#very slow at painting and drawing in general but I really want to render this one in full eventually once I finish other drafts!

[caramel-flan]

“...It’s a pleasure to meet you, new friend.”

A little lantern rite work in progress!

[prince-kallisto]

I’ve been seeing this template going around, and I wanted to try for myself…it was just nearly all Crowley’s, except for May 😭😭😭 Gidel I love you, but my streak!! 💥💥 /lh

Looking at all of this made me feel really surprised…My first year of digital art! Thank you so much to everyone for your support and kind words on my works 😭💕💕💕💕🐦‍⬛ Crowley really is a muse…

(Ramble below🐦‍⬛)

I can see my awkwardness with trying to figure out different digital brushes in my first months- Im still a noob with all these digital settings 🤣 But I think that experimentation is good- my most recent piece was admittedly rather rushed. I think I could’ve pushed it more with brush textures and rendering. So I’d like to keep that in mind for the new year, since I feel slightly more comfortable with how digital drawing works.

This was a tumultuous year for my art 💦 Before starting digitally, I had some nerve issues that made traditional art became severely uncomfortable, even painful at times. But with digital art, I found there were settings that could make pen pressure more comfortable. Drawing on a screen was much more forgiving that what I could do traditionally, with lots more shortcuts too. After figuring out a lot more accommodations for myself, I can draw again! 😊

Most recently, I’ve been hard on myself for not feeling skilled enough in art. But to be honest with myself, I do very little study and experimentation- anything I learned has been accidental this entire year! 😅 Everyone I admire puts so much work and study into their craft- how embarrassing it is to forget that sometimes 🙈💕 So my goals are to be kinder to myself, and to put in actual study of color, poses, etc. I think it’s easy to be swept away by the incredible work of others. But when I made this summary, I thought about how a year back, I couldn’t even draw or even write traditionally for days or weeks at a time. In retrospect, I think I need to slow down and be more mindful 😆

I couldn’t exactly show it in the summary, but I am so proud of my accomplishments of finishing and published my first animatics! Three, so far! :0 It’s truly a dream come true in every way! 😊

I’m still trying to discover what sort of art I want to do. Recently, I’ve been taken with a painting-like style, but Im trying to figure out what direction I want with it…So my goals for the new year aren’t at all defined, since I want to discover things along the way naturally 😊 But here are some goals I have:

-Do color studies, study some fundamentals

-Participate in a zine(s?)

-“Huevember” (I don’t know what term to use Ahahxhf- but I want to try to experiment with differing colors for sketches or pieces, but not in a daily-challenge type of way. Color theory in general is a big goal this year)

-Be more kind and patient towards myself and draw what I love💥💥💥

-Try and take more breaks between artworks 💦

If you read this far, please take this borb for your journey ☺️ This has been a whole year of learning art- and Crowley’s design BABXHDH. I’m still not able to depict his handsomeness 💥💥💥 I need another year of training then (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

[tangy-soup]

Hii lookie! Even though I only made like 4 fully rendered pieces this year, I'm happy with what I've done this year!

(For months where I dont't have fully rendered finished pieces I put in the next closest thing I have that month.)

Ramble under the cut where I try to go over each month

General overview:

Funny thing I've noticed is how often I used cool tones this year bc my older art (that ive never shown from like 2 years ago) was characterized by warm tones

Even though I work through fully rendered pieces super slowly and barely come out of the year with any, I'm super proud of my progress this year! I've learnt and grown a lot as an artist and have also realized my potential. With that though also comes my fear of not being able to top what I've done, which I'm trying to work on! My issue is I tend to produce a lot of art when feeling highly inspired by a media, and right now I don't exactly feel the same kind of spontaneous and passionate inspiration as I did during the year. I'm definitely dealing with some sort of mental block right now when it comes to digital art and I'm hoping to get through that soon because I miss the process of making something I love through drawing!!

January:

honestly thought the boatem piece was done last year so I was surprised to find it in my January files! This piece was kind of a turning point for my art as it was my first more complex pieces (i had not previously done a piece w more than 1 character in it really). It was a lot of work and I was very nervous about it but I'm quite proud of what I was able to do!

Late january is also when i started sketching out the ethubs piece actually (i work slow)!

February:

I didn't actually do a ton of art this month, as I tend to take a break and slow down right after finishing a piece. At this point I was very keen on doing pose studies traditionally. I posted some of these and most of them were desert duo.

This month i started to really figure out my dnd character Ethe's main design as our campaign was starting. So, i did a portrait of her for that. The rest of February was working on ethubs and studying how to paint grass and clouds and just sketching here and there. I think desert duo brain rot was strongest this month

March:

March was also a mix of pose studies and random sketches and FINALLY FINISHING ETHUBS. I was also doing some art for dnd ^_^

April:

I finished the dragonborn npc centered dnd piece this month, and also began sketching out the cleo piece. In between working on cleo I did some joe art including an animatic featuring the wordle boarder and the sketch for biblically accurate joe :D

May:

Pretty much anytime i had procreate open in may I was working on Cleo. This is the most ambitious art project I have taken on and I wasn't sure if I was able to make it how I wanted, so I was kind of slow and on and off with it. I ended up putting it down towards the end of the month and did some more personal illustrations

June:

Big month for my dnd blorbos tbh! I introduced a sister for Ethe and was working on her design and their interactions. I also got a bigger sketchbook this month and did a bunch of traditional studies. I finished the flats for cleo this month and took a break so most of the art I did were sketches

July:

I was in the home stretch for cleo and with the help of my friends telling me to finish it i finally pushed through and finished it. I couldnt be happier w the results!! it's one of my proudest pieces this year and I put in so much work for it. But after I finished it i took a huge break from mcyt art and focused on dnd art yet again.

August:

My work for the multidimensional big bang started this month!! I worked out the character design early august and had a sketch for the full piece by the end of the month. In the meantime I was actually working on a cat painting I never posted... maybe I'll post it in an end of year art dump

September:

This month was all about the big bang piece. I had so much fun doing it and am super proud of the finished product. Im especially happy with the composition and inclusion of the background characters!!

October:

Again. Major break from making full pieces after finishing a huge one last month. I think I spent more of my creative energy elsewhere like my writing. Also school started again and I had moved apartments and there was a lot of irl stuff preventing me from drawing. I did try to do traditional studies if I could

November:

Kind of a dead month for drawing. Super busy w school, chugging my way through Ethe's ref sheet i started months ago.

December:

Literally haven't drawn anything new besides a new years illustration for greeting cards. I picked up crocheting again and have been spending a lot of creative energy on that instead, but to keep my drawing going I've been doing more figure studies in my sketch book i guess!

[ejzah]

A/N: @mashmaiden and an anonymous friend were kind enough to suggest/request and an anniversary fic for Densi’s second Wedding Anniversary.

***

Two Years of Perfect

Kensi rolled over onto her side, woken by the early morning sunlight. Deeks lay on his stomach, just like he did most mornings, sheet and quilt pulled down to just below his waist. She watched him for a couple minutes, just appreciating the slow, steady rise and fall of his back as he breathed, the soft noises he occasionally made.

When the sunlight was strong enough to cover him in a soft, golden glow, Kensi reached out and brushed her knuckles across his jaw. He shifted, turning into her touch, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with love for him.

“Good morning,” she murmured, sliding closer to kiss his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, but smiled slightly and tucked her into his chest. “Happy Anniversary.”

He grinned at that, finally opening his eyes, and whispered back,

“Happy Second Anniversary, Mrs. Deeks.” Even though Kensi normally didn’t like going by her “married name”, something about the way Deeks said it when they were alone, never failed to make her smile.

“Two of the best years of my life.” She kissed him again and nuzzled his jaw with her nose.

“Having to move and going through IVF are part of the best years of your life?” he asked doubtfully. Kensi shushed him with a finger against his lips.

“Don’t ruin the mood,” she teased. “But yes, even with all the tough things we’ve been through, I wouldn’t ask for anything else because I get to do it with you by my side.

“Oh my god, I think that is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” He paused, his smile turning softer as he caressed her cheek. “And that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“Mm, I love you too.” Slipping out from under Deeks’ arm, she rolled him onto his back, and slid her legs over either side of his hips. His eyes lit up as she hovered over him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. “I have a surprise for you”-she dipped her head and pressed a kiss directly between his pecs-“and this is part one.”

***

“So, what do you want to do after this?” Deeks asked Kensi, leaning across the kitchen island. They’d finally made it out of bed way past breakfast, so while Deeks was showering, Kensi had run out to grab their favorite tacos.

Nell, who was turning out to be an exceedingly generous boss, had given them the entire before Kensi could even fully ask.

“I thought we could go for a walk or maybe surf,” Kensi suggested.

“Perfect idea. But I have to go get something first.” She frowned as he abruptly ran back upstairs. He returned with a flat box, wrapped in blue paper and a periwinkle bow on top, and handed it to her.

“Babe, didn’t we agree on no presents this year?” Kensi reminded him with an exasperated, but fond expression. As much as he claimed to hate organized holidays, he loved giving her gifts.

“First of all, I purchased it in exchange for my legal services. Plus, this is a special occasion,” he explained, gesturing for her to open it. Knowing there was no point in arguing about it, she started sliding her finger under the invisible tape (significantly more than she would have used), revealing a plain brown box. She was extremely curious what he could have bartered for.

“Oh my god, Deeks, this is gorgeous,” Kensi gasped as she lifted the lid to reveal a perfectly rendered oil painting of them from their wedding. It showed Deeks cupping her chin between his palms as she embraced him, adoration clear as they gazed at one another.

“Really?” He sounded unsure and Kensi wrapped her free arm around him, hugging his bicep.

“It’s perfect.”

“I wanted to use one from the actual ceremony, but I forgot how many have Anatoli Kirkin grinning in the background and I didn’t want to explain why one our guests was wearing handcuffs.”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” Kensi reiterated, lightly running her fingers over the texture of the paint. Whoever the artist was, they’d taken extreme care with the task, capturing each element with stunning detail.

She carefully set the painting down on the counter and wrapped both arms around Deeks, pressing her face into his chest. He smelled like the organic shampoo he used, warm and familiar.

“Thank you for creating such a beautiful memory for us.” She leaned up and kissed him, her enthusiasm forcing Deeks against the counter. He cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss and within a few minutes, lunch and the picture, were completely forgotten.

***

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything fancier this year,” Kensi sighed, playing with the bits of hair at the nape of his neck, which had grown out in the last couple months. His head was pillowed on her chest, one hand loosely spread across the expanse of her side.

