a few steps back and debating only for a moment if he should turn tail and leave.

“I hope you’re not thinking of running off on me.” The naga seemed to read his thoughts, raising a taunting eyebrow.

Logan jumped, focusing back to the task at hand. “I’m not.” He lied, finally putting his pencil to the pad. “Just finding the best setup location.”

The naga hummed, clearly not believing a word, but seemed satisfied to watch Logan work. A bit too satisfied, as it leaned up and attempted to watch over Logan’s shoulder.

“Stop looming, you’ll cast shadows.” Logan huffed. “And if you keep moving about I’ll never finish, sit still.”

“You’ll never finish regardless.” The naga pouted, but flopped back amongst its coils. “You’re taking forever.”

“It has hardly been a minute.” Logan debated in his head how slowly he could draw without generating suspicion. He wanted to drag this event out as long as possible, having full knowledge that if the naga was satisfied with Logan’s work he might deem Logan’s task- and thus his life- as finished. Logan shuddered at the thought.

Clearly bored, the naga’s attention was once again focused solely on Logan, preventing any escape attempts. It was quite distracting, having those piercing eyes staring down at him so intently. It was especially infuriating that Logan couldn’t guess as to what it was thinking. 

Why make him draw the creature again? Surely one drawing would be enough? Perhaps it merely wanted an illustration where it could be alert and poised. But what would come next? Would the naga request more illustrations, or would the monster be satisfied? What would occur if Logan’s pencil broke? Or perhaps the creature grew hungry before Logan was even finished? Would it bother to wait around long enough for Logan to complete his depiction, or would Logan be sent down its ravenous throat at the first sign of an appetite?

“What’s your name?”

Logan blinked, stumbling out of his thought process. “...pardon?” The question felt far too mundane considering the circumstances.

“Humans have names, don’t they?” The naga tilted its head. “What’s yours?”

Logan was still perplexed that it had thought to ask. “Logan. Logan Sanders.” 

The naga nodded, giving him a smile that might have been intended to be encouraging. 

“...and what is your name?” Logan asked finally, realizing that’s what it wanted.

“You may call me Roman.” The naga- er, Roman- introduced himself, accompanying the statement with a little wave of his hand and a half bow.

Under normal circumstances, Logan might be expected to say it was a pleasure to meet Roman. “Stop moving.” Logan reminded him instead.

“Well aren’t you a barrel of fun, Logan.” Roman paused, rolling the name around on his tongue as he tried it out. “Logan. Looooogan. Logan! You know, once you get used to it it’s not all that terrible.” 

Logan paused, once again feeling utterly perplexed as he peered up at Roman. “My name differs from yours in only three letters.”

“And what difference those three letters make.” Roman breathed an imaginary sigh of relief. He teasingly grinned at Logan. “Oh come now, I jest, live a little, Lo!” 

“My name is Logan, not Lo.” Logan corrected immediately, loathing when individuals shortened his name. Roman snorted. “What’s so amusing?”

“I just realized my choice of phrasing.” Roman’s grin turned sly. “‘Live a little,’ and you are also yourself little- should be quite easy then, eh?”

Logan refused to acknowledge the jab for several moments, eventually caving with the urge to defend himself. “I am above average height for a human being, actually.” Logan felt the need to inform him. 

“Well good for you.” Roman teased, and all of a sudden one of his knuckles was ruffling Logan’s hair. It startled the human enough to make him take a step back, pausing his work to readjust his appearance. The naga seemed to be finished toying with him, for now, and allowed Logan to fall back into the quiet lapse of his work. Unfortunately, with the naga’s round of questioning, Logan found his thoughts drifting elsewhere until he felt compelled to ask a few questions of his own.

“Why did you inquire about my name?” Logan asked, knowing he was venturing down a dangerous topic bringing up his own future. “It seems a bit sadistic to ask if you intend to… if you have ill intentions for myself.” 

It was a bold risk, but Logan was curious if perhaps this was similar to the phenomenon of humans becoming attached to animals after naming them. If Logan could market himself in just the right way, perhaps the naga would be more taken with the novelty of his artistic talents and find he was a valuable enough individual to not end his days within Roman’s stomach.

“Hmm, I like to know.” The naga’s noncommittal shrug squashed the hopes right out of Logan. “Speaking of, are you done yet?”

Logan’s blood ran cold. “Ah, no, not quite yet.”

“Hurry up, I’m growing famished.” Roman groaned, not encouraging Logan to hurry up in the slightest. “You take much longer and I’ll just have to settle for you.”

“Settle?” Logan refused to let himself perk up too much at the peculiar word choice. “So you’re...not going to….?”

Roman laughed as if Logan was a fool. “Oh please, you’d hardly be filling. I feast on Chimeras, you’re nothing.”

Logan had never felt more elated to be told he was nothing.

“A snack, perhaps.” Roman gave him a pointed look. “A tasty one at that, if you don’t get a move on. So chip-chop, Mini Muse.”

“A muse is a source of inspiration, not the craftsman.” Logan corrected, hurrying up all the same. His heart had begun to pound with a mixture of excitement and nerves. “There, it’s finished.”

“Oh do let me see.” With a great amount of slithering the massive tail began to unravel, curling around Logan as it stretched out. Before Logan could be constricted amongst the coils Roman reached down and once again scooped up the human. Logan lost his balance briefly, settling into a safe sitting position before presenting the journal to be viewed. “Why, it’s gorgeous!”

“I’m certainly grateful it’s to your liking.” Logan conceded. He never looked at his drawings with an artistic eye, focused solely on being anatomically correct for his diagrams. 

“Oh indeed, it’s amazing you can make out all my tiny features.” Roman squinted down at the paper. “A shame your works are so small, I wish to appreciate them more. You’re so fortunate to be graced with the real thing.”

“Indeed.” Logan deadpanned. He glanced at the sky, noticing the sun beginning to sink lower in the horizon. “It appears to be getting late, and I’ve likely wasted enough of your precious time. I’m certain you have several tasks which you must complete, so if you’ll just set me down-”

“Set you down?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “Why Logan, I think you and I have different ideas of how this evening will go.”

This was all the warning Logan got before Roman lunged, and a sharp pain shooting up Logan’s side. Logan hissed, completely in shock as his tense form attempted to process what just happened. His mouth gaped open, stuttering as he tried to react to the situation even as his mind clogged up.

“Shh.” Roman’s rumbling voice was right in his ear, the sound all encompassing as Logan’s vision blurred. The last thing he was aware of was Roman murmuring for him to “-just give in.”

[hazelenergy]

First week of Inktober Reflection!

These kinds of challenges are exhausting. It's always good- every sevenish days of the challenge to go through and self review and reflect. I encourage a lot of artists to do this. BuT! Do not use it to only spout negativity. You've done seven days of awesome work!

Day one: your oc. Hazel 🦇🖤

I am really happy with the shading. I am not pleased with the background. I should not have crosshatched because it feels like she gets lost in all the shading. Additionally- if I was to scan this, it be a pain in the fucking ass to colorize. I love the composition- shading is a bit messy.

Day 2: Brujah

Much cleaner lineart!! Still can get sharper with the lines- lost a lot in the hands. Still want to do less crosshatching. Face looks much cleaner. Awesome improvement!

Day 3: Haven

An aggressive reminder to myself that I have a scenic design degree. And this house looks dope. I'm very proud of this one.

Day four: Lasombra

Idk what happened but I'm not happy with this one. The foreshortening is off. The eyes are always a bit crossed. I guess that's what happens when you stare into the abyss. Additionally, my concept kept changing as I drew ...usually I have it fairly concrete when I start. Positives: the movement in the background and directional lineart. V good. I should keep trying to utilize directional linework.

Day 5: sire and childe

I fucking howled with laughter when my partner said "draw Lucia next to the hole she buried Hazel in." I decided to draw just a random sabbat- I think Lucia is supposed to be blonde...whatever. I opened tim Bradstreet's book and learned that he doesn't really crosshatch. He uses shadow blocking- where he draws the shadow shapes and filled them in. So I started with that. And brought in a grey marker to help with the midtones. Just need to make sure I'm watching my light source- the shovel lighting is off. I'm very happy with how this turned out.

Day 6: okay this one was dope. I focused on the directional crosshatching and shadow shapes to create a more unique style. It worked beautifully. I got so many compliments on this one on insta. Additionally I rediscovered my love of freehand lettering. I should do it more.

Day 7: Elysium

Had to break out the watercolors for this one. In Elysium, there's so much going on it's hard to pinpoint on one thing- whether your the storyteller or player. So I wanted this piece to tell a story- and boy does it. I need to make sure I sketch out my perspective lines a little bit cleaner- so when I paint them they are as crisp as the crunch of autumn leaves.

Reflection: pretty happy with how these turn out. I am also using this to make sure I get out of bed and draw first thing in the morning. It helps me focus and get ready to get stuff done.

I want to clean up my lineart a little more and start finding more ref images with harsher lighting. That way I can really use bradstreet's inking techniques without a midtones marker or crosshatching. I think I need to be careful of how heavy my hand gets (a constant note for myself) and work on my foreshortening and perspective drawings some more.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #5 Pt 1

Buckle up, fuckers. You can thank @crossbowking for this one.

ETA: this has become a 2 parter b/c my app didn’t save the rest of it :,)))) igkms

—

Thank God Daryl taught you how to track. Thank fucking God. Because you never would have thought about paying any attention to the fucking direction the grass had been trampled on towards, or the fact that some trash cans had been knocked over very recently — the only tell being the way they lacked the layer of dust everything else around them held. It was the small things, the attention to detail; and you were in such a spiraling panic, you were honestly surprised you remembered anything he’d ever taught you at all.