Although she’d had plans to get dinner, or even try cooking something, she didn’t feel like moving for the rest of the day. Deeks didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get up either. It looked like surfing was off the schedule as well.

“Hey, you know that when it comes down to it, I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as I’m with you,” he murmured back. Kensi lifted her head just enough to squint an eye at him.

“Now who’s being cheesy?”

“And you love me for it,” he said confidently, echoing his words about her from that morning.

“That is true,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Not even my tendency to watch “mind numbing documentaries?” She shrugged, shoulder brushing up against Deeks chest.

“Meh, I’m accustomed to it now. Besides, you’ve more than put up with my Titanic obsession.” Kensi wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, drawing a groan from Deeks.

“Just for the record, I am way too tired to pull out the Jack costume,” he warned her and Kensi rolled her eyes.

“Noted.” If she really wanted to, she knew it would take very little persuading to change Deeks’ mind. She was content to lay there for as long as she could. The days were they could just be together, uninterrupted, were few and far between and she planned to savor every moment.

“Happy Anniversary,” Deeks murmured again, sounding on the edge of sleep.

“Happy Anniversary, baby.”

As Deeks fell asleep against her, Kensi thought of the little box she had hidden away in the upstairs bathroom, filled with a half dozen strips of paper, each baring increasingly darker lines. Later, when the moment was right, she’d give it to Deeks. And tomorrow would be the start of an even better year together.

***

Happy Second Densi Anniversary to you all!

[angelisverba]

golden

in which y/n’s life is dark, but the fae king sees she’s golden.

word count: 12k

pairing: y/n and the Fae King, Harry

warnings: allusion to suicidal thoughts, angst, & a very sad reader.

note: This is my fic for the #FineLineFicChallenge that @hsogolden is hosting. I submitted for Golden! Enjoy :)

It was a known fact, that one isn’t to mess with the Fae. 

Don’t try to communicate with them.

Don’t try to find them.

Don’t do anything with them.

Masters of twisting the truth because they cannot tell lies, the ethereal beings were dangerous in the sense that they cared not for anything but their own interest. If they wanted your lover, they would do everything to take them from you. 

But y/n wasn’t one to listen to the rules. 

Especially one that promised her a better life, at no cost other than to seek it.

Her life wasn’t exactly shit, but it also wasn’t enjoyable. It was bland. And, to put it straight, lonely.

She had no family, and no friends or lovers. Life had made surviving her number one priority, and bouncing from job to job her favorite hobby. The girl lived in an apartment that had her feeling like a heroin addict, and she’d never had a dose of drugs in her life that wasn’t Tylenol. And, well, she had the looks of one; a feral, dead look in her eye accompanied with a malnourished body from eating what her pocket change allowed her to: ramen noodles. 

It was pathetic. She had to shower using a cup because the overhead didn’t work, and she couldn’t sit because the bathtub was full of rust on the edges. Her walls were cracked and at night there was a faint scratching of nails in the ceiling. The sink was missing a knob, the light bulb in the mini-fridge didn’t work, and neither did the one in her room. 

But, she couldn’t complain because it was all she could afford. Y/n was grateful that she had a roof over her head, even if it was infested with rats, and the cheapest, tattered clothes on her back. At least she had food, water, clothes, and a home, right? Even if it was the worst quality and her unfortunate state of mind made it worse?

View it however, she was done. Had been for a long time, but she didn’t really know how to stop, how to live a new life.

Until that night.

        *                                                *              *

                                                   *                                **

It was another lonely night for y/n, and those she usually spent in chic bars she would never be able to afford, sipping on drinks and observing. Learning; mentally taking notes of how rich people lived their lives and all the mannerisms that came with it because maybe, just maybe, if she acted like one, she’d be one. That dainty toss of the wrist, the graceful, hypnotizing tilt of the chin that told a man you were interested.

She didn’t dress like she was going to the bar, which made her stick out like a sore thumb in the high-ceiling, leather-furnished, glass-walled place, and she didn’t drink alcoholic beverages. She sat at the far end of the bar counter, sipping on a glass of tap water the bartender gave her because he pitied her, and watched. That last part didn’t really matter because it turned out, rich people got more drunk than people with less money than them-- a blacked out woman (or three) ending up on the marble floors at the end of their outing. Men never tried to talk to her because she always showed up in ragged jeans and shirts with holes in them, and women wouldn’t even look her way. 

That is of course, until another dead-eyed person walked up to the counter. 

She was a Scottish woman, or maybe Irish-- y/n couldn’t remember much. Only that she talked of fairies prancing and singing around mushroom tops and a fairy king that got angry when she said thank you. Drunken slurs, that were only made more incomprehensible by her accent, spilled from her lips at the first sip of brandy, and at the sound of her foreign tone, y/n’s ears perked to hang onto every word.

“Never in my forty two years of putrid life did I see something like that, and I doubt I ever will again.” The woman said to the bartender. She was wearing a sleeveless cardigan the color of hazelnuts when they’ve fallen off trees, decorated with golden medallions that jingled every time she moved her shoulders. Big, was an appropriate word to describe her hair; voluminous, blown out Barbie waves that plumped at the top of her head and bounced all down her back to end at her hips. Her eyes were an engaging amber color, the kohl black charcoal on her eyelids enhancing them like boiling magma, the reddish-brown shade in stark similarity with the blood-red shade of paint on her thick lips. “Dance with us, to your heart's content, so fun you’ll want to never stop, them little brats tried to get me, they did! If it hadn’t been for the Fae King, well--” she huffed, a jerking movement with her entire body, “-- I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure.”

The bartender, a middle-aged man in a flannel with a 5 o’clock shadow sprinkled on the lower half of his face, pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he wiped down a shot glass with a rag. “Sure as hell never seen a drunk lady talk about faeries before. Santa Claus? Sure, but faeries? You must be on some heavy stuff, ma’am.”

Y/n was staring into the center of her glass, watching the water ripple, strangely comforted by the slow movement of the liquid; her fingers tapped rhythmically at the ridges molded into the edges of the cup. It looked as if she wasn’t paying attention, with eyes cast downwards, but every inch of her was standing on edge, eager for a story. Essentially, this was the reason why she came to these bars when she felt like it, to catch a story; be entertained. Her own life wasn’t enough, she needed more, even if it didn’t belong to her.

“Aye, lassie!” shouted the woman, lifting her glass with a pointed finger towards the lonely girl at the other end of the bar. 

At her loud exclamation, y/n glanced up to see what was the cause of the remark, and found the woman looking at her with a peculiar, interested look in her eye. Y/n twisted to look behind her, oblivious that the woman’s true subject was her. Expecting someone to be standing where the woman pointed, she returned to her original position, confused. 

“Lassie, it’s you I’m talkin’ to, listen to this tube, says faeries aren’t real. You believe me don’t you?”

Because the feeling of humor was so scarce in her life, it had turned into a strange and foreign feeling rendering her useless in how to react-- and while y/n found the woman humorous in her drunken ramblings, she wasn’t quite sure how to express it. A wormy smile played on her lips as she nodded her response, the bartender throwing her a bewildered look because it was the first time he’d seen her interact with anyone other than him.

“Well den, I guess you’ll listen to me, won't you? I’ve gotto tell sumone or I’ll go radge.” The woman throws her head back and finishes what’s left of her drink, wiggling two fingers at the bartender to signal: she wants another. Y/n watches from her seat as the lady hops off her seat, one hand on the counter to keep her standing as she wobbles over in her direction; the medallions on her cardigan tinkling with every swish of her hips. When she stood, the dull heels of her knee high boots slapped against the sleek floor, the noise making y/n jump.

“Listen, here,” she sat on the empty bar stool next to y/n with a labored huff, “don’t you ever go walking round the woods on a full moon. My own mother been telling me that since I was on her tit, and I should have listened.” Her tone was slightly spiteful, and exasperated at her own action. She made the same gesture at the young girl, two long-nailed fingers curling and drawing y/n closer to her, as if she was going to tell her a secret. 

Never go walking in the woods on a full moon.

“The trees- they speak. Got ears I’m telling ya,” The woman’s voice rasped at her hushed tone. “Will o’ wisps are sweet talkers, I’m telling ya!” 

Y/n bit her lip in efforts to keep a building laugh in. The stranger didn’t look at all drunk, she was in complete control of her facial features, and her voice was funky because y/n wasn’t used to the accent. If it hadn’t been for the tell-tale empty glasses she kept generating, one wouldn’t even be able to tell. 

Finally deciding to propel the conversation further, she said, “Is that so?” 

“Swear on the Fae King himself, I do! Told me to find the mushrooms for a good time, coz I was out for a piss half mad with moonshine. Knew what they were doin, they did. I thought they meant those that make ya loopy, shite don’t even know what made me listen to them.” She grumbles the last part to herself, her chin tilting down to touch her chest as she frowns.  

“What happened next?” Y/n asked, propping her chin on the flat of her palm. 

The woman looked up, startled like she’d forgotten there was someone there. “Next? Next…. Next, oh yes!” Crossing her legs, she angled her body sideways to y/n. “Will o’ wisps said to walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms and I did! I did! And, and it got me to the fairy realm. ‘Course I didn’t know until after the king himself told me. But this... this circle of sky opened up-- like,” her head tilts to the side as she thinks of ways to form her thoughts into words. “Like the sky fell and was standing before me. Go through it and find eternal happiness, they told me.”

Walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms. Go through it and find eternal happiness.

As soon as those words left the Scottish woman’s lips, y/n was hooked. A part of herself that had slowly been locked away throughout her pitiful, self-depreciating life, and, that part of her came to life-- it bloomed awake, triggered by the words eternal happiness. An earth-shattering revival.If this woman wasn’t spitting shit, then… this was her chance. 

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her voice went soft and hazy, recalling the images of a far away land. “It was green… everywhere. And the flowers were alive.” She snaps back into a more solid tone, “They fairies were too-faced little bitches, though.”

Y/n nodded, noting and agreeing. “Tell me more.” 

Needing to further probing, the tales continued. “They tried to get me to eat, to dance. And I nearly did, you know? I would have, had it not been for the king… I’d be dead.” The bartender slid a glass their way, a manicured hand reaching to catch it without turning to look at it. “He saved me from them. He apologized for his subjects actions, even housed me for the night, and escorted me out the next day. Mentioned something about…” Her head cocked, eyes squinting. “A star telling him not to wipe fairy dust against my forehead to make me think it was just a dream.”

Someone in the distance dropped a glass, and a shattering noise was heard; reduced to a meager tinkle. The bartender whipped his towel in anger, and went to see what the fuss was about. 

“He was truly… well I can’t even explain it. You’d have to see it with y’own eyes.”

Y/n tapped her forefinger on the plushy center of her lips three times before saying, “And, what exactly do I have to do to see it with my own eyes?” 

The question simmered in unknown waters while the woman registered what y/n had asked. It was clear; the transition of her eyes going from unfocused and dazed to serious. 

“Why, lass, would you want to find those piece of shites?” Her head bobbled. “After I just-”

“I just wanted to hear you tell the story, that’s all.” Y/n shot to respond, set on getting the stranger to tell her how to get to the fairy realm. Every atom in her buzzed with friction against each other, excited, elated to have what basically a reason to life again. What Wonderland was to Alice, this was to her. 

A rabbit hole.

“Legend goes that if a pure-hearted being leaves offerings for the Fae, the Fae may respond. This is why lil’ tikes always talk about, having dem-- imaginary friends. They’re fairies-- they friend, that is. Fae people show themselves to children because they’re pure. Maidens before their wedding night, if desolate, go missing in the woods because the fairies take them. As for me? They wanted to take advantage of me. It’s process; fickle people they are.” A hand waves in the air, brushing away intrusive thoughts. Y/n leaned further into the woman, lips pursed in interest. “Anyways, my mother, her mother and her mother’s mother, have all had encounters with them after long periods of offerings of home-made foods, and planting flowers in the woods. Slowly, over-time, they gather the courage to show themselves. But, what happened to me was the Summoning of the Full-Moon. And- HEY! ‘Nother one please.” She repeats the same motion from before, sliding back the empty glass. 

“What is the Summoning of the Full-Moon?” Tapping her fingers to attract her attention again, y/n’s eyes follow the woman’s desperately.

“Right, right. Fleet aren’t you?” She chuckled. “The Summoning of the Full-Moon happens when the moon is full, and you drink a glass of moonwater from the past full moon. To get the moon water, just leave out a pitcher of water in clear view of the moon when it’s full, that way, when the next full one comes around, you drink a glass. The moon charges the water with it’s energy, and it’ll give ya’ the ability to see will’o wisps.”  

The bartender slid another glass, and the woman took a swig before continuing. “Will ‘o wisps are spirits that appear as floating blue flames of fire, usually three atta time at first; one disheartening and appearing behind the last as you move closer to them. They guide travelers, y’see? They lead you to what your heart wants the most-- or wherever destiny takes you-- depends on which one is mighty. It all takes off from there.” At her last words, the small glass listed, and slammed back down empty.

Y/n nodded slowly, absorbing the information that was unloaded on her. Moon water. Will o’ wips. But,

“What happens next?”

“It’s up to Destiny and wherever She wants ta take ya, lass.” The woman winked, her long, curled lashes fluttering closed momentarily. “Of course, that is if we’re talking about a hypothetical situation, isn’t it?” 

Y/n was about to give a flustered response, when a man decked out in a black and white suit, with shades, an earpiece and slicked-back dark hair, tapped the woman on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. The woman lifted a hand and dropped her eyes to the floor, directing some but not all attention to the man. An abrupt change in her voice sends shivers down y/n’s spine; the friendly rasp converting into a chilling, demanding scorn. “Tell Alex he’ll lose 30k from his next check if he doesn’t fix this in an hour. I’ll be out as soon as I wrap up the lovely conversation I’m having with this lassie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man says, nodding and walking the way he came.

Lifting her eyes from their casted gaze, the woman locks with y/n’s curious, seeking eyes, and sees. She understands now. The questioning. The peaking glint of interest.

It makes sense. 

“Play your cards right, child.” The woman sighed, her voice suddenly ages older than she seemed. “Play them right, and you’ll find eternal happiness… but, make one wrong move and you’ll screw yourself over forever.”

Then she got up and left. Feet landing one after the other with a firm stance, and a swagger in her walk that hadn’t been there before.

Strange, y/n thought. How quick her demeanor went from drunk to composed.  After that fleeting thought came a tsunami of questions. What was she doing in the woods? What woods? What dis the woman take with her?

But it was too late because the was far gone, and she was left to sit and ponder the countless outcomes that could come if she were to go through with this. For one, eternal happiness. It’s natural for anyone to try and seek it. Who wouldn’t? Especially y/n, who’d been deprived of dopamine for... well, forever. Her childhood was about as good as her current life. Parents who yelled at each other, and at her, leaving her only company to be the stray cats that would lick the tears off of her cheeks; raspy tongues eliciting giggles from the small girl. It was a treasure, what she had found.

She would be stupid if she didn’t at least try.

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                                                  *                                **

Y/n left her measly apartment on a day where the clouds looked like objects you could pluck from the sky; fluffy, white cotton shapes that overlapped and left small sifts of space where the sun shone through in beams.  All was shadowed with soft colors; rough edges turned tender, perfectly appropriate for the way the giddy girl felt inside. Floaty, heady, and delicate with a skip in her step. Aloof with happiness and a tickle in her rib. She no longer cared about anything. The latter was true. She didn’t even tell her landlord she was leaving, or anyone else for that matter. Everything that belonged to her and truly significant, was inside a wicker basket she tucked in the crease of her elbow. Food, and a blanket because she wasn’t sure how long she’d be waiting for the Fae to respond.

The Fae. 

After extensive research at her local public library, y/n realized how… complex these creatures were. It was no joke was she was getting into, and the Scottish woman has been right. Make one wrong move, and it was over. The ethereal beings had the power to make the rest of her life living hell if she messed up before eating their food.

Eating their food,

was all she had to do

to stay.

Bound by whatever magic they possessed, she wouldn’t be able to leave the Fae realm if-- when-- she bit into something from their world. Like giving your soul to the devil, but instead it was faeries who pranced in delight, not flames. This promise, this reward had restored something in y/n that hadn’t been there in years. Child-like glee, innocence, purity. Call it what you want. But it was there; a fresh sprite in her soul. Restoration of a youthful essence. 

But it was there, and it was back twice as strong as when it previously existed in her. Ignited by the words she drank from her computer screen; early morning rises to the library, and late night walks home after closing time fueled her through two months. The first, she dedicated to attaining a jar of moon-charged water. 

There was a mason jar in her cabinet that she used to eat blueberries and milk in, which was the only portable-type cup she had. The night before a full moon, she filled it with tap water, and set it on her window sill. For the first three hours into the dark, y/n watched the moonlight dance in the water like the aurora borealis. Her eyes would focus and unfocus with possibilities of her future; the possibilities of her eternal future extending from the tips of her toes like the yellow brick road.  Images of dewy meadows and heart-shaped ponds full of lilies flooded her mind. Willow trees and flowers to make flower crowns and tea out of. She wanted it. Wanted to live among the Fae, and wander aimlessly with beauty and prose.

She yearned for it.

Y/n woke the next day with a jar of... water. It didn’t look any different then from when she poured it into the cup, other than the fact that the glass was dewy from the cold of the night. Her fingerprints decorated the sides where she gripped it, and after bringing it up to her eyes for closer inspection, she set it on her pillow, and left for the library.

Her seek of Fae knowledge continued, with more vigor now that she’d acquired the water. Everyday consisted of books, online pages, audiobooks; anything she found she ate up like she was starving for it.

And in some ways, she was.

Swallowing more that could fit in her mouth, y/n came to learn that the Fae weren’t exactly the comforting go-lucky deities she’d come to perceive them as. Beautiful, sure, but not all of them. And certainly not sweet. 

Anything, but sweet. Y/n found that faeries were actually formidable creatures that enjoyed watching trouble develop. Legend has it, that the Fae were those caught in the in-between land at the time God shut the gates of heaven, and Lucifer trapped demons in hell. They could be angels or demons; fallen angels, outcasts, forgotten on the human plane. Belief in angelic behavior is reported, but lesser than the haunting actions, or bewitching incidents. It was a blind treasure hunt, the one she was getting herself into.

However, it she wouldn’t let that stop her. In some ways, she felt entitled to an explanation, a slice of truth; and answer. It would be an act of sadism to derive her of euphoria after she’d lived so, so shitty. She owes it to herself to seek them out.

Even if they could haunt her forever, take her first born, and or make her dance until her feet were reduced to stubs, she needed to look. Anything would be better than her reality.

Her adventure started with the seek of Rowan trees, sacred trees commonly associated with the Seelie court, the lesser malicious group of fairies. If... her expectations are even a fraction real, then she’s set. Good to go. Safe.

Or at least, once she found them she would be safe. The woods before sunset were enchanting, with golden tones littering the leaves and bark with glittering light. Pieces of peach-colored sky peeking through the empty spaces in the tree canopy, shadows dancing on her skin with every giddy step she took. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, only that she was looking for the Rowan trees, and the increasing amount of flowers was a good sign (according to the internet). It had been about an hour since she went off the set trail, the ground growing more unleveled with each step. Squirrels and rabbit would scurry across her way every time a branch cracked underneath her feet, and since her eyes were set on the shrubby part of the trees-- looking for the tell-tale red berries of the trees she was looking for-- the furry animals skittered more often than nought.

Slowly, the sun snuggled deep in the horizon, and the remaining light shifted to created harshly shadowed edges on the trees. This prompted y/n to panic, her searching eyes growing faster in their movements. No, no, no, it couldn’t be dark yet. She hadn’t found the trees yet. It would be dark with....

With no light to light her way.

Light. Small flames of blue light, was what the Scottish woman said the Will ‘o wisps were. And to see them, all she had to do is drink the moon water.

The moon water that was in her wicker basket.

With the last of the sun floating away, y/n hurried to flip open the top of her basket, deft fingers dipping in to wrap around the cool mason jar. She screwed it open, lifting it to her lips and taking two generous mouthfuls of the water. She needed to sip at it cautiously, because the offering acceptance took time, and she’d need more than one night to work this out.

To find her way back to whatever spot the spirits took her, she’d need the water. There would be no waiting at the gates of the realm, given that the faeries were suspicious creatures, and it would take time for them to judge and be comfortable around her; deem her a pure maiden at heart. Hovering in the area where she placed her gift would jeopardize any chance at them accepting, or even considering her entrance into the realm

She would have to be patient. And she would be.

Y/n was full of buzzing energy and she let her eyes adjust to the growing darkness. The sun had gone down completely. The trees reduced to smeared shadows and mysterious shapes. Her skin was victim to a crisper kind of air- the cold having a sharper edge to it in the absence of sun. The moon shone brightly, she could see it through the same spaces where the sun had shown through; a milky-white face in the sky, frozen mid-yawn, and though her light was strong, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through the wood’s thick roof of leaves. 