Your boots splashed in a fresh puddle and instantly your eyes shot downward — another hidden clue you never would have considered before you met him, all those lifetimes ago. Just barely visible was a separate footprint from yours, two, actually, that painted the otherwise dry asphalt beneath you, fresh enough that your heart sped up at the discovery. They both led the same direction, the same time, the same sense of urgency and haste behind them it seemed, as they continued forward in an obvious stumbling-sprint until they faded away outside of an old derelict gas station. You spun on your heels and headed straight for the garage.

The first thing you noticed was that the heavy metal door was ajar, just over a foot off of the ground, fresh blood smeared across the concrete beneath the opening. Somebody or something was inside, but the barefooted, rotten and decaying bottom-half of a corpse that protruded from the opposite side had you halting in your tracks: was that the source of the blood? No — the body was obviously that of a walker, the pant legs tattered and torn and stained with blacks and browns and greens, the exposed skin of its feet a grotesque shade of grey, maggots and worms slithering around the heel, and you swallowed the bile that rose up in your throat. No way their blood was that fresh.

So you rounded the corner and peered quietly through the sagging chain link fence, barbed wire snagging the flyaway hairs not contained in your messy ponytail, and your heart dropped at the sight that greeted you.

Walkers, some alive, some dead, no less than a dozen of them. Some wandered in aimless circles around the old scrap yard, but most of them were pressed unceremoniously against the boarded up window, jaws snapping hungrily, impatiently, in such a way that proved your suspicions that somebody was definitely inside of that gas station.

And if Daryl’s lessons had done you any good at all, you were positive it was him that had led you there.

You didn’t think you’d stopped shaking since you left Hilltop hours ago. In fact, you knew for a fact that you hadn’t been coherent or in any state of mind when you ran through the gates, furious and terrified and nauseas along another whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t pinpoint after being told that Daryl left by himself to track down Alpha and try to right all the latest wrongs that psychopath had rained down upon your friends and family. Someone had been yelling at you to stop, the same way you surely would’ve been yelling at Daryl had he not snuck out one night right underneath your fucking nose. Nobody followed you out, though. And you didn’t particularly care.

Sure, you were just as worried about Connie and Magna as everyone else. But you knew Daryl better than them — better than anybody did. And you knew the way his brain worked, how it always carried the weight of his loved ones problems, how he accepted the blame even when it had nothing to do with anything he did or could have done. He was so self-destructive, thought himself so unworthy if he couldn’t keep you or your family safe. He would, quite literally, go to the ends of the earth for those he cared about... whether or not it killed him. And if your crippling apprehension told you anything, it was that this particular instance would be no different, and considering the scene you’d just been walked into...

Clammy, trembling hands latched onto the rusty handle of the garage door before you thought better of trying to haul it open and instead laid down flat to army crawl beneath the gap, trying your best to ignore the pool of blood at your right and the corpse at your left. Everything seemed so loud, so hard to ignore, and you were so hyper aware of any and every detail that led you to believe that the worst-case-scenario was indeed the one you were about to be faced with.

It was dark inside the garage, the only light source being rays of dull, dreary outside-world that broke through the rotted wooden boards that would’ve sealed the place up tight four or five years ago. A blanket of dust should’ve covered the steel barstool that was toppled over in front of the man door, but it was much cleaner than anything else surrounding it, and droplets of blood painted a trail over top of it and into the store, beckoning for you to follow them.

You swallowed hard. We’re you even prepared to see what sights may present themselves on the other side of the gas station? The thought had you hesitating, had your breath hitching in your throat and your heart ceasing to beat entirely. But the fear that was threatening to suffocate you was the same impetus that had you raising your combat rifle to your shoulder, poised and ready to fire, as you crept slowly across the threshold with anxiety so deep and heavy in your bones that you weren’t positive you wouldn’t pass out before you found what you were looking for... whatever that was.

The store was a mess, clearly a recent endeavor, with expired foods and liquids covering the floor amongst shattered glass and splinters of wood and blood. So much fucking blood. Footprints that had stormed through it, handprints that slid down the wall, splattering the grimy lockers and old magazine clippings like some sort of abstract art exhibit compiled of your deepest fears. You were almost too scared to explore further — but the smallest sliver of hope that you’d learned to believe in had you pressing forward, Daryl’s reassuring voice in your ears among the obnoxious ringing that told you that, oh yeah, you might actually fucking pass out.

Thank fucking God Daryl had taught you how to track.

If you’d maybe stumbled upon a deer you’d been following, laying motionless against the display counter with a hunting knife lodged into the meat of its thigh, you might have been proud of yourself. You might have even turned to Daryl and smiled in spite of yourself, sticking your tongue out. ‘I told you I could do it,’ you’d tell him happily as you knelt down and began to skin and prepare it to come back home with you, and he would fight a proud smile of his own, rolling his eyes, ‘Yea, only ‘cause I taught ya how to.’

But any obscure, minuscule thought of potential pride and success was shattered and gone in milliseconds. Hell, it was hardly even a fleeting thought, and you actually found yourself momentarily disappointed in your actions as you let your rifle carelessly slip from your fingers and clash against the ground loudly. Instantly forgotten. In fact, the tip of your boot even kicked it aside for emphasis of your stupidity as you strode forward to the crumpled being laying still and silent against the disheveled wooden counter, head lulled to the side, bloody knife handle protruding from his leg.

His name stuck in your throat painfully as you collapsed to the ground by his side, hands hovering uselessly overtop of him with the desire to try and help but lacking any knowledge on how to do so. He was bloody, beaten, pale — so fucking pale, so still and please God please please please he was cold. Cold, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest seemed to breathe more life into you than it was him, literally and figuratively.

The tears that sprung to your eyes actually hurt, blurring your vision, which seemed to be the only working sense you had as everything else seemed to freeze inside you and around you, leaving you absolutely fucking useless.

You shook your head. “Daryl,” you gasped, the breath it took to say his name unintentionally allowing a sob to escape simultaneously. “Daryl?”

He didn’t stir. We’re you not loud enough? “Daryl!” Maybe he just couldn’t hear you. You reached out and gripped his shoulders, fingers intertwining into the fabric of his canvas vest, clutching like a lifeline that would cement your debilitating fears if you let go and let him fall away from you. “Daryl! Fuck — wake up!”

If you’d ever been a religious person, that moment would’ve been the exact time you dedicated your life and afterlife to whatever higher being you believed in when, holy shit, he let out a pathetic whimper that both broke your heart in two and kicked your adrenaline into overdrive but also allowed it all escape you in the form of your own racking sob.

“Oh, my God — fuck, fuck, fuck, Daryl, please — wh — what did you do?” You fought the urge to grip the handle of the knife that was stuck into his thigh and yank it out furiously. “What the fuck did you do?”

You at least had the sense to untie the bandana from around your neck, clumsily and hastily, and secure it tightly around his thigh above the wound, praying to anything that would listen that maybe it would help.

His head lulled softly toward you with another soft whine and fell limply, and you threw your hands to your own face and frantically brushed your hair from your face and wiped your eyes and scratched at your scalp, pulling your hair, and you were panicking, absolutely reeling, if Daryl was here he’d be lecturing you so bad, but he’s not here because he’s laying in front of you almost fucking dead, no he’s not dead, he’s breathing, barely, how do I fix him? How do I help? Do I take the knife out? No, no you can’t fucking do that, you dumbass, what if it hit an artery? He’ll bleed out before you can even... oh, God, his head’s bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding...

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You had some bandages in your bag, some sutures and needles, some alcohol... you tore blindly through it, retrieving the liquid and wraps and dropping them stupidly on your lap like you’ve never had to clean and dress a wound before in your entire life.

Once again you had to furiously wipe the tears from your eyes as they skewed your vision, smearing fresh blood his fucking blood, it’s everywhere, please please please no no no across your cheeks and it burnt your skin, taunting you, ticking loudly like an alarm clock that was about to run out right before your eyes.

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna fucking die and you were too late.

—

Also hey this is loosely based off of last nights episode that I didn’t want bc I can’t emotionally handle watching Daryl get hurt bc I’m a mess so sorry if it made no sense or was wrong!! Xoxoxo

Stay tuned for part 2 that I have to rewrite...........

[ronninoir]

Can I Steal You for a Second? CH5

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

So. Many. Girls. The first handful of girls went by so quickly and wowed him with many different ways of introducing themselves, that he really didn’t know what was happening most of the time. One girl came in doing backflips and actually did a pretty impressive job, even in heels. Another girl came in a wedding dress, veil and all. One girl had even shown up in a fencing outfit, which was super cool and Adrien was able to show off some of his hard-earned fencing skills from high school.

He noticed a common theme with the dress colors (with the exception of the wedding dress), as almost every girl was wearing some shade of either red, green, or black. Someone must have let slip that he was a fan of Ladybug and Chat Noir, because everyone from France was sporting something resembling the superheroes.

Even if some of the entrances had been fun, Adrien had only met about half of the girls (or so he was told, he was having trouble keeping track) when he became very overwhelmed with the number. While waiting for a limo to produce a new girl for Adrien to meet, Chris came up to ask Adrien how he was doing.

“How am I supposed to remember all of these names?” Adrien asked, panic clearly heard in his voice.

Chris gave a light chuckle. “We’re here to help you with that. Once you go into the cocktail party, don’t be afraid to ask the girls to remind you of their name. The producers will also be there to help you. We have picture cards with their names on them to help you when you need.”

Adrien relaxed a little at that. “Picture cards. People are here to help me. I can do this. It can be done,” he mumbled to Plagg, who was yawning from Adrien’s pocket.

“I don’t know why you would want to remember their names. They’re all so boring.” Plagg gave another exaggerated yawn. “When do I get my cheese.”