The path space that formed in the gaps of the trees, was cloaked in a pitch blanket, general figures of branches and trees ghosting in her squinted line of vision. Shivering, she shrugged the quilt she carried onto her shoulders, and it was when huddled into herself when she heard the first whisper. 

We hear you.

It was one voice; one whisper. And hundreds resonating behind it. A small, shy, wispy call out to her, sounding as if it were right at the lobe of her ear. 

Y/n is startled, and she jumps, clutching her fists tighter towards her chest, the basket digging into her hip and chafing on the skin in the crook of her elbow, but she doesn’t pay any mind to it because holy shit it’s happening.

Often reported, the wisps whisper or make high pitched whirring noises to catch the attention of the traveler. This was it. What she was hearing, was the calling. The will o’ wisps.

Her head whipped wildly from side to side, searching for the hovering blue and it’s incandescence. Eyes wide with seeking fervor, lips parted as puffs of air left her lips when her chest came down, y/n felt a rush of adrenaline course through her spine. 

“Who can hear me?”

Suddenly, a flashing burst of electric blue color appeared in the distance, about 10 steps away from her current position. She gasped at the sudden outbreak, her eyes stretching to their maximum diameter. All the inklings of doubt that had seeded themselves in her break uprooted and flew in the wind; gone. Real. It was all real. 

And she was doing it. She was helping herself. Providing to her soul what she couldn’t for years: happiness. The mere appearance of these spheres entities sent a buzz of ecstasy to the center of her core because they were real and she was really doing this.  

I can

I can

I can

Three chants of ‘I can’ tinkled, one after the other, appearing with every she took towards the spirit. Her knees shook slightly, goosebumps prickling on her knees with every movement. Eerily, branches crack underneath the soles of her shoes, and she can feel the dispersion of energy against her feet when the wood cracks. With the lack of sun, and how she’s so hypnotized by the will o’ wisps, she doesn’t see the thick hump of tree root sticking out from the ground, the tip of her shoe catching on it and causing her to fall fly forward and dig her nose in the dirt. The basket gets crushed between the dirt and her hip, the abrupt and uncontrolled pressure eliciting a pained yelp from her. Her hand comes out stiffly from underneath the blanket, rushing to push herself back up and relieve the intrusion. As she’s hissing, the dreamy, other-worldly whispers say,

Oh no

Are you okay?

Are you still able,

To come and play?

Smaller, quieter, different toned whispers echo each murmuring, creating a dizzying, mind-spinning effect. To a certain extent, it disoriented her. But the tender, cooing voices smoothed over her unease and comforter her. Encouraged her, even.

Huffing, y/n dragged her dungaree covered knees underneath her, and sat kneeled for a moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She panted, the experience amazing her. “Who are you?” 

She stood again, feeling her dented basket with her other hand while she waited for a response. 

We are messengers of Destiny

We will take you 

To what your heart wants most

Be quick, Your Majesty

They won’t way forever

Your Majesty? Now why on earth would they call her that? Befounded, she walked with cautious steps towards the first spirit, and tried to caress it with her fingertips. She wanted to feel it, hold it. But alas, as soon as her hand got close, it disappeared as quickly as it came, and reappeared behind the other two that were in line. The trio produced a bio-luminescent radiance that would surely stump any scientist who tried to explain the logic behind it. There simply was no other reasoning to the phenomenon, other than it was magic. 

She knew that. Could feel the altered tensions in the proximity of the will ‘o wisps, calmer and still where they were. Beats of her heart pounded where her tongue lay, dry, in her mouth. She wasn’t royalty. 

“Why are you calling me that? Why… why are you calling me your majesty?” Y/n stared intently to the very core of the wisps, noticing the change of color at the center. White flickers of tiny bodily shapes, like the spirits were dancing idly in their own capsule of light. 

Destiny calls you so

Destiny yearns for you

You’re almost there

Be quick, Your Majesty

She didn’t understand. Your Majesty, was a title reserved for royals wasn’t it? She was not one. In the midst of her confused and amazed state, a lineage of wisps appeared behind the third one, creating a long path that went straight and then made an abrupt turn left. Enchanted, she followed in a zombie-like state. This was real and it was happening. It was real because her nose was bitten-raw from the cold and her nails pinched into the skin of her palm. Pain didn’t exist in dreams, and her hip still ached where the basket has pressed against it.

This wasn’t a dream.

Will ‘o the wisps flickered in their formation, bursting away when she came into proximity. The exhilarating thrill of attempting to catch; chasing, is what caused her to let out a squeaky giggle that eventually grew into harmonious laughter. Light, gleeful chortles bounced between the trees, and if anyone were to hear here from a distance they’d surely think the woods were haunted. 

Eventually, she reached the turn, and was set onto a winding, twisting road of curving blue light. Y/n was light on her feet, raising them high and setting firmly on the ground. She began to run. 

She ran and ran until her throat went dry, her lungs burned, and her thighs ached; body begging for a break, heart high on the drug of hope. Every slight twist in the wood only motivated her further, coaxing her towards her end target of… wherever the wisps were taking her. She was so submerged in the task of following that she was quite surprised when she arrived at a clearing; a circular space where the trees curved around, almost respectfully. The wisps made a beeline towards the middle, where they made the same pattern the trees did, forming a circle around a ring of mushrooms. 

It was almost comical, the way the red-topped, white-dotted mushroom were arranged in a circle big enough to lay, sprawled, in the middle. 

You’ve made it

You’re here

Destiny wishes you luck

Stay strong, Your Majesty

And then, they dissipated; flip of a switch and the lights were off.

For two days, she waited. The first night, she layed her homemade thumbprint cookies and honey in the center of the ring, leaving a sweet kiss on the wooden plate, and walked aimlessly until the balls of her feet ached. It wasn’t that far, because she had already done so much walking, and the girl was drained from the events she’d witnessed. Y/n settled in an alcove of tree roots, wrapping herself snug with her quilt but shivering despite her efforts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she waited until the morning, wanting to make the food she brought last as long as possible. 

She woke with the faint images of golden petals floating around her, faeries dusting shimmering substances on the top of her head, and a demanding grumble in her stomach. The dirt underneath her hand was soft, dipping in where her the pad of her fingers dug in to push herself up. Instantly, she was met with the feeling of something wet striping up her cheek, a sniffing like noise filtering through her ears.

Blinking, y/n groggily turns her hear, and comes face to face with... a pig. It snorts when it see her move, sitting back on it’s haunches and looking up at her with bunched cheeks so it looked like it was smiling. Y/n’s jaw dropped in shock. Where had this pig come from?

It’s pink skin was a cool contrast in the light of the late-morning sun (y/n was never much of an early riser), and upon closer inspection, she saw the pig was a he. His nose was twitching with interest at the stranger he’s encountered. Ears floppy, bent and jiggling with every call squeal he exhibited, hooves half dug into the dirt. He watched patiently, inspecting and almost waiting for orders. 

“Where’d you come from?” She asked, intrigued at his presence. They both shared a small moment of staring at each other in wonder until her stomach emitted a stale gurgle, pleading for food. The piglet (which he was, given his small stature and clean snout), squealed again, standing up with a jump and walking around in a circle three times, chasing after it’s curly tail before stilling, with his rump facing y/n. He began to walk backwards, continuing until his back legs came up on her lap, and he plopped himself down, tilting his head up with a pleasant smile, while y/n stared at the small creature, astounded.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” She said with a light giggle, reaching with one hand for her basket, and the other to pet the small thing’s head. She might as well embrace him, so she had company. 

The basket was right by her shoulders while she lay, meaning it was now behind her because she had sat up. Clutching the pig so he wouldn’t fall out of her lap while she moved, she twisted her upper body to grab the basket, and the pig adjusted himself, pressing his two front feet onto her lep repeatedly. Making shushing noises, she flipped open the wicker flap, and reached in to grab whatever she found. 

A sleeve of ritz crackers, that she ripped open eagerly, popping the first cookie into her mouth. Chewing, she looked around for the first time that day.

She was surrounded by much, much bigger trees than the ones she was venturing in the day before. Tall, brooding giants; rows and rows of trunks thicker than her wingspan and arching branches casting shadows on those who walked underneath. Might and wise, but silent and still. And intimidating network of roots on the ground mirrored the intertwining leaves above her, so high up she had to throw her head all the way back to see the expanse.

Breathtaking, is what it was. Y/n hadn’t been this connected with nature since that field trip she took with her third grade class to the blooming tulip meadows. She appreciated their presence, basked in the beams of light that shone through and grazed over the grass and moss on the trees. She even stopped eating, transfixed by the image before her, and she would have continued pondering in the glorious, godly image of greens and brown had the pig in her lap not shifted to sniff at her hand. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, glancing down at his curious tilted head. “Want some crackers, too?” Y/n wriggles her fingers into the brown packaging and took out two cookies, setting one on her tongue and extending the other towards the pig. He sniffs at it, his snout twitching, before cocking his head and picking it up with the side of his mouth. The pig gets close to her, placing the flat underside of his chin in the groove of her neck, snorting appreciatively. 

“You’re a cute one,” she hums more to herself, tracing the pads of her fingers on the piggy’s back. 

They fall asleep like that again, after y/n had finished the sleeve of crackers. The girl so calmed by the image presented in front of her, she slipped into a light slumber, the breeze and waving sheets of leaves lulling her eyes closed. 

She spent the day like that, rationing her food, and sleeping, the pig switching positions from her lap, to her side, and eventually by her feet. The thick quilt she had brought stayed on her shoulders at all times, keeping her warm in the crispy forest air. 

Nearing the sunset again, a butterfly landed on the tip of her nose, stretching its wings and tickling her awake. Her eyes fluttered opened when everything around her was lit a golden haze; the tell-tale sign that the sunset was near, and so was the night. The blue butterfly flew away when she took the first breath, and she watched it fly away with hazy eyes, not fully awake and aware yet. 

Y/n jumped when the piglet let out a squeal, and upon looking down, she saw that he had remained settled into her side while she slept.

With a smile on her lips as she placed her hands on her back to stretch, she said, “Well, hello there!” She patted his head, and he leaned into her touch. “You stayed!”

The pig smiled, which sounds ridiculous but his lips really turned upwards, filling his eyes with a glint, and squealed his response. Y/n’s heart warmed at the sweet animal, happy that she had company and wasn’t alone. Her friends, she realized, had always been furry. Animals were the only beings that were ever welcoming of her, treasured her presence, and reciprocated the love she had to offer.

“Will you stay through the night as well?” The girl remarked, scratching behind the piglet’s ears. “I sure hope so.” A sad look took over her face, the corners of her lips pinching downwards as a sudden wave of forlorn thoughts washed over her.

She was sitting in the forest, all by herself, following after a drunk woman’s rants because that it what her dissatisfaction led her to. That’s how much she lacked. That’s how much she yearned for. It goes to show the large chunk that was missing, because she had no second thoughts about doing so. It hurt, knowing no one would worry about her, and that she had nothing to regret leaving.

As if sensing her unease, the pig started bucking up into her hand, his snout blowing onto her palm and tickling her skin. The action made her laugh, her first genuine, comfortable laugh at an act of humor. A deep, belly chuckle that made her cheeks hurt. 

She had learned to laugh again. 

Y/n got up from her spot on the forest floor, and stretched with her arms reaching towards the canopy, fingers splaying and tightening the skin between them. Taking a deep breath, the corner of her lip quirked up in her smile.

Night two was underway and she was ready.

With her furry companion, the girl picked her basket up and began her walk in the general direction of her arrival. It was hard to tell, because it was pitch black when she made it to her spot, but either way she walked far enough that she would need guidance from the wisps to get back on the correct track.

The sun repeated the same routine it had the day before, splashing an assortment of colors on tree bark and leaves, streaking the sky wild orange taints and soft blues to contrast. It was ethereal image, the one she was witnessing. Like something out of a documentary, except she was there, seeing it with her own eyes. 

Her neck was starting to hurt with how much she craned it to see the mesh of vibrancy in the sky, and the piglet alongside her had often bumped it’s small snout on her ankle when she stopped moving to gaze. When night finally came, the moon was a partly eaten up by shadow, her color less vibrant that the day before. But it was fine, because according to research, what mattered most was the first offering on the full moon.

Repeating the same steps from last night, y/n took another drink from her glass, and blinked three times exactly, waiting for the wisps to formulate in front of her.

And they did.

But there was something different about it this time. They were quiet, a change from their past fizz of whisper. Confused, y/n tilted her head and tried to speak to the.

“Hello?”

Silence. Not even the whistling sound of their breaths. The wind had stopped, and as the line of blue orbs created a twisting route between the trees, the hairs on y/n’s spine stood on end. The air was charged with... a certain potential that was impossible to miss. A certain static of promise.

Tonight was the night.

As she walked towards the wisps, her footsteps were accompanied by the soft pitters of her tiny friend, stuck by her feet still, despite everything happening around them. Could he see them too? Was her cold? He probably was. If y/n was cold, then he was too. Deciding to not only warm herself up, she took out her blanket and bent down to pick him up, cradling him against her chest and wrapping the blanket around him as well, to which he responded with a cuddle into her neck.

With purpose in her step, the hopeful girl began her journey, following the marked up path left by the wisps. It was, as expected, longer than the first. She had ensured that she was far enough away before settling down for the night.

Nevertheless, she made it to the blue luminescent ring of red-topped mushroom (like the ones from Mario), and stared. 

It was apparent, that she had no clue what to do next.

“Now what? Tell me what to do?”

The last wisp, placed in the center of the ring, spoke for all the spirits the first time since they appeared that night.

Destiny had spoken once, She will not speak again.

The knowledge you need to open the realm,

is one you already know.

Furrowing her eyebrows, y/n took a moment to digest the message.

She knew? She knew how to open the gate? The extent of her research only described protocol on fairy manners, what they were like, and what to do in the case of an encounter. Never explicitly the steps to open the realm to meet them. Yet, the wisps said otherwise. They claimed she knew the ways to open the realm.

How could that be true… 

The woman looked up, startled like she’d forgotten there was someone there. “Next? Next…. Next, oh yes!” Crossing her legs, she angled her body sideways to y/n. “Will o’ wisps said to walk the opposite way a clock does around the circle of mushrooms and I did! I did! And, and it got me to the fairy realm. ‘Course I didn’t know until after the king himself told me. But this... this circle of sky opened up-- like,” her head tilts to the side as she thinks of ways to form her thoughts into words. “Like the sky fell and was standing before me. Go through it and find eternal happiness, they told me.”

OH. The Scottish woman! The Scottish woman had told her exactly what to do. Walk counter-clockwise around the circle of mushrooms. 

And that was it. 

All she had to do. 

Y/n was in the middle of contemplating if she should do it or not, given she had only presented one offering, when she saw the note.

In the middle of the ring, lay a fist sized scroll that was only visible because the last wisp hovered above it. The pig next to her glanced from her to the script, and skipped over to clutch the script with his mouth, and trotted over to give it to her. 

The wisps didn’t disappear when the pig approached it, but it raised higher above the ground, above her head and just past that; blue light glowing just a bit brighter.

The girl bent to get the note from the piglet, and gave it a small pat on the head before unrolling the thick paper. It had a very quality feel to it, grooves tickling her finger-pads. The slip, not much better than her hand, read,

the pie was delicious. we are most appreciative of it. proceed.

The black inked scripture widened her eyes, sending a shiver up her spine.

Well, that settled her question. She could, proceed.

And she did. Y/n placed the note in her basket, and picked up her small friend, needing the emotional support. Her lungs expanded in a burning breath, bracing herself for what was to come. No turning back now.

She angled herself so her feet were parallel to the mushroom she was near, and began to walk. Please let me in, please please please let me in. I need this, please. She begged mentally. The girl wasn’t sure what would happen if this went wrong. Her hopes were high, and the crash would be devastating.She begged to whoever would listen; whoever was in charge. Please let me in.

Nothing happened, until she passed her third mushroom.

The remaining will o’ wisp began to expand, it’s light turning a lighter blue color, bubbling out and expanding into a concrete oval, growing in size as she made her way around the ring. The pig in her arms was quiet, not affected by what was going on like he saw it happen everyday, but y/n, on the other hand, was having her mind blown. Her lips were parted as soft breaths came out of them, scared to breathe to her full capacity, watching as the color of light went from blue to yellow. The two colors merging in a gradient shift, the orb growing bigger and larger as water expands when spilled on a flat surface.

Fleeting shadows danced through the portal, like the reflection of birds flying over a lake’s surface. 

Y/n picked up the pace on her last round, and a breeze began to blow out her hair. the light from the now door-sized hole turned a golden color; a glittering, metallic shade of yellow that swirled in a spiral at the speed of her steps, dizzying her. The far-away sounds of a child’s giggled resonated through the forest, coming from the golden circle in the ring.

When she stopped at her starting mark at the end of the third rotation, the portal rose higher, higher, higher, and then floated down like a swaying feather in the air, the golden beams of light now shooting skyward.

It came to lay on the grass covered floor, flattening in the area inside the circle of the mushrooms, the gold-lined edge nearly touching the tip of her show.

The front of her face was covered in the golden light, her eyes gleaming in the colored glow. Laughter sounded from it, the sound of music teasingly escaping, low enough that she could hear it over the lapping water noises from the portal.

The pig, still in her arms, began to thrash and squirm, squealing wildly until y/n finally let him go, and he didn’t hesitate to jump in the pool of gold.

“Wait, wait no, n-,” y/n protested, but his curly tail was gone before her hand even attempted to catch him.

After his leap, the portal rippled, and cleared into a calm mustard yellow splashed with... clouds? It was a piece of sky that fell to the ground, just like to woman had said. Without thinking twice about it, she jumped through, just like her friend had done.

Her body was instantly met with a chilling wind, as if she wasn’t wearing any clothes. It was a disorienting feeling of shooting up, and coming back down like she was falling, landing in the same spot where the portal had been, except now it was closed. Her butt ached where is received most of the impact, and y/n groaned as she pushed herself back up, the budging feeling of her basket restricting her arm movement present, but… the weight of her clothing was gone. 

And, when she glanced down at her body, it was confirmed that she was bare.

As in, no clothes, no underwear, no bra or panties.

Y/n shrieked.

Who, when, and how had her clothes come off if she hadn’t taken them off herself? She ignored the fact that she was in the fairy realm to cover herself with her hands, glancing up to see who may have seen her, only to view a landscape unlike any other.

Rolling hills, seemingly endless with giant trees on top of each one, bigger than the ones she had slept alongside, with flower-filled valleys and and a crystalline river that cut a path through a hill and disappeared into an arch of trees. Children with elvish features stared up at her from the nearest valley, blue flowers littered in their hair to match the pink color tinted in their cherub cheeks. Brown ad white rabbits alike roamed around her, does grazed in the meadows. The sun was nestled in the horizon, just barely peeking in the dip of two hills, sky the same glittering golden color the portal had been. Everything was untouched by technology. No building or antenna towers, but homes in tree trunks or underneath giant mushrooms.

The faeries were staring at her. All with features a human would posses, but a certain other-worldy-ness regular people didn’t posses.

They were all beautiful, with full lips and striking eye colors to match their leafy outfits pertaining to their niche. Two of them ran up the hill on which she sat, edgy grins on their lips as they approached her with their hands behind their backs. One was dressed in the fluffy feathers of a peacock, black hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears, curving up at the nape of his neck. The feathers draped over his shoulders and fanned around his arms, ending just at the end of his wrists so the his hands showed; talons in the place of nails. His lips were beak like, the cupids bow dragging over his bottom lip to imitate a bid’s curved mouth. The other man standing next to his was dressed just the same, except that he had no hair and his ears curved like a ram’s above his head.

Suddenly, her pig friend jumped onto her lap, and began the same squealing as before. Urgent and forbidding, pressing his rump back into her, but leaning forwards as if to ward them off.

“You again, Angus?” The one with the ram horns said, quirking his eyebrow into a perfect arch at the same time his tilted in that direction, giving him a graceful yet mechanical look. Intimidating and cold. His voice was equal to the ear-splitting sound of a fork against plate.

The other one spoke. “How’d you get away from Harry this time, you littl-”

“Pias and Rye? You best stop right there!” Another voice spoke, making y/n twist her heard towards where a crowd had formed in the nearest valley. Mostly creatures with childish features, holding fruits of bunches of petals to their bare chests.

There was a woman, with curly red hair and striking blue eyes. Droplets of water seeped from her skin, collecting at the dress she was wearing, which looked like rippling bodies of water floating above her skin, the placed surrounding her most intimate areas a darker color of water, whereas everything else was translucent. A blob of liquid floated near her head; a crystalline globe of water that contained a golden koi fish that moved on its own around it’s companion, swirling around her unruly red coils of hair.