“Later. Right now, you’re supposed to be on the lookout for Ladybug.” Adrien huffed. He could see the next limo rounding the corner and quickly stood up straighter.

Plagg rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

When the limo stopped, Adrien noticed that there seemed to be music coming out of it. He looked around trying to find the source, but no one behind the cameras were looking confused. Finally, he pinpointed the sound to be coming from the limo itself. No other limos had been playing music, and Adrien was instantly intrigued as to why this one was different.

The girl who walked out of the limo was average height, had long blonde hair and a sweet smile. She was carrying a box of some kind and a microphone and Adrien was pretty sure that’s where the sound was coming from. Before he could open his mouth to say hello, she began to sing, karaoke-style. Her voice wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t terrible either. Adrien didn’t recognize the song, but it clearly was some type of love song.

As awkward as this was, Adrien respected the girl for putting herself out there like that. It was an interesting way of being greeted and he was excited that someone that bold would do something like that. Adrien couldn’t help as a smile spread across his face. She sang for about 30 seconds before she smiled and turned the music off.

Adrien politely clapped, “Wow! I’m Adrien. That was awesome and so brave what you just did!”

“Thank you! I’m Hanna and I’m from Camembert, France and I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Hanna rushed out, taking Adrien’s hand and giving him a one-armed hug. When she pulled away, Adrien could feel Plagg vibrating with excitement in his shirt pocket. So much for boring.

“Camembert, huh? Like the cheese?”

“Yeah! My parents are farmers.” Hanna responded with a smile. Adrien really needed this conversation to be over, because if it wasn’t over soon, Plagg was actually going to ask this girl if she could be his new miraculous holder. And that was no way to out himself as Chat Noir. Of all the farm towns in France, this girl just had to be from Camembert.

“Oh, I’d love to hear more! We can talk more inside.” Adrien responded as he moved her down the pathway that lead to the mansion.

As soon as she was out of sight, Plagg squealed. “Marry her. She’s the one. That’s your soulmate. We need to ask her to see the camembert and where it is made, like now.”

“Plagg,” Adrien groaned. “I can’t just pick a winner on the first night. This is a process. Calm down, or no actual, physical camembert later.”

Plagg just sighed and responded with a, “If you kick her out tonight I’m leaving with her.”

Adrien was thankful for the distraction of a new limo. Once it stopped, a gorgeous dark-haired girl stepped out. She had on this beautiful blue dress that was the exact shade of her eyes. She was smaller, but her smile was dazzling. As she walked up to him, Adrien forgot how to talk.

“Ummm, wow. I mean, hi. I’m Adrien.”

“I know,” she giggled. He felt his face grow red. Of course she knew who he was, he was a famous model and very well broadcasted for this show.

“Can I just say, uh, wow you look amazing.” Adrien finally managed to get out.

“Thank you,” she responded with a sly smile. “You look purr-fect tonight, as well.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped. “Did you—was that a...”

“I’m so glad that I finally got to meet you Adrien, as I am pawsitive that this relationship will go far.”

Adrien just stood there with his mouth wide open and he couldn’t remember how to breathe, much less say words or carry on a conversation with this girl.

“Honestly,” she continued on, smirking at his reaction to her puns, “is there Wifi around here, because I’m feline a strong connection between us.” She shot him a smile and a wink, patted his shoulder and said, “I’ll see you inside,” before walking up the pathway.

“But—wait I—” Adrien made to stop her but was too slow to react. He watched her walk away, shocked and elated and still very red from the encounter. He turned back toward the driveway and said to the crew, “I didn’t even get her name.”

He could hear slight chuckling from them as they all turned to get ready for the next limo to arrive.

“I just—Plagg, what—Pick-up lines AND cat puns? Wow, where has that girl been all my life?” Plagg just sighed and turned over in Adrien’s pocket, clearly not impressed. He could have sworn that he murmured, “But she’s not from Camembert,” but Adrien couldn’t be sure.

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

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Marinette scolded herself quietly, to where only Tikki could hear. There were sitting in the corner of the room, Marinette with a glass of red wine blocking her mouth from onlookers as she spoke. “I can’t believe I forgot to give him my name. My name for Christ’s sake! Now he’s never going to remember who I am and he’ll send me home tonight and my whole plan will be ruined.” Marinette sighed exasperatedly.

Tikki patted Marinette’s chest in a comforting way, “It’ll be okay, Marinette! Just make sure you mention your name when you talk to him later tonight.” Although her words were encouraging it was clear that Tikki was struggling to hold back a laugh.

Marinette shot her a look. “You’re laughing at me,”

“No, I’m not.” she replied quickly, biting her lip to keep a giggle from escaping.

“Tikki! This is not funny! I would have made a really memorable entrance if it weren’t for the fact that I didn’t even tell him my name!” Marinette’s voice had gotten a little loud at that (the alcohol was affecting her volume control) but thankfully at just that moment, a new girl bust into the room and began sobbing. Everyone rushed to her side, including Marinette, needing to know what had forced the girl to break down into tears.

“He—barely—even—talked to me!” She sobbed. There were girls rubbing her back and bringing her some water and generally trying to console her. A camera crew had followed close behind as she entered and was recording the whole thing. “He—kept—spacing—out” she took a deep breath and a gulp of the water and continued in a steadier voice, “It’s as if he was thinking of something else and didn’t have the head space to listen to me.” At that, her lip trembled and her sobs started over again.

The girl, who Marinette quickly learned was named Anna and was one of the girls from Sweden, pieced together the rest of her entrance with all of the girls listening intently, no doubt comparing theirs to hers. He kept murmuring about puns, and didn’t even bat an eye when she dropped a (rather provocative) pick-up line on him.

“I just don’t know what I could have done to make him dislike me this early,” Anna eventually got out.

Marinette couldn’t stand it anymore. She quickly walked away to get a fresh drink (they were allowed two an hour after all, but she had really only planned on drinking one more) and converse more with Tikki.

“Oh my gosh, Tikki, did I do that?” Tikki just gave Marinette a small giggle and a nod. “But, how?”

“You were too nervous to see his face like I did Marinette! He was awestruck with you! He even tried to chase after you and right after you were gone told the camera crew that he didn’t even get your name in an awestruck voice. What you thought that was a bad thing, he saw it more intriguing.” Tikki politely explained before breaking into a smile and a giggle. “You impressed him so much, he forgot to be nice to the girl after you.”

Marinette heard the distinct clack of heels coming her way and she quickly shushed Tikki and began walking towards the door.

“Hey, you’ve got to come see this! Anna is demanding another chance to talk to Adrien and we can see it all go down from the windows!” The girl quickly ran off and Marinette followed.

Sure enough, Anna was standing there waiting for the girl who was currently talking to Adrien to finish. Clearly, he had recovered, and since Marinette didn’t see any other new faces, she assumed it was because the producers took a minute to talk to him before the next girl showed up.

“God there she goes,” Lila announced to the group in a none-too-pleasant voice. She looked absolutely ridiculous, by the way, completely decked out in a full Gabriel wedding dress. It was much more provocative than a normal Gabriel wedding dress (which Marinette knew nothing about, of course), with her boobs almost completely hanging out and the bodice and skirt hugging her curves to her knees. From there it flared out and had an exaggeratedly long train and even a veil that sat perched on head, held there by a tiara. Marinette’s inner designer was appalled that someone could do that to a Gabriel original, as it had been clearly altered, but Marinette also wasn’t in charge. Thankfully, it just made Lila look gaudy and like she was trying too hard, rather than an actual bride.

Anna was indeed walking up to Adrien, a little bit of a fire lit beneath her. Adrien noticed the movement from behind and turned to see her. It was obvious that he was confused, but he hid it really well with a smile and said, “Hi, is there something wrong in the house?”

Anna was taken back by his kind voice and you could see some of the fire in her go out. She gave him a soft smile and said, “I just, didn’t feel as though I introduced myself well enough earlier. You seemed a bit out of it, so I wanted to try again.”

The producers in the background were waving the next limo off to allow the cameras a chance to get all of Anna and Adrien’s conversation.

She introduced herself and Adrien was able to respond with the correct questions and even blushed when she delivered her pick-up line again. Satisfied, she gave a sexy, “See you inside,” and then turned on her heel back towards the mansion. The girls around the window, including Marinette, quickly scattered. Even though it wasn’t against the rules to spy on her, they didn’t want Anna to find out and be upset.

“Wow, if this is what the rest of the show is going to be like, you have your work cut out for you!” Tikki whispered. Marinette couldn’t help but agree.

The next hour was very uneventful, besides a girl named Celeste showing up in her family’s helicopter. The girls had recently been gently guided to go sit on a certain set of couches, and Marinette made sure she was sitting on the very edge right next to the doorway. She then took a minute to count how many girls were gathered.

“What are you doing?” Hanna asked. She had come in right before Marinette did and once she found her, she hadn’t left her side. Marinette was grateful, as she was easier to talk to since they had already become friends before they arrived at the mansion that day. It took a lot of the pressure off of making friends tonight and allowed Marinette to enjoy the event more.

“I’m counting.” Marinette explained. “If there are 30 of us in here, Adrien is going to be coming inside soon. If not, I want to know how many more girls we have coming before we get to see him again.”

“Ooh that’s so smart!” Hanna responded. She let Marinette finished counting before she asked, “How many?”

“29.” Marinette said glumly. It was already nearing 10:30 and they still hadn’t even gotten past introductions. How much longer was this night going to take?

At that moment, a new girl walked into the area and was given a glass and told to sit down on the edge of the couch. A couple of girls began a conversation with the newest one while most of the others were engaged in a conversation about Adrien. They kept gushing about what he had said, what he was wearing, how handsome he was, and on and on. Marinette loved the guy too (very literally) but she didn’t want to spend the entire night talking about him.

Thankfully, a hush began to fall over the girls as Adrien himself walked into the door next to Marinette. He gave an awkward smile as all eyes fell on him. A girl, Marinette thought her name was Zoe, handed Adrien a drink and he held onto it but didn’t take a sip.

“Good evening ladies,” he began, and Marinette heard half of the room swoon. “It has been a blast meeting you this evening. I’m very excited to be able to further conversations with you all” his eyes scanned the group of girls and landed directly on Marinette. She felt herself blush under his gaze. “So, with that being said, to good conversations and an enlightening night.” He raised his glass, and all of the girls followed suit with a slightly shrill “Cheers!”

Marinette didn’t even bother taking a sip before she was on her feet walking towards Adrien. She gave him a dazzling smile and said as sweetly as she could, “Can I steal you for a second?”

Adrien’s smile seemed to widen as he responded with an, “Of course,” and allowed himself to be whisked away by Marinette and a camera crew. She walked the two of them outside to where there were various couches and patio furniture set up for this specific reason. Once they both sat down, Marinette paused, not knowing how to begin this conversation. Thankfully, she didn’t have to.

“Okay, I’ve been dying to know. What is your name and where have you been all my life?” Adrien was staring at her as if she hung the moon and was just so in awe. Tikki had been right after all.

Marinette gave a soft laugh and responded with, “Marinette. It’s nice to officially meet you, Adrien.” She took a chance and shot him a wink, which made him blush and laugh at the same time. Marinette counted that as a win.

Adrien grabbed Marinette’s hand and brought it up to his lips, “The honor is all mine, Princess.” She blushed at the nickname and the fact that he gave a light kiss on her hand. He gently put her hand down, but didn’t remove it from his grasp. “So, Ms. Master-of-Puns, where are you from?”

Marinette began to laugh again and was overtaken by just how amazing Adrien is. She was slightly worried how he would act when she met him, not only because of the show, but also because of the fact that he is a very wealthy famous model who has been raised a certain way. She always heard Chat complain on his father and how strict he is about his behavior, but tonight she wasn’t seeing any of that. Most of this behavior, specifically the hand kissing and the nickname calling, was very Chat Noir of him and it made Marinette’s heart go crazy.

“I’m actually from Paris.” She responded with a smile. “And I’m not a master of puns. I actually don’t even like puns.” At that, Adrien looked offended. He had placed his hand over his heart in a very Chat-like dramatic gesture. She couldn’t help but giggle and shrug. “Sorry, I just prefer different types of humor.”

“But puns are the most punderful form of comedy!” Adrien responded with a wink. Marinette gave him an eyeroll and a groan. At that he laughed. “What part of Paris are you from?”

“I live in Palais-Bourbon. My parents own the Dupain-Cheng Bakery.” At the mention of the bakery, Adrien’s eyes lit up.

“Oh my gosh! I drive past that bakery all the time! I’ve never been inside because father never lets me eat sweets, but it always looks so busy. Your parents must be amazing bakers. You must be an amazing baker.”

Marinette smiled, thinking of her parents. “They really are. And I’m not as good as my Papa, but everything I make is edible, so there’s that.”

“I bet you’re better than you give yourself credit for.” Adrien gave her a warm smile and she became suddenly aware of how close he was sitting to her and how close his face was from hers. It wouldn’t take much for her to lean forward and kiss him (something she’s been dreaming of for years). He looked like he might close the gap himself when the clicking of heels was heard and someone cleared their throat.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Adrien, can I steal you for a second?” Marinette sighed and turned to give Lila the best smile she could muster at the moment and excused herself. But not before leaning in and giving Adrien a peck on the cheek. As she walked away, she took a chance and glanced back at him. She was very satisfied to see that he was watching her walk away while Lila was adjusting her train and making herself comfortable on the couch in Marinette’s place.

She sighed and walked back into the group area only to be met with a number of unfriendly looks. Slightly bothered by the stares, she took a quick glance, noticed Hanna wasn’t there and walked back towards the kitchen. Hanna was there, deep in conversation with another girl. Marinette walked up to them and gave her friend a warm smile.

Hanna turned to face Marinette with excitement in her eyes. “Hi, Marinette, how was it?”

“It was really nice. Adrien is super sweet and our conversation was really easy.” Marinette glanced around the room to see if anyone else was in there. She then gave the other girl a little bit of a look, trying to decide if she was trustworthy. Hanna, picking up on her hesitation, jumped in.

“Oh, how silly of me! I let my excitement get the better of my manners! Marinette, this is Juliette. Juliette this is—”

“Marinette, yeah.” Juliette cut in, the tone of her voice unfamiliar. Her voice wasn’t as friendly as Hanna’s was, but it also wasn’t full of contempt; it was somewhere in between. “You’re the girl who ruined Anna’s entrance and stole Adrien before he was done with his toast.” Oh. So that’s what all of the dirty looks were for. Someone had figured out that Marinette had arrived right before Anna and therefore she was the one who had caused that whole scene. Suddenly, Marinette was especially glad that Hanna was such an open and friendly person. Otherwise, no one would be on her side. Besides Tikki, but she didn’t count.

“Umm, yeah I guess. I didn’t do that to Anna on purpose though. I... uh... accidentally forgot to tell Adrien my name and apparently that left him a little stunned.” She buried her face in her hands to hide her blush.

“Oh, Marinette, that’s not your fault!” Hanna said encouragingly. She had automatically began rubbing Marinette’s back when she had ducked her head and the motion was very comforting.

Juliette, however, was not convinced. “Why did you grab him so quickly, then, if you were so embarrassed?”

“I didn’t want him to keep going through the night and not even know what my name is. I figured if I grabbed him first, I could tell him and then it wouldn’t be like I forgot it in the first place.” Marinette felt very small in that moment and it had nothing to do with her height. How in the world was she going to survive this if all of the girls hated her for her clumsiness and forgetfulness?

Hanna continued to reassure Marinette that everything was fine, but she didn’t take her eyes off of Juliette. Slowly, Juliette’s face softened and she gave Marinette a minuscule smile. “What did you want to tell us?”

Marinette relaxed and checked the room again for unwanted listeners. The only people around were their camera crew, and they didn’t seem like they were going anywhere. “Well, we started talking and he began to get really close to me and before we knew it our faces were so close he could have kissed me.” The other girls gasped with excitement.

Hanna was the one to react first. “Oh my gosh did you kiss him?!” She yelled. Marinette quickly shushed her and glanced toward the doorway. After a few seconds, when no one had come barging through the doorframe, she looked back at their little group.

“Not so loudly!” She chastised. “No, he didn’t kiss me. Lila came and interrupted right as he was going to.”

“No!” Both girls gasped. Marinette nodded to confirm.

“That girl is trouble.” Juliette said with a frown. The fact that Juliette was not taken by Lila’s fakeness was refreshing and made Marinette want to befriend and trust Juliette more. Honestly, it was probably going to take an army of them to take Lila down during the show, and it was never too early to start recruiting troops.

“Let’s just see how tonight goes before we start making conclusions about people,” Marinette responded with a pointed look in Juliette’s direction. She had the decency to blush and break eye contact with her before Hanna steered the conversation back to whatever they were talking about when Marinette walked up.

Marinette excused herself to the bathroom, knowing that it was the only place the cameras couldn’t follow. Once inside one of the 9 bathrooms of the mansion, she let Tikki out of her bra and reminded her to whisper as they could record sound through the doors.

“What do you think I should do, Tikki? It’s been a whirlwind of a night and we aren’t even done yet. And I don’t trust Lila to not start something once she’s done with Adrien.”

Tikki nodded in agreement. “Yes, there’s something about her I just don’t like.” Tikki paused to think before letting out a little gasp. “Marinette! I have an idea! I could float around the mansion and scope out things for you. You can hang around the other girls and try to make friends and mingle, while I scope out the mansion, specifically watch Lila and what she does tonight.”

“Tikki that’s brilliant! Thank you!” She gave her kwami a hug and Tikki gave her a wink before phasing through the wall out into the fray. Marinette flushed the toilet for the sake of appearances and checked her hair and make-up in the mirror before walking back out towards the kitchen. She got herself a fresh drink and situated herself in the main couch area where most of the girls were still sitting. The room quieted a little when she came in, but she noticed a slightly familiar face and went to talk with her.

“Sasha, right?” She said as she sat next to the dark-skinned girl. She was wearing a beautiful forest green dress and her hair was in a contained afro. She was breathtaking and drew the attention of the room easily. “You’re a model.”

Sasha gave her a bright smile and nodded. “Yes, I remember you. You were in my group during the audition photoshoots. I’m glad you got cast.”

“Same for you. How has your evening been?” The small talk continued between the two girls and Sasha began opening up to her and introducing her to the other girls around. They seemed to be more relaxed around Marinette now and the dirty looks soon became a rarity. Marinette watched girl after girl be instructed by the producers to go butt in to another girl’s time with Adrien. Most of them waited a respectful amount of time, while others only got a couple of minutes because of pushier girls.

Sasha had gotten up to get her and Marinette another drink when Marinette noticed Tikki hiding behind one of the beams in the ceiling. She quickly glanced around and sped towards Marinette, hoping nobody noticed a red blob flying.

“What do you have?” Marinette barely whispered.

“Lila. She’s on the move again. She looks as though she is going to try to get more time with Adrien again.”

“That’s not fair! Some girls haven’t even had their time yet.”

“I know! That’s why I’m telling you! You need to get girls moving. I’m going to be watching Lila, but we’re going to need someone to interrupt Lila and quickly.”

Marinette gave a slight nod and noticed that Sasha was on her way back towards her. She stood up and met her halfway, taking the drink that was offered to her (peer pressure with drinking was a real issue here in the mansion and it was only night one). “So, a little birdie told me that Lila is going in for another round with Adrien.”