“Well if it isn’t-”

“I’d shut it, if I were you. Just wait until he hears that you weren’t going to follow protocol. Now, leave.” At her emphasis, her grey eyes flashed bright white momentarily, scaring even y/n, but fulfilling their purposes in warding off the other two fairies. They turned around and left with their prides damaged, turning back to look every other step.

The woman turned to look at y/n, her face transformed into a welcoming smile.

“Hello, my name is Marianne, Welcome to the Fae realm.”

       *                                                *              *

                                                  *                                **

Marianne took y/n to the river, opposite the way the two other faeries left, and clapped her hands to snap everyone's’ gazes away, while y/n listened to every command with no hesitation.

One their way to the river, y/n was covered in monarch butterflies that flew from a nearby bush, arranging themselves like a skirt on her hips, their wings twitching and fluttering with every step she took. Her top half was taken care of by her pig friend, whom she learned was called Angus, which she clutched to her chest like when they walked around the mushrooms.

Marianne apologized for the other faeries’ behavior, and led her into a giant water lily, holding her hand as she stepped in. The large green leaf coasted down the river, giving y/n a proper sight-seeing experience. They passed by tree roots that elevated above the water’s surface, and passed through the center of a hill like a tunnel. The golden skies seemed to place a filter on everything it touched, making it look like the water held diamonds, and the dew on other floating lilies were pearls. Leafy branched from willow trees on the river bank reached out to touch the newcomer, caressing y/n’s bare shoulder’s as she passed. She watched it all happen with parted lips, intoxicated by the luxurious feeling of magic pouring over her; skin coated in remnants of glittering water from the tips of the tree leaves that dipped in water.

So fixed on the trees and their giant glory, y/n didn’t see the stone castle coming into view from behind the passing green hill; the river turning into the castle’s moat, floating alongside the uneven stone walls patterned different colors from time, sun, and water, but magnificent in it’s ancient glory.

The girl noticed Marianne staring at her, and in her embarrassment, she turned around to attempt to compose herself, but her efforts were thrown away when her eyes found the castle. Romantic, rustic walls covered in curtains of ivy that grew all around. Blinking, y/n gasped as the lily pad came to a stop right before the entrance of the tunnel underneath the bridge, and rose to meet it. She glanced down to see they were off the river’s surface, level with the top of the stone arch. Marianne stepped off, her bare feet stable on the path and she extended a hand for y/n to grab onto.

Stunned, she took hold of the woman’s wet grip, and followed after her, throwing her head back to view the entirety of the castle. Windows with no glass carved rows into the walls, allowing sun to stream in to the rooms and halls. The drawbridge lowered for the two guests, dropping with a loud rustling of chain.

Walking across is at, goosebumps possessed her skin, and she felt the shameful, poking sensation of being exposed settle in her breastbone. Castles meant kings and queens; she was being brought to the king and she was practically naked.

Her chest rose, and her stomach filled filled nervous breaths. Her pals became moist against Angus’s furry one, who seemed calm and sated with the whole ordeal. 

Once across the drawbridge, they were met with an open courtyard framed by the castle walls, a cobblestone path leading to an arched entrance, where Marianne followed The courtyard was full of wild grass up to her ankles, stone arches in the middle of the scene, with rope swings and flowers hanging down, ominously still. A bench centered in an arrangement of statues of men in heroic poses holding harps and arrows, a floating body of water in the place of a fountain. Much, much more attracted the girls curious eyes, but Marianne pushed past a curtain of foxgloves, and led her into the castle hall and her view was cut off, dragged into... the throne room.

The throne room clearly because in the center of the sun-lit room, there was a throne covered with wild flowers where the king sat, legs spread and back against the seat as he listened a subject speak.

He wore a red ensemble, by-far the most magnificent of anyone in the room. Transparent garments the color of cranberries draped on the broad expanse of his olive-skinned shoulders, waves of the material hanging loosely on his hard biceps, a tassel tied around his waist to taper an accentuate the strong muscles seen through the garment. The cloth bunched at his groin, and fell in folds around his muscular thighs and down his calves, stopping at his ankles and exposing his bare feet.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his throne, each finger falling after the other, adding to the powerful aura of his character. Plump lips colored that matched the tone of the nipples that poked through the thin fabric on his chest, mouth arranged into a hard, concentrated line as he listened. Eyebrows dipped just slightly, drawing attention to the vibrant emerald eyes that gleamed in the sun that illuminated his castle. Structured jaw that twitched with the movement of his lips, leading down to the delicate skin of his neck, equally delectable as the rest of him.

Y/n knew he was the king by the tell tale crown that rested on his head. A golden wrap of laurel leaves that nestled on the caramel curls that were pushed back and away from his face.

She wasn’t aware that she was holding her breath, until he glanced up and locked eyes with her. His eyes brought instant relief to her, her body uncoiling, lungs releasing the air their were holding. His lips pulled up into a pleasant smile that made her heart leap and causing one to appear on her face, too. Oddly, she felt safe the instant her eyes landed his, the green sating all of her doubts.

“Marianne? And Angus? Angus is that you?”

Angus jumped from y/n’s arms, landing on the stone floor with a snort and running over to meet the king, jumping into his arms and nuzzling his snout into the king’s face.

The absence of the pig in her arms, left her breasts bare for all to see, and given y/n was transfixed by the king’s voice, smooth like honey with a beautiful scratch that was pleasing to listen to, she didn’t rush to cover herself.

Meaning the king, and the subject he was speaking to, had the time to look at the curves of her chest.

An unreadable look took over the king’s face, and he frowned down at the floor before saying, “You may leave now, Rives.”

The subject cleared his throat, and rushed out at his king’s command. He snapped his fingers, and two of the butterflies on her legs flew up and covered her nipples with their wingspan.

“Your Majesty,” Marianne bowed, and y/n looked over at her before doing the same thing, awkwardly curtsying and the king’s lips quirked at her attempt. “I found her with Pias and Rye. They planned to trick her, Your Highness.”

“Very well, Marianne. You may leave now.” He said. The woman bowed and left without turning back, leaving y/n alone with the king.

A moment passed, ensuring the water fairy had left before he began to speak again, leaning forward on his throne and smiling fully at the human. Y/n instantly took note of the dimple on his cheek, and she blushed at the simple fact that he was looking at her while she was so exposed.

“Oh! My apologies, surely you’d like some clothes wouldn’t you?” He asked rhetorically.

Y/n nodded sheepishly, and crossed her arms over her torso.

“Right, well let’s see.” He stood, letting Angus on the floor with a small pat to his head, and walked off into another archway on the left side of his throne, mumbling “come, come” to get y/n to follow him. She walked behind him, shamelessly grazing her eyes over his back, adoring the way his muscles dimpled his shoulder blades, and hating the way she can’t see the cleft of his buttocks of the strategic bunching of the fabric, the color darkening and making it hard to see through it.

The archway led to a short hall of portraits and moss-covered head statues, before opening to a steep staircase, which the king stepped on, going all the way up and choosing the right branching of stairs from the landing. By the time they reached the top, y/n was huffing and her thighs ached from the walks in the forest.

The stairs opened to a hallway of rooms, and the king entered the third on the right, revealing a sun-lit room. The corner closest to the window was covered in tree tranches, twigs extending and branching along the pink colored wall, small leaves and flowers twisting up to the roof, splaying over the bed to create a net of petals around the fame of it.

He led her to the center of the room, and sat one of the chests. She stood nervously, unsure of where to take her place because she didn’t want to offend him. It was easy to do that with faeries.

“Stand right there,” he pointed to an elevated tree stump opposite of him.

Y/n felt the butterflies flutter wildly at the drastic movement of her knee hiking up, and her ears burned red when she felt cool air blow on her intimate area.

“Now turn to face me.” She turned, and came face to face with the king, who sat with his ankles crossed, and hands clamped between his thighs, back straight.

He removed a hand, and snapped once.

Instantly, the butterflies flew off of her body, and out the window.

Y/n yelped, and rushed to cover herself, forearm over her breasts, palm at her mound.

“M’lady I need you straight so I can adorn you with clothing. I’d have someone else do it, but it’s just me here.” The king said, voice a whisper. His eyes drooped, eyebrows slanting and softening his whole demeanor.

Y/n would have responded, said something to protect her modesty, but she was just too out of it. Her brain running on autopilot by the events that had occurred, that she went pliant under his orders and obeyed. She wasn’t even ashamed anymore. 

The king’s fingers moved along her figure from a distance, twiddling across her body, and as he did so, a milky glitter grew upwards from the tree stump, wrapping around her calves and up her thighs, tightening just lightly at her hips, and resting snugly up her torso. Setting on her shoulders, she blinked slowly at the finished product, her tongue too tied to attempt a dreamy woah.

He had dressed her in a silk toga, the material so light it felt like she was wearing nothing.

“There we go!” He cheers, another small smile gracing his lips, melting y/n.

“I am most appreciative, Your majesty.” She bowed her head respectfully, her hands coming to fold at her navel.

“It is alright to say thank you. M’trying my absolute best to dilute a lot of the negative stigma around my people, but with fools like Pias and Rye it’s nearly impossible.” He stops, shaking his head to himself before looking back up and saying, “And you can call me, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry, my name is y/-” before she could finish her sentence, the Fairy King interrupted her with a green flare of his eyes, heat radiating off his translucent cranberry ensemble, licking her skin with warnings of heat. 

“I don’t want to know your name.” He said, his voice changing from jovial to demonic.  His eyes pinch closed, and his shoulders tense, momentarily reeling himself back in, and the licks of heat turn a soothing cool. “Please, not yet.”

Harry sounds nearly broken, pained by the restriction.

“I-”  y/n started. She collected herself, taking a deep breath before saying, “I understand.”

His eyes opened again, and uncertain fire blazing in the green of his irises. “Do you? Do you really?” Harry’s tone is mocking, angry. He’s mad, but not at her and she knows that. Deep down inside her, she knows this is him baring himself, this is him slipping her a piece of information, and she’s grateful they get to start off an a truth slate, but not at the way he’s presented himself.

He’s got no right to talk to her that way, she feels.

“Yes! I do understand! It’s the reason why I’m here!” She fires back at him, her nostrils flaring, and eyes wide. By the time she’d finished with her aggravated statement, her chest is heaving.

Both go quiet, the revelation heavy between them. Harry realizes that one, he’s been extremely rude, and two, he and this girl may be more alike that he thinks.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his face doing the thing again, there his eyes droop downwards like a puppy’s when it’s begging. Soft. tender.