Sasha looked appalled, as did the other girls around who heard Marinette’s statement. One girl, Camille, ran towards the window and gasped. Sure enough, Lila was seen strutting in her stupid wedding dress towards Adrien for a second time. Sasha and some of the others were fuming.

“She’s already had her time with him and some of us haven’t had any.” Sasha huffed. “This is very unfair.” She began pacing around the room a little, never straying too far from the window. After about a minute of strained silence, Sasha stopped pacing suddenly, squared her shoulders and announced to the group, “I’m going in.” There were whoops and hollers. One girl yelled, “Go catch a bitch,” as she walked out the room. They all gathered around the window to watch the show.

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

Adrien was exhausted. It was nearing midnight and he hadn’t even had real conversations with half of the girls here. They kept making him do odd things and he had consumed more alcohol than his father had ever let him see before. He was running out of words to say and it was frustrating that the cameras caught every conversation as he couldn’t even go on autopilot for the girls he knew weren’t Ladybug.

At that moment, he was in the middle of a conversation with a girl who he was pretty sure was named Lauren, but he wasn’t sure. It was another girl who was trying to impress him with her superhero knowledge and Adrien was just about to signal for another girl to be told to cut in (he had made a signal with his Mini-Natalie so that way he could get through the night quicker) when he caught something white out of the corner of his eye.

Lauren stopped talking and turned towards the disruption and her jaw dropped. Adrien then shifted and saw Lila walking towards him.

“So sorry to interrupt,” Lila purred to the couple as she got closer, “but Adrien, can I steal you for a second?” She gave him a suggestive smile and he felt his cheeks color. Something felt wrong here but he couldn’t figure it out.

“Um, sure.” He responded, trying not to sound too put-off. He turned towards Lauren (honestly, he didn’t think that was her name) and said, “I’ll see you later?” before following Lila to a different part of the mansion.

It wasn’t until she sat down on a chair that he remembered why this felt wrong. I’ve already talked with her tonight! He had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at her but instead put on his best model smile and dove into a conversation that he was sure to be a boring one.

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

Marinette was over this whole thing. It was nearing 1am and besides Lila cutting in on THREE separate occasions, nothing super interesting had happened. The girl who had gotten her time cut by Lila the first time, Laura, had approached Lila and they had an argument. It was uneventful and (sadly) made Lila look like the innocent one with the way that Laura was going at her. 

Marinette stifled a yawn and forced herself to stand up from the couch she was on. If she sat down for much longer, she would fall asleep for sure. Right as she stood up though, the host, an American named Chris Harrison, came into the room where she was at with a rose.

All of the girls in the room, there were about 10, stopped talking and he gave them a smile. “Excuse me ladies. I’m just going to leave this right here.” He walked out without another word.

Chatter broke out across the group and the room was filled with a renewed energy. “Oh my gosh look how pretty it is!” “I would love to get the first rose!” “Who do you think is going to walk away with it?”

Marinette just stared at the rose. The first impression rose. This was the one that goes to the girl that made the best first impression on Adrien. Even though some part of her wanted to get that rose so badly, another part didn’t want to have to deal with the repercussions. If accidentally ruining another girl’s limo entrance brought all of these bad looks upon her, what would getting the first impression rose do? She was just trying to survive now, not stand out just yet.

Word got around quickly that the rose had appeared and everyone came flocking into the room to admire it. Marinette quickly excused herself and stayed away from the room for as long as possible. She was grateful when a producer asked if this would be a good time to interview her about the night. She quickly agreed and followed them to a small room they had set-up.

They asked her question upon question about the night. Having her pretend that it was right after her limo entrance, as all of the girls were showing up, right before the first toast with Adrien, right after her chat with Adrien, right after Lila stole Adrien for the second and third time. She pretty much just recounted all of her feelings throughout the whole night for the camera and sighed and smiled and got angry (or as best as she could do in her tired state) and she made a lot of odd sounding phrases that the producers were eating up. She had accidently said that Lila, “was making a huge mistake” and that, “the other girls shouldn’t hold my height against me because big firecrackers come in small packages” in her sleep-deprived state and they loved all of them.

 Before she knew it, she was being rushed into the room with the rose and was asked to sit around patiently for Adrien. After about 5 minutes he came walking in with a smile.

“Hi ladies,” Every girl swooned. “Tonight has been amazing and I have had so much fun getting to talk to all of you more. But, there is one girl who has stood out tonight and I would like to honor her by giving her the first rose of the season.” He paused dramatically and Marinette could actually here every single girl holding their breath. Adrien’s eyes scanned the room before they landed on hers. She felt her face blush and saw the people nearest her shooting her dirty looks. “Marinette, will you accept this rose?”

Marinette stood from the group and walked towards him. She was smiling and giddy and nervous and just plain ecstatic that he had picked her first. Once she reached him, she put her hand on the rose and smiled, getting lost in those beautiful green eyes. “Of course.” She gave him a quick hug and then headed back towards the group. The stares were intense, but she was determined not to let that bother her. Plus, it was very entertaining to see the look on Lila’s face. She looked both offended, hurt, and mad all at once.

Once Marinette was seated, Adrien continued talking to the group. “Thank you, ladies, for an amazing first night and I have some really hard decisions to make. So, I guess I’ll see you at the rose ceremony.” He gave the group a mini-bow and then was whisked off to who-knows-where. Victoria then walked out and told everyone that they had an hour to eat, freshen up and get ready for the ceremony. They would meet back in this room at a quarter til’ 3 and then they would line them up in the order that they needed to come into the rose ceremony.

 She gave everyone a pointed look before she said, “This is the only time tonight that there won’t be cameras on you. Be mindful of what you do and do not confront or stir up trouble with another girl before we meet back here. Save that for the cameras.” She began to walk away but turned back suddenly and added, “Also, no more drinks will be served. Some of you girls need to sober up before the rose ceremony.” At that she left the girls alone.

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

The hardest part of the night was over, or at least what they kept telling him. Choosing Marinette to have the first impression rose was easy, so he assumed that deciding who else would get roses would be just as easy as well.

That was where Adrien had been wrong.

He had 20 minutes before he had to be out there presenting roses and he had only chosen 5 girls to keep. He just kept staring at the faces of the girls he just met and just kept thinking that one of them was Ladybug but he just didn’t know which one. The producers were trying to allow him to make this decision on his own, but he could tell they were itching to jump in and help him. Mini-Natalie stood in the corner giving frequent time reminders and also having stylist come in every once in a while to fix his hair or make-up or straiten his outfit. His suit coat was currently being steamed and would be returned before he made an appearance on camera again.

Plagg, of course, only had one opinion. He had already put Hanna in the keep pile solely to keep Plagg from throwing a fit. Adrien owed him a very large piece of camembert after tonight because he honestly had been really well-behaved. However much he wished he had some sort of opinion.

“None of these girls stood out to you?” Adrien asked Plagg in a hurried whisper. He had about 2 minutes before the producers came back to bug him and he needed something. “Just point me in the right direction of Ladybug, please,” he begged.

Plagg swept his eyes over the pictures and then looked at Adrien. “Sorry kid. I don’t see a Ladybug in there.” At this, Adrien gave a frustrated sigh and then turned back towards the producers.

“Okay, I give up. Help, please.” They were creepily prepared. One thrust a list at Adrien that was titled, “Allowed to Move on to Week 1” and it looked suspiciously like something his father had Natalie type up. When he inquired about where this paper came from, none of the people helping him would look him in the eye.

Finally, one caved. “Adrien, your father has put up a lot of money and has a lot riding on this particular show...” he began and Adrien turned away from the table trying to hold back a growl. He crumpled up the paper in the process and threw it on the ground. The producer continued to talk, but was gentler and more hesitant than before. “He pre-approved some girls as people he would approve of and even picked your top four for you. Of course, you’re allowed to make your own decisions, but if your father doesn’t have at least one of his favorites in the top, he’s going to pull the plug on the show.”

Adrien glanced behind him and saw the nervous looks on all of the people in the room. Even Mini-Natalie looked worried. He should have expected this, honestly. He controls everything else in Adrien’s life, why not his first chance as a dating life as well. He gave a resigned sigh before picking up the crumpled paper from the place where he threw it. He flattened it out and actually took a good look at it. Most of the girls on here weren’t horrible, except for Lila, but he had had a feeling the producers would have wanted her to stay solely for the drama she created.

He randomly picked all but 8 girls on the list, leaving only the ones that utterly bored him and the one named Chloe, as he couldn’t give her a fair shot. Chloe Bourgeois ruined that name for him.

As soon as the last name was sorted, he was whisked away. He caught glimpses of things as he was moved from room to room: someone setting up the roses, the girls being lined up in an order, camera people repositioning themselves in the rose ceremony room. Adrien was handed a list of the girls he chose to give roses to tonight, stashed in a room no bigger than a closet with his hair and make-up crew and was told not to move. They had 5 minutes before the ceremony was to start and he had to be perfect.

His main goal was to memorize the names. The problem was there were so many of them and it was all so much for the night. Panicking, he grabbed a pen and began writing all of the names down on his hand in the order he was to say them. Thankfully, his handwriting was small enough to fit two lines on his palm. Right as he was finishing up, Mini-Natalie came in to take him away. She raised her eyebrows at the new addition to his hands but didn’t comment.

A lady was talking to all of the girls, telling them that they are to start at the far end of the risers and line up in order. The cameras would film them coming in and then Adrien would enter and begin the ceremony. He was expected to make a small speech and then begin passing out roses.

The girls are sent in and the tension between them all is palpable. Adrien is so nervous he’s sweating and he keeps blowing on his palm so the names don’t run. After all of the girls are settled, Mini-Natalie gives him the cue to walk inside.

Man, these girls did an amazing job of looking pretty. Between the light and the time allowed to reapply make-up and freshen up before the ceremony, he had forgotten how gorgeous they all were. Marinette is positioned right in front of him on the edge. She is beaming with her rose in hand and Adrien has a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. All of the girls are smiling expectantly at him and he remembers he has to make a speech.

He clears his throat and begins. “Well, ladies, I just want to say how thankful I am for each and every one of you for stepping out and taking a chance on this, on us.” Mini-Natalie had made him memorize this speech a week ago and he was at ease reciting it. “I know this is going to be difficult but I hold out hope that each rose ceremony gets me closer to mila— uh, the future Mrs. Agreste.” Whoops. He was going to hear about that mess-up later. None of the girls seemed to notice though, and he wondered how much they were actually paying attention. They probably just wanted to know if he had picked them or not.

“I’ve truly enjoyed the conversation with you all tonight and I honestly think my soulmate is in my room.” Most of the girls awed at that statement, and he just hoped that Ladybug’s real name was written on his hand in smudged ink. “If you don’t receive a rose tonight, I really hope that you can find your one true love one day too.” With that, he glanced down at his hand, picked up a rose and began calling out the names, one by one.

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

This whole thing would have been a lot more nerve racking if she didn’t already have a rose in her hand. So instead, Marinette used this time to size up her competition. Since she was the first impression rose, she was placed right on the edge of the group. She had the best view of Adrien, every shot of a girl accepting a rose would have her in the background and she had to turn her head to look at the other girls so she could look at everyone without the producers getting mad at her; it just looked like she was being polite.

 They had strategically placed other girls as well. Lila was standing right next to Laura and other girls who had participated in conflict were near the opposing parties as well, meaning that Anna was very close to Marinette. She had to think that they did that on purpose, just to make the tension seem even higher than it already was.

Adrien reached for the first rose and called out, “Lucie.” A girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and a sparkly red dress on stepped forward. Once she reached Adrien he smiled and asked, “Lucie, will you accept this rose?” She nodded and gave him a hug then walked back to her spot.

This cycle continued until Adrien was running low on roses. She was relieved to hear that Hanna had made it to the next week, as well as her friend Juliette. Sadly, Lila had also progressed forward, but so had Sasha. the roses dwindled until there was only one left. With that, Chris Harrison stepped out of the shadows and announced, “Ladies, Adrien, it’s the final rose tonight. When you’re ready.” He then stepped back into the shadows, leaving Adrien nervously glancing at his hand (he must have written the names down there) before picking up the rose.

He looked around dramatically at the remaining girls for an awkwardly long time before saying, “Kagami.” A girl Marinette hadn’t noticed before stepped up towards Adrien. She was wearing a red fencing outfit and truthfully looked so out of place, Marinette is surprised she didn’t catch her eye before. Kagami stood there stoically while Adrien asked, “Kagami, will you accept this rose?” She gave a curt nod, took the rose, and bowed to Adrien instead of hugging him. She then walked back towards the group of girls.

Marinette could feel the girls who didn’t get pick begin to cry and watched as Chris stepped out again. “Ladies, I’m sorry. If you did not receive a rose, take a moment to say your goodbye.” Sniffling broke out as the girls said goodbye to each other. Marinette reached out to comfort the girl next to her, Elsa, but her hand was hit away. She tried not to take it personally, but it still stung. Marinette also noticed the smug look Lila was wearing. Laura next to her was crying and after another sweep of the girls going home, Marinette noticed Anna was leaving as well. Marinette felt slightly bad about that, but at the same time, she had her chance to wow Adrien and she hadn’t taken it.

Victoria stepped forward and called out each girl who got eliminated one by one so they could come up and say their goodbyes to Adrien. He was very polite to them all but it was obvious (at least to Marinette because she knew his body language so well) that he was relieved to have them gone. If she had to guess why, she would probably cite the fact that he was one step closer to discovering her, or rather Ladybug.

Once all of the cut girls had left, they were passed out a chute of champagne and instructed to huddle up with their roses. Adrien stepped into the circle and gave yet another toast. “Cheers to the most amazing first night I could have asked for. I’m so lucky to be here with all of you. I can’t wait to see this journey strut.” Marinette held back a groan as all of the other girls let out a giggle at his model pun. He had the decency to blush at his comment before saying, “To the journey!” to which all of the girls raised their glasses with a group, “Cheers!”

When someone finally called cut, Marinette sighed and relaxed for the first time that night. It was 3:30 in the morning and to say she was exhausted is an understatement. She carefully put down her glass and was just about to go to her room before she remembered that she didn’t know where her room was.

When she looked around, she noticed that Adrien was being whisked away by a lady with a clipboard and Victoria was stepping forward to hopefully give the girls instructions.

“Congrats ladies on making it past the first night. You should know that we will not be filming you tomorrow, to allow you the day to rest and settle into the mansion. The first date card and date will be presented Tuesday so know you are on your own until then. Cameras will not be around on Sundays due to editing, processing and resting for all. Please save any drama or fights or problems until Monday as those are better worked out on camera.” Marinette strongly disagreed but didn’t speak up.

“With that being said, here are your rooming assignments.” She said holding up a stack of papers. “Your luggage has already been brought to your rooms and the bathroom assignments are posted on each bathroom door. Please only use your designated bathroom unless otherwise given permission from one of the crew members. Jade and Sarah are going to be in charge of the mansion while you are here. If there are any problems, you need something, or have a question about the house, ask these two.” Two middle-aged ladies wearing matching shirts that said, “Mansion-Mom” waved and took the stack of papers from Victoria’s hand.

Victoria glanced over her clipboard, “One last thing. I’ve been instructed to remind you that you are not allowed to leave the mansion without accompanying Adrien on a date. You are, however, allowed on the mansion grounds. Please do not leave the gate and do not do anything that could put you in harms way. Good night girls, and we will see you Monday morning.”

With that, she left as did most of the crew. Some stayed to finish cleaning up the cameras, while Jade and Sarah began passing out the assignments. Marinette was assigned to a room with a girl named Mathilde and they quickly found each other and made small talk as they walked to their room. They were on the third floor and had access to one of the many balconies. The room was at the end of the hallway, which was perfect as it would make escaping as Ladybug all the easier.