Y/n takes a deep breath, and begins. “I need to escape. If.. if I stayed even a moment longer I wholeheartedly believe I would have died. Everyday was a mindless drone, and it was eating at me. I came to ask for permanent residence in your realm.”

When Harry doesn’t respond, y/n crosses her arms over her chest, and picks at the skin of her elbow nervously. Her throat closes up and eyes well up with tears. But, she’s not sad. She’s overwhelmed with emotion because for the first time, she’s admitted it out loud; formulated into a coherent thought instead of a general feeling.

The king, touched by her vulnerability, gets close enough to her that so he can uncross her arms to stop the girl from harming herself. This stranger, so unexpectedly placed into his world, understood him. She knew what it was like to go unnoticed; to not get what she wanted out of life. But to risk forever? Is that really what she wanted? 

“I do not know if this much of a wise decision. The rules of my realm are diff-”

Y/n grips at his arms, her eyes pleading and her tone desperate. “Please,” tears slip from her eyes, and neck veins protrude in stress, “You don’t understand. The past day has given me more than I’ve ever received from my life. Do you know much happiness Angus has given me? Or standing on a lily pad while trees touch my shoulders? Let me stay.”

She’s shaking him, grip so tight her nails make crescent marks in his skin.

“Do not cry, my lady,” he begs, voice just barely audible. “You must understand the severity of your words. This lifestyle is not a situation in which you can change your mind when your heart so pleases. The fairy life is forever.”

“I don’t care. I will die, if I go back.”

“Your species will perish either way. Humans are destined to die.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone. At this, y/n drops in a heap of desolation, and places her face in her hands, shoulders shaking her sobs.

Her begging, her uprooting, was all for nothing. Her hopes were crashing, she wouldn’t survive this fall.

The strings of Harry’s heart pull ferociously at him, his instinct telling him he has to help her. He has to. Even if it goes against everything faeries stand for. He was king, he could do whatever he wished

He bent down, his feet bending at the toes in a crouch, and he placed a hand on the girls wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could see her when he uttered the words, “But, I will give you three days.”

At that moment, y/n thinks he looks magnificent. A curl has slipped from the crown’s grip, falling to rest over his left eye, and his eyes sparkle with golden specks of the sun that slip past y/n’s shoulders and his face. Shadows ghost over the left side of his face, accentuating the right side, and y/n sees for the first time, the small moles on his chin, and the bags underneath his eyes. Bags that come from nights of no sleep. 

She knows because she had them too.

“Three days?” It comes out wet, her voice thick with the saliva that had collected in her mouth, and the mucus at the back of her nose.

“A period of time for you to be sure of this choice. A human can go three days without food or water, and I wish for you to have the most time possible. You cannot eat or drink, because by fairy law you are bound to stay the moment it passes your throat. I will not allow a forced decision. This is a choice you must make on your own.” When y/n’s eyes began to fall, the king placed a warm hand on her cheek, drawing her eyes back to him. He needed to know she was sure, and her eyes would let him know everything.

She was sure. She was very sure, and he could see that. More than that, she was even irritated he’d make her wait that long.

“Three days?” She asked

“Three days.”

[mater-development]

Nōtan (濃淡) Tutorial 💕

Here’s a little study I did. The process I use is pretty simple. I try not to focus on making the best drawing in one try. Instead what I do is work my way up to the things I want by starting with the simplest study I can do, which is usually a gestural notan sketch.

A lot of the background I just leave as abstract shapes. Personally, I don’t think there’s much value in trying to draw trees and foliage precisely, unless they’re the focal point or essential for establishing content/narrative.

What is Nōtan (濃淡)?

Traditionally, Notan refers to Japanese artwork that is created using the extremes of black and white. As a method of drawing, the idea is that you don’t focus on rendering. Instead you just focus on defining the main value changes.  In my study I’m bending the rules a bit by adding in greys, but I try to not go beyond 3 values:

Black

White

Grey ( 20%, or 50%, or 75%)

Handling Grays Tones:

It looks like i’ve used more than 1 gray because some of the brushes I use have dithered edges. Also, I do generally go back and use a blender brush to soften edges, which results in some mixing. But I my actual brush never uses more than 1 grey tone in a drawing usually.

My opacity is always set to 100%, but if I want to get softer tones I will generally reduce the flow & then pass over the mark with a mixing brush. I try to keep it to 1 swipe, just so it doesn’t look too digital.

Why do Nōtan (濃淡) drawings?

I highly recommend this way of drawing if you want your artwork to feel more structured. It’s really difficult to get used to because it forces you to make decisions about how to resolve values. Its much easier if you choose reference that has extreme lighting. If you’re more advanced, there’s great value in working with reference that has a lot of middle-tones, because it helps you to understand when to push things towards light/dark. Compressing grey tones into black & white makes artwork have more “pop”. Drawing/Painting is about creating various contrast relationships.

Value contrast is the most important form of contrast in an image. If you have good value contrast, color is very forgiving.

I try not to rush myself with these. I just worked on it a little bit everyday during my lunch break. It seems like I do them fast, but I’m very slow and intentional with my mark making.

I’m not sure if it shows in my drawings, but my long term goal as an artist is to be as efficient as possible with my mark making.

BTW, I have time-lapse videos of this and my other drawings on Instagram. (Below)

————————————>

Lets Connect: + YouTube:  https://tinyurl.com/mzzvcav + Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/minni.goat/ + Web Store: https://jclarkworks.com/ + Blog: https://mael-strm.com/

[omgviolette12]

After Hours- Chapter 10

Previous Chapter

Summary: Evelyn Monroe has been a TA for professor Laufeyson’s Calculus course for four months now. He was known to be quite strict, but that never deterred her from applying for the position in order to be close to the man she had been secretly pining for. One evening, she returns to his office after opening hours… and with her bountiful luck, she walks in on something not meant to be seen.

Chapters: 10?

Words: 2800+

Warnings: None

Tags:  @milkymaidme @dangertoozmanykids101@alexakeyloveloki @little-moonbeam-666  @marvel-ous-fics@clovermariear@lynnesm@bitchyikes@moon-child-of-a-poet, @allthecraftandthings@bubblegumspitt @shockwavee @blondekel77 @nerd–nirvana @valdemarismynonbinarylove@nightrose64 @pastelhexmaniac @iistormii

If you’d like to be added, let me know. I’ve also posted this on AO3

____________

It took a moment for Evelyn to realize what was happening.

He had a detrimental effect on her, this man - the warmth of his tongue that explored her mouth, the harsh grip on her jaw, and the growing heat in her body left her dim-witted to her surroundings.

She had no choice but to reciprocate the kiss, until he willingly broke apart from her. As soon as he did, her hand automatically flew to cover his mouth in bewilderment and panic, adrenaline pumping her veins.

“What… what are you doing?! We’re in the blasted hallway!” She panted breathlessly, her wide hazel irises meeting the dark, lust blown ones of her lover. What was with him, popping in out of nowhere, and then kissing her randomly without so much as a hello?

Loki merely quirked a brow in reply, as her hand still obstructed him from speaking coherently.

Evelyn yelped when she felt his tongue lick the inside of her palm, the action catching her completely off-guard. She withdrew her hand from his mouth in a hurry, a dark blush making its way from her neck, and unto her cheeks.

He gave her a wicked, dark smile,“ I haven’t seen you in a while, so I thought a proper greeting was sufficient.”

Evelyn was flabbergasted. “A..greeting? That’s what that was?!” He had the gall to look at her as if she was the strange one, “Is a kiss no longer considered a greeting…?”

“No..I mean - yeah it is, but the way you just -” she paused, the amusement on his face apparent. It took a second for her to realize that he was just messing with her.

Evelyn sighed, her tone filled with indignance as she spoke once more, “What are you doing all the way here? I’m just so confused…”

Loki didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he tilted his head to peer from their secluded corner, and into the hallway.

Seeing that it was still empty, he took hold of her hand and strolled into the hallway without warning.

He headed rapidly into the direction of the studios, and she struggled to keep up with his brisk pace.

When they finally reached the entrance, it was then that he decided to answer her question in a quiet voice, “I’ve only ever seen you within my classroom, or the confines of my office,” he looked at her, raising a hand to brush an errant curl away from her eye, “So naturally, I wanted to see you in your element. And what kept you away from my office for such a prolonged period of time.”

Evelyn felt herself heating up inexplicably. He came all the way from the science department, a good 10 minute walk, to visit her despite his hectic schedule. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that sort of attention.

“Sorry for not letting you know what’s up with me, this whole thing is a lot to take in…”

Loki only shook his head, dismissing her apology, “ No need to worry yourself about it, darling. I simply missed your presence."

He stepped further inside the studios, his eyes wandering in search of her work area, "In any case, I'm genuinely curious about your craft. Care to show me?"

Evelyn froze. She thought he just wanted to see her, and not her actual work.

She wasn't usually shy when others saw her drawings or paintings, but Loki was a different story…

She worried he might be overly critical, or not care for her drawings at all. Evelyn valued opinions greatly, so showing him her work that was so personal left a vulnerable, uncomfortable feeling within herself.

Perhaps because of his ‘professor aura,’ he still intimidated her to a large degree.

“Uh...I wasn’t really expecting anyone, so it’s...really messy. Like, very messy. I don’t really paint much interesting things either, so...“

Evelyn tried to muster up some lame excuse, but she knew she had better stop when she was met with a firm, silent look.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, then traipsed nervously in the direction of her little studio as his tall figure loomed behind her.

Thankfully, it was a Thursday, which meant mostly everyone had no classes in her department - so the studios were empty with the exception of the few absorbed in catching up with work. In addition, each student studio consisted of cubicles with tall walls built to hang artwork, so they were mostly obstructed from view.

When they finally reached her studio, Evelyn stepped inside with slow steps, her nervousness extremely palpable by this point.

If Loki sensed it, he chose to ignore it as his attentions were immediately transfixed to the unstretched canvas strung up on the wall.

It was an exceptional rendering of a fantastical, imaginative landscape, with an endless sky and billowing clouds. Vibrant hues of pink, blue, purple and orange swirled across the sky, with the trees and shrubbery reflecting similar shades in their leaves.

Loki could still see it was unfinished, as most of the brown underpainting still shone through, but it captured him nonetheless.

He gathered from her other paintings and drawings that she liked landscapes and nature in general, since that subject matter was the most prevalent in her work. He could also see that most of them had a whimsical, fairy tale like twist to them.

Loki smiled to himself as he perused. He loved learning more things about his little Evelyn, it made her that much more precious.