 She quickly wiped off her make-up with a wipe, changed into her pajamas, and waited in line to wash her face. There were 3 other girls who shared her bathroom, so the wait wasn’t too long. Soon enough, she was curled up on the right side of their queen-sized bed as Mathilde was showering. Before she knew it, she was asleep, dreaming of winning Adrien’s heart and her conversation with Chat Noir later that day.

~~~

Due to the coronavirus I’m hoping to have the next chapter up by the end of the week since being on lock down means I have nothing to do. 

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[fyeahwonderbat]

Keywords #3

Theme: Passion Rating: PG / T Word Count: 2,620 words NOTE: As this is set in the DCEU, I imagined Zatanna as Lyndsy Fonseca, but feel free to imagine whomever you choose!

“I had no idea you knew someone who was well versed in magic.” Wonder Woman remarked, lurking in the shadows of the balcony of the Bewitched Club. At her side, Batman frowned at the spectacle that was being performed on the stage down below. The audience was enamored with the floating lights and the levitating man being presented to them as some kind of inconceivable phenomenon.

In his eyes, Bruce saw magic as nothing more than child’s play.

Grumbling low enough for only the two of them to hear, he said, “There are many different kinds of people in Gotham.” He hoped that by the roughness of his tone of voice that Diana would know to leave the matter there.

Unwilling to comply with his wishes, she chose to address the matter while they witnessed the floating patron descend to the floor and the standing ovation that followed. “And you don’t trust any of them?”

“Not explicitly.” Was his blunt answer.

“Why?” Her curiosity was palpable, even as he turned away from her and walked towards the fire escape. They needed to reach the dressing rooms without being seen, meaning that exiting the club was more important to him than divulging his inner workings to her. He slipped through the open window without any intention of responding to her, which was why he wasn’t surprised that she probed the matter further the moment he felt her boots rattle the iron staircase. “You trust the people you gathered for the League.”

“Heh.” He released a single cackle, admittedly amused.

Diana, unimpressed with his behaviour, challenged him. “For a man who claims to love his solitude, you have a habit of reaching out to others more often than most.”

“I know who to contact when I need an ace up my sleeve.” Bruce explained as delicately as possible. He knew that he could run the risk of offending her again as he had on the plane trip back from Russia if he wasn’t careful with his words; she had already expressed her disdain for the way he made use of the Justice League, herself in particular, and if she thought that he considered her a tool more than a comrade, he wouldn’t have her at his side when they descended.

And he knew he’d need someone who accepted magic as a vital possibility while he groaned internally at the concept.

When Bruce reached the rooftop of the club, he apologetically turned around to offer a hand to Diana. But once again, the thundering of her boots landing behind him proved that she would forever be hot on his trail if he didn’t smarten up. Under the bleak shade of a dark and stormy night in Gotham, he stared at Wonder Woman through the lenses of his cowl, taking in the smug tilt to her grin. Proudly, she proclaimed, “From the moment I stole that flashdrive from you at Luthor’s party, I’ve never been your ace. If anything, Bruce, you’ve been mine.” 

The thundering he felt next came from the building, as it rattled when the storm overhead threatened to come crashing down on them. He quietly cleared his throat before finding his footing to say, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Wonder Woman.”

His sarcasm amused her for the first time ever. “As you should, Batman.”

“Emoc ot em, sredurtni.”

A familiar, feminine voice whispered in Bruce’s ear without warning. He witnessed the panicked look in Diana’s big brown eyes, however, he wasn’t able to warn her of what was about to happen as it all occurred too quickly. He recognized the style of the spell he heard a fraction of a second before they were snatched off of the rooftop and teleported into a compact dressing room. Lush in its decor, reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour, he knew they ended up in the right place even if he wasn’t a fan of how they arrived.

“I thought I saw you lurking in the background during my show.” 

Bruce steeled himself before he faced the magician in question. “Zatanna.” 

Standing with her arms crossed in the middle of the room was none other than the woman he’d been looking for, and then one he scowled at for using her spell to relocate him against his wishes. Still dressed in her corset and fishnets and her sparkly blazer, she looked like she stepped off the cover of a pin-up magazine from the fifties, with her top hat punctuating the look even while she held it in her left hand. It even sounded as if she was continuing her act when she faced Wonder Woman and interrogated her with her showman voice, “And what’s your name?”

“You may call me Diana. Bruce brought us here because he believes you’re the only one who can help us.” admitted Wonder Woman, offering a hearty handshake to the magician as a goodwill gesture.

Zatanna eagerly accepted the gesture the second she learned that he had put an ounce of faith in her. “Did he now?”

“I’ve been looking into a horde of monsters,” Bruce began to clarify immediately. “No matter how we analyze the sample I collected, I can’t pinpoint their origin.”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us something about it.” Diana implored.

Despite their request, Zatanna refused to say a word while she studied the two of them. Her signature blue eyes hopped back and forth between the two of them, as if they were asking her to decipher something found in their auras or some other magical nonsense. Bruce was not amused by her scrutiny in the slightest, gritting his teeth for as long as he could in order to keep himself silent.

When that failed, he asserted, “We wouldn’t have come if--”

Zatanna cut him off with a toss of her hand through the air. “If you had any other possible option. I know you aren’t a fan of what I do, Bruce, so you’re lucky that I’m even considering this. Though I suppose the people of Gotham say cruel things about you all the time and you still keep them safe, so...” Her disinterest in his civility was made abundantly clear when she placed her top hat on her vanity’s table. Once it was out of her hands, it began to rattle ferociously in place and even started to hiss.

“What is in there, Zatanna?” Bruce demanded as he bent his knees ever so slightly in case her captive suddenly became free.

Sighing, the magician refused to reveal her secrets to them. Instead, she held out her hands and urged them both, “Give me the sample you brought, quickly.” 

With his hands already near his belt, Bruce removed the thin glass case from one of the compartments along his backside and placed it in her open palms. Bruce felt Diana move closer to him as they awaited for their own private magic show to begin. He could have sworn he felt an almost excited energy coming from her despite how foolish that seemed.

Bruce ignored his hunch so that he could lend all of his attention to Zatanna as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her brows knitted together over the bridge of her nose as she spoke her spell aloud, “Wohs em erehw uoy emoc morf.” Her voice was powerful, commanding for the cooperation of the darkened jagged rock formation he presented to her.

Then, the world went silent.

After that, there was nothing but chaos.

Zatanna returned to them when she threw her eyes open and gasped as though she had been suffocated by her astral trip. So startled by whatever it was she saw, she nearly toppled into Diana’s arms. 

“Are you all right?” Diana panicked at the sight of her evident fright.

“What did you see?” Bruce tried to remain calm for Zatanna’s sake, all while the fear inside of him grew. Every other trial had brought them nowhere near a possible answer as to who could be in control of the army of monsters, but when the source was located through magical means, it appeared to be a force strong enough to push the most powerful magician he knew off of her feet. 

“Y-You’re not going to believe me.” whimpered Zatanna. 

“Try me.” challenged Bruce, ready to face the truth of his hunt.

Diana decided to lead Zatanna to her vanity’s seat, helping her sit down as the desperation for an answer to his statement hung in the air of the dressing room. Bruce felt very much like whatever wild entity was hiding inside of her spinning hat, failing to remain patient when trapped in some way or another by magical restraints.

Thankfully, Diana’s calm composure was the key to getting the answers they needed. “So they are born from magic then?”

Zatanna nodded once, twice, then spoke firmly so they had no room to question her. “Not only are they magic-based, but they’re being created by gods.” 

An extreme case required an extreme reaction from him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A white gloved hand slammed down on the spinning top hat before Zatanna glared at Bruce and fired her answer at him. “I’m saying that the monsters you are after are being made by the hands gods. Two, specifically, and their base of operation? The one you’re looking for that you can’t seem to find? Well, it’s hard to find what you’re looking for on Earth when you’re actually looking for hell.”

“Hell…?” Diana’s voice collapsed as she breathed the word. 

Zatanna did not show her the same amount of concern as she pushed onward, “I didn’t see them being made, but when I went looking for your answers, I encountered this woman.”

“Who was it!?” bellowed Bruce so loudly, it earned him a pair of matching leers from the two women in the room.

And a rather aggressive knock at the door.

“Miss Zatara? Is everything all right in there?” asked an inexperienced security guard from the other side of the door. Zatanna didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. However, she did maintain her furious connection with Bruce through her gaze and quickened her retelling of what she witnessed in her search. “There was a woman being held captive in a cell deep underground. She’s very gifted in magic - she found me while I was searching and pulled me into her. Her mind guided me beyond her cell and showed me that the monsters you’re after are being made in the pits of hell, being shaped by… a higher ranking demon? Some type of evil figurehead down there?” “No,” Diana spoke with a grave tone of voice, with nothing but certainty cementing her words. “It’s Hades.”

As if their search hadn’t taken enough turns, it took all of the Batman’s strength to avoid recoiling at the mention of such a fictitious name. Despite the fact that an Amazon from the same mythos stood by his side for the past year, it was nearly impossible for him to accept that the lord of the Underworld that he read about as a child was preparing to wreak havoc on Earth. Being a founding member of a team that compiled some of the strongest people of the planet meant that he had to digest the reality of their gifts despite how improbable it would have seemed to him once upon a time. If he was forced to accept the truth about extraterrestrial life, he knew that he’d need to leap over his disbelief and accept what Zatanna was saying along with Diana’s confirmation. 

Still, he dared himself to ask, “Why him?” 

Diana seemed to reflexively reach for the hilt of her sword as she divulged her thought process. “There’s no one else it could be. Think about it, Bruce: gods in hell, making a demonic army? It has to be Hades. He must have coerced another god to help him create these creatures and he plans to unleash them on mankind for some malicious purpose. Whatever he’s planning, he’s gone so far as to invite others into his domain and most likely punished the woman in the cage for refusing to help him achieve his goal.”

Another round of banging on the dressing room door cut off Diana’s speech. A rather panicked cry from the hallway replaced her voice, “Miss Zatara?!”

“I have no idea what he plans are,” Zatanna fretted openly. “But I can do is take advantage of this blind spot I’ve found and send you to her.” 

Bruce concealed his worry behind his cowl. “If you transport us into this witch’s cell, how are we supposed to get back?”

Louder and louder the banging grew, but Diana had become so frightened by the enemy they were about to face that she had lost all interest in mortal matters. Instead of being bothered by the harsh sounds, she faced their magical messenger and said, “Contact Bruce’s butler Alfred and let him know where you’re sending us.”

“All right.” Zatanna swore to complete the task with a nod of her head. 

When she faced him then, Bruce saw Wonder Woman. He saw the heroine that he’d come to admire standing in the dressing room with him, the very same woman who saved him from Doomsday with nothing more than her brute strength. The intensity in her eyes made him believe that she had already convinced herself that the battle with the lord of the Underworld was imminent, and she would be ready for it. With an obstinacy he’d be privately yearning to see from her, Diana dictated their next step with the charge of a warrior, “Let’s go.”

He knew in that exact moment that he had no right to seek out the logistics of their situation, that he should have checked his supposedly rational hangups at the door. If Wonder Woman was certain enough to take charge of the mission, then Batman knew where he needed to be.

“You going to be okay to handle this on your own?” Bruce wondered as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the man who was insistently assaulting the dressing room door. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Zatanna scoffed at his faux worry as she rose up out of her seat. She turned her back to him and held up her thumbs and index fingers in a square-like shape. As she pulled her hands apart, a glowing yellow rectangle materialized in the room that was filled with a dark, foreboding fog inside. “Go. That will take you right to her.”

“Thank you, Zatanna.” Diana softened her battle-ready demeanor to offer her genuine gratitude to the magician. 

“I’ll contact Alfred once I’m done here.” She informed them, materializing her wand in one hand while the other kept a firm grasp on her rowdy hat. 

Respectfully, Bruce added a quick, “Thanks.” 

“Now, go!” Zatanna shouted at the top of her lungs just as the dressing room door finally caved under the force of the punches being delivered to it. The wood splintered so hard, broken pieces of different sizes slammed into his elongated cloak. Bruce had to ignore every instinct he’d honed over the last thirty years of his life in order to charge through that portal. Whether he trusted Zatanna’s magic or not, he would never intentionally leave her to fend for herself if he could help. 

But Diana was waving him into the portal, disappearing into the fog that looked as menacing as he imagined the gates of hell possibly could be.

Leave it to the Amazon to rope him into the Underworld without any precaution, any escape route or signal to the League if needed.

[an-otome-cally-correct]

Living in Technicolor

This is something I like to call the Synesthesia AU. Now I know this isn't exactly how synesthesia works, but humor me for a bit. Also, for my sanity, I left out Mousse, the Tweedles and Amon.  If you wanna read more of my stuff, then check here.  PS thanks for the title idea Naga~

Everything had its own color. From vibrant to muted, everything every sound had a color - with people being the most dazzling of them all.

Everyone had their own mix of colors. No less than two but no more than four, always shifting as time went on, making it nigh impossible for any two people to be exactly the same, and it filled her days with magic not even Lancelot or Harr could ever hope to imagine. It was only something she could see - a world found not through looking, but through hearing.

Mornings in the kitchen with Luka were bathed in warm hues, while he himself would sneak a little lilac and blue - and a pink she’d only seen from a certain someone in the Red Army, if she were to be honest - whenever he reminded her of which to chop, which to simmer, which to take off the fire. Whatever heat there was, his calming presence, both seen and felt, eased her soul.

Training would then start, and she’d be bombarded by a myriad of colors that even the grandest of rainbows would be put to shame. Often times, the chaotic flashes that accompanied the soldiers’ shouts would be too much, and she’d wander off to somewhere quieter, until the hues slowed to faint pulses. It wouldn’t be long then, until Sirius’ soothing azure and green found her - those colors of his seamlessly melding with a deep purple and brilliant red in a way she found difficult to forget - and she’d be tasked with chores and errands.

Come afternoon, she’d be swept up in Fenrir’s whirlwind of lime as they roamed Central Quarter, warmed by the sweet traces of blush and steadied by the touches of slate and navy that danced around the periphery of her vision. Even on the gloomiest and coldest of days, he’d swoop in with his own version of a sun that could easily outshine the one that sat high up in the sky.

It was either that, or Seth would come bounding up to her, surrounding her with a sea of teal, with all the comforts of a gentle surf, the thrills of an intense wave, and… the mysteries of an endless depth. So much so that tendrils and blotches of an black would sometimes creep around the edges, ominous and heavy. Yet just as sudden as they would appear, they would disappear, and a soft beige would take its place, as if it was the shore to save her from drowning.

At night, it wasn’t as easy to see the shades people gave off - especially Ray’s. His was a blue that teetered between midnight and navy, something that swung between the solemn quiet of evening and the noble burden of duty. Scattered all across were flecks of  yellow-green and wisps of mint, fading in and out like fireflies in a field on a midsummer night. Each moment he spoke was a breath of fresh air and a source of confidence, and it made it impossible not to pay attention.

There were days when she’d run into Red Army folk in Central Quarter, and despite their less than pleasant first impressions, she had come to appreciate the colors they brought with them as well.

Often, it was Kyle she would run into during her errands into Central Quarter, and at each instance, she’d be able to spot him first before being able to discern his hues. It was not unusual to find pastels hanging about him, what with all the children that surrounded him, and it was only when the little ones had gone back to their families that she’d be able to see the chocolate and burgundy his voice carried - cozy and familiar, with the gentle ripples of amber stirring up the slightest bit of mischief.

Sometimes, she would chance upon Zero while he was on patrol, and on rare occasions - whether it was by luck or lack thereof - Edgar would be with him. With those two together, she found some difficulty in separating their respective colors and pinpointing the softer tones, at first. Zero's crisp orange melted much too easily into Edgar's  vibrant yellow, but in time, she learned.

With Zero, it was innocent baby blues and cream blooming here and there whenever he spoke… mostly. There were… instances - much too few and far in between - when she'd find black strike across her vision like dark lightning, and just like lightning, it'd be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her wondering whether the flash had actually happened.

Edgar, much to her surprise, had pinks and lavenders strewn across, the two colors flaring up whenever he poked fun at someone - especially so when it was Jonah. His hues were sweet and cheery, reminiscent of the candies he oh so loved, but then from time to time, small cracks of something akin to a dark rust would appear along the edges, marring what otherwise would have been a happy scene. In no time though, those cracks would be patched up with more of his yellow, but they would always come back sooner or later, and it was a mystery to her what they could be.

It wasn’t often she'd run into Jonah, but when she did, carnation and lilac would flood all around her despite whatever sharp words he'd send her way. It made for an interesting sight - him brushing her off as coldly as he could, when his colors were something so tender and pure - and even with the occasional pulses of red, it didn't take away from his pastel, almost childlike tones. In those moments, she could see the family resemblance in a much different, much amusing way.

As for Lancelot - it didn't surprise her when a red that matched their Army's flag appeared when he first spoke. Initially, his voice, his color struck fear into her heart. However nowadays, although it still commanded attention, the gentler blues and violets she had come to know that accompanied his brilliant red made for something much more encouraging rather than frightening - save for the thin fog of black that would roll in and out of her view.

Some days would bring her to the White Rabbit's quaint home, where she'd be greeted with the smell of tea and sweets, Blanc's sky blue and Oliver's emerald green. She could still recall the first time she had met the two, the both of them filling her vision with colors she hadn't quite expected from them.

Aside from the cool blue and classic champagne that Blanc's words carried, as if stuck in an eternal clear spring day, there was also a halo of ashen gray surrounding her view. Which she found odd, if she had to be frank. After all, it was the kind of gray she had only seen in the elderly, along with other more muted colors, but Blanc’s were still striking in their own right - not at all what she would expect to see from someone supposedly nearing the end of their life.

Oliver was different matter of confusion all together. Most children would speak in pastels and light tones, but Oliver- Every time he opened his mouth, it was flashes of emerald, and gunmetal, and bronze. They were bright and distinct, and it was hard for her to believe that a child would have them. Even more confusing was the fact that Oliver's colors were exactly the same as one of Kyle's drinking buddies, and with all the people she had met - both in Cradle and in the Land of Reason - she had never seen two people have the same colors, ever. But everything was exactly the same between Oliver and that man, and it had her doubting just how true that belief of hers was.

And then there were also days when her feet - or a certain cat, as was usually the case - would lead her deep into the forest.

However, instead of the green from the foliage, she would find everything dyed in hues of magenta, purple and gold. It made for an entertaining walk through the woods, even more so when Loki amused her with little magic tricks that sent leaves and flower flying about like confetti. Even the Lake of Tears appeared more ethereal than it already was whenever she and Loki passed by.

If they were lucky, Harr would be there fishing and they'd be spared the rest of the walk to their home. Harr wasn't one to talk, but when he did, it was in a mellow violet, with misty blues and hazy reds she was certain she'd seen somewhere in the two Armies before. His calmer tones contrasted Loki's brighter ones, but there was a commonality between them - a black smoke that would come in wisps and whispers, barely visible but always there.

All their colors, she knew, stemmed from their personalities, their relationships, their experiences, and she couldn't help but wonder just how these people had come to know each other in such a profound way that it would leave a mark on their being. Even more, she wondered what color she would leave behind in them, because as easy as it was for her to see the colors of their voices-

She couldn't see her own.

[lihikainanea]

47, 57, 62, 63, 71, 75, 76, 80, 87, 89, 95, 97, 99, 100

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

Do shoes count? I have a pair of Christian Louboutins classic black pump--not the super high one, the one thats way more manageable to walk in. I love them.

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

My make up I have down to like, an 11-minute science, so it really depends on the hair factor. I straighten my hair every day, which takes about an hour because I have a shit ton of hair and it’s long. But like, in Thailand I just...I couldn’t straighten my hair. It just wouldn’t listen. I let it do it’s curl thing, so it literally took me like 15 minutes to get ready and that was it.

I’m really out of sorts in the morning so it can take me awhile to choose an outfit to wear, too, and then to find the jewelry I want to wear with it. And then I realize the shirt I want to wear is creased because I suck at folding/hanging things up, so then I have to steam it. It’s a mess. I’m trying this new thing where I get my outfit ready the night before--I lay out my jewelry, steam whatever has to be steamed, put out my makeup items I can never seem to find in the morning (where the fuck is that one lip pencil I haven’t used in two years but that I need to wear today?). It’s working out for me. (I give it 4 more days tops before I’m back to my old ways).

62. Are you a good singer?

I wish, but no. A hard no.

63. Biggest Fear?

That everybody around me will die. But if we’re not going that deep, then I am fucking terrified of spiders and clowns.

71. What makes you nervous?

Crowds. I’ve never liked them, it gives me a lot of anxiety that I have a hard time pinpointing the source of. I just don’t like them.

75. Have you ever started a rumor?

I definitely have. In most of my adult life it has been inadvertently, but I definitely had issues in high school.

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Yes, and it’s overrated. Actually, let’s go ahead and add this to the what makes me nervous question. Having authority. :-P

80. How many piercings do you have?

Eight.

87. Do you keep a journal?

I don’t. I sort of maybe consider this my journal? I don’t know. My writing is definitely a form of therapy for me, though. A lot of times I write the comfort that I need and it helps.

89. Do you like your age?

I’m enjoying my 30′s. In my 20′s I had a lot of fun and partied a lot--a shit ton. I was more fearless. But I was also broke for like, the entire decade and lived in a real shit-hole apartment and had to save up for two years and borrow money from my parents just to take a weekend holiday somewhere. I also didn’t have a washer or dryer and would literally cart my basket(s) of laundry to my sister’s place every weekend to do my washing.

I’m much more comfortable in my 30′s. I have a great apartment that I had the money to decorate exactly to my tastes, I have a job where I make a decent income and it allows me to travel an insane amount. I’m much happier at this age. But I do wish I had kept a little of that fearlessness from my 20′s--I’m far more self-conscious now than I was then.

95. What are your weaknesses?

I’m extremely self-critical. Like, I can talk myself into a downward spiral incredibly quickly and live there for weeks. And my perfectionist streak is debilitating.

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Shit son, I’ve been waiting on my Princess Diaries moment for 32 years. So far, it hasn’t happened.

99. Color of your bedspread?

White and grey.

100. Color of your room?

It’s pale beige and grey and white. It sounds boring, but I kind of love my room. I was really inspired after visiting Denmark for the first time, the sense of style in Scandinavia has always been my favourite and I re-did my room when I got home to be very hygge. It’s all wood and plants and twinkle lights and soothing shades of colours that I love--and a chandelier, because I love chandeliers.

Anyway, here, holding my favourite Kähler coffee mug:

I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but for the love of God, please don’t reblog that photo. I’ll block your ass.