While Loki silently observed and analyzed, Evelyn was brewing with negative energy behind him. His prolonged silence was slowly killing her inside - the anticipation of his distaste for her paintings now the only thing that occupied her brain.

She got tired of waiting eventually, and blurted out her thoughts, “ I... know I have a lot to improve on...the colors are too weird, right? It looks pretty bad right now, but I’m gonna -“

“Forgive me my dear, but sometimes you ramble on a bit too much,” he cut her off quickly, putting down a loose sketch he picked up from her work table with utmost care, “ You lack much needed confidence. Especially when you’re this talented.”

Loki turned to give her a look, a look that betrayed his most darkest thoughts.

“It would seem that we have to work on that together, don’t you agree?”

Evelyn had to hand it to him. His ability to change the energy in the room from normal to horny was unprecedented.

She coughed lightly, hoping to bring it back to normal, " I'm, I'm sorry - I guess that means you like it, then…?"

"If I didn't, I would have been blunt about it." He stated simply. Her lack of confidence was slowly starting to annoy him, and he couldn't wait to rectify it in private.

Speaking of that...Loki itched to get her well and truly alone. He told her that he would give her time, to let her decide when to take things further...but surely it wouldn't hurt to subtly push things in that direction.

" You may not know this, but I'm actually quite taken with the arts myself," he began casually, “You could say I’m a collector, of sorts. And I happen to be rather fond of your type of work.”

That garnered her attention immediately, “ Wait, really? What other artists do you like, whose art do you have?” Evelyn blurted excitedly, a wide smile on her face. She didn’t know he was an art nerd like herself, and was happy to know they had one more thing in common.

“Among the favorites I’ve collected, it would have to be Georgia O’Keeffe and Thomas Cole,” Evelyn’s mouth widened in disbelief as he continued on, “ I do have some Bob Ross pieces as well, but I wouldn’t say he was a favorite...a bit too kitsch for my taste.”

Evelyn couldn’t comprehend the gravity of what he just said. “You’re...you’re actually being serious? You have an original Thomas cole painting? He’s one of my biggest inspirations! And...and Bob Ross?! Georgia O’Keeffe? Are you sure you aren’t messing with me…?”

“I’m being entirely serious, darling.” Loki did have a rather extensive art collection, but he didn’t know this useless hobby of his would actually work in his favor.

“But...but they’re so expensive! Even reproductions cost a shit ton… and originals are like thousands of dollars!” Evelyn still expressed some doubt. It was too much of a coincidence for it to be actually true. Not to mention, that was an absurd amount of money to be splurging about.

But his car’s fancy as fuck… maybe he’s just rich?

While Evelyn’s face was scrunched up in thought, Loki’s smile took a diabolical turn when he started to speak once more, “ If you’re that doubtful, I’m not opposed to showing you my collection.” His next sentence came off as strangely dark, “And as for their price... when I want something, no amount of anything will stop me from getting it.”

Evelyn’s head immediately shot up, "Wait, you'd really show me…?" Her focus was zoned in on the first sentence, completely ignoring the lustful inclinations of the second, " I wouldn't want to trouble you…it's okay if it's too much of a hassle," Although she said that, her eyes were extremely hopeful.

"Nonsense, it's no trouble at all. Even if it somehow was, I care about your happiness much more."

Evelyn blushed at his words, "...If that's the case, then I'd really appreciate it! Ooh... I'm so excited! Is it okay if I take pictures?"

She was bouncing with radiant energy, her happiness infectious. If Loki had known seeing art would please her this much, he would've suggested it much sooner. He found her reactions to be unbearably cute, especially when her eyes grew wide in disbelief, or excitement.

"Of course, take however many you want. In fact...would you like to see it this Sunday, if your schedule allows? We will have dinner beforehand as well..."

"Yeah yeah yeah! This Sunday's perfect actually! Thank you!"

Without thinking much of it, Evelyn went straight to give him a tight hug in her excitement.

Loki did not expect that from her at all.

He was nearly knocked off balance as Evelyn’s warm body pressed against his. Loki could feel her ample breasts against his chest, the sensation of which aroused him greatly.

He’d never thought his body would react this way from such an innocent gesture on her part - but alas, he desired her to a frightening degree.

Loki cleared his throat and shifted in order to help alleviate the sudden discomfort in that area, but Evelyn took that as a sign that he wanted her to back away.

“Oh - I’m so sorry, I forgot where we were for a sec…” She thought he didn’t agree with the sudden display of affection - despite the fact that he kissed her himself moments before.

However, much to her surprise, Loki pulled her right back into his embrace, “ As long as we’re plainly out of sight, it wouldn’t hurt to sneak in a kiss or hug. I made sure of that earlier as well,”

His tone was very playful and reassuring, and she couldn't help but relax into the hug. She felt extremely paranoid earlier on due to the group chat, but that melted to the back of her mind. As long as they refrained from frisky activities in public, no more problems should arise.

Much to her chagrin, he decided to pull back after a while, placing a kiss on her temple, " Now that my curiosity's been sated, I fear that I have to return."

Evelyn's disappointment showed clearly on her face, but she understood that he had work to return to.

And with a few more parting words, he left her to return in time for his lecture.

Loki was immensely happy he took the risk to visit the art department today - if he didn't, he wouldn't have been able to make such progress in so little time.

Unbeknownst to Evelyn, Loki fully intended to make her truly his this coming Sunday.

His mind went completely rampant with sordid thoughts of what was to come - Her naked, ebony skin dripping with sweat, and the way she would writhe and moan beneath him. He'd be sure to cover her body with bruises as she's restrained by various -

Loki had to stop from going down that train of thought, reminding himself that she may not be reticent to his...darker desires. He'd have to be patient and slow since it would be her first time, but he looked forward to it nonetheless. Sunday couldn't come any sooner.

It was Sunday when it truly began to sink in for Evelyn that she agreed to go on an actual date with her professor-turned-lover.

She honestly only thought about just seeing the collection at first, but then she remembered the second part of his sentence about them having dinner beforehand…

Evelyn didn’t mind spending more time with him at all, it was just that she was extremely unprepared for it.

She barely went out of the house even on holiday break, with either her friends or Candice dragging her out from time to time since she was practically a hermit. In addition, it would actually be the first time she ever went on a date, so she was nervous about that as well.

Evelyn decided to go to Candice for advice once more. She was nervous about her reaction to her newfound relationship with Loki, given that they talked about his sexual escapades prior - but as an adult, she was sure Candice would...get over it.

“You waited THIS... goddamn LONG… to tell me you’ve been shackin' up with professor fine ass?!”

Candice smacked her arm,” Are you outta yo stupid ass mind?”

Evelyn rubbed her arm, eyes narrowing in agitation, “ I didn’t tell you because this is exactly how you’d react. Hittin me n’ shit! Ow…”

Candice tried to calm herself down, “ Look, I got a lot of shit to say about whatever y’all got going on, but it’s honestly not the time, and you’ll do whatever you want anyway,” she sighed, pacing up and down the living room floor, “ Do you even have shit to wear? Were your nails done? Is your hair done? Did you even wax ya coochie?”

Evelyn’s eyes widened, “ I...I gotta do all that? Even the waxing part?”

Candice closed her eyes, “Lord have mercy on me today - YES you fool! You’d really have that man navigate the Amazon jungle? Because I know for a fact you got a whole forest down there.”

Evelyn subconsciously covered her privates, “What! We’re not even doing anything like that...he’s just gonna take me to dinner and show me the art collection…” Evelyn’s voice grew quiet, because she wasn’t even sure herself.

“Well, better be safe than sorry. I’ll even wax it for you and help you get ready. When is he picking you up?”

Evelyn picked up her phone that was beside her on the couch. He texted her earlier that morning about the time, and the form of attire that was expected, “ Uhm, around 7 pm…”

Candice glanced at the time on the tv, “ So we got about 6 hours or so. Come come, get up. We’ll get the wax over with first.”

It was 6 hours later, and Evelyn felt thoroughly violated.

She honestly should’ve skipped the waxing, hairy pussy or not - it hurt like a bitch, and she solemnly vowed never to put herself through that again. Not only that, but she spent nearly 3 hours in Candice’s room to look for an appropriate outfit, one that was apparently nonexistent within her own wardrobe.

In the text, Loki said to just dress casually, so she was going to throw on any dress in her closet. Which worked to set Candice off on another tirade.

So now Evelyn sat on the couch, waiting for his arrival. She did have to hand it to Candice though - she actually liked the outfit she picked out.

It was a black floral bell-sleeved dress, with slits at the sides that exposed the skin of her waist. It had a modest V neckline, and she was grateful that Candice didn't choose a more daring outfit.

She also wore a jean jacket to ward off the spring chill, so she was extremely satisfied. The only discomfort was the dull throb from her nether regions…

Before long, a loud ping came from Evelyn's phone, causing both her and Candice to jump at the sudden sound, "Is it him? What does it say?"

Evelyn was annoyed when others looked over at her phone, so she hid her screen from view, "Can you please back up?!" Kissing her teeth, she looked back at the screen to see the message.

I've just arrived. I can't wait to see you, love.

She stared at the message for a long moment, before standing up on shaky legs.

Well...here goes nothing.

________________

A/N:

*crosses fingers for smut next chapter*

Thank you all once again for the comments, they seriously make my day. Blown away by the support!

Bonus picture : Evelyn's date fit, minus the jacket - https://imgur.com/a/xYHdHx5 Photo cred: kishmycurls

[marveloussupernerd]

Could I get a matchup for marvel? I'm a hetrosexual female with freckles, green eyes and blue/green hair (that is currently shaved into a Mohawk). My hobbies include but are not limited to: Drawing, writing, sewing, reading, and baking. I like to joke around alot and can be quite sarcastic. I am slightly introverted but I crave attention. 1/2

Yes ofc! Thank you for requesting dear! Sorry for the wait!

I ship you with Thor!

Thor LOVES joking around

Admittedly you had to help him get the hang of sarcasm at first

But he definitely can take a joke and even before he knew you were being sarcastic he was like hm seems about right

Like he really doesn’t mind you messing with him as long as you don’t actually mean it

He’s EXTREMELY affectionate

Likes getting you things that remind him of you

Flowers, stuffed animals, candy that you guys once had at the movie theater

When you explain to him that you’re lowkey touch-starved he’s kinda confused

Asks you a lot of questions

He’s never heard of that in Asgard but he’s so respectful and wants to know what he can do to help

Very gentle when touching you, definitely starts out slow because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you !!

He likes snuggling with you best

Wrapping his arms around you and you burying your face in his chest

He doesn’t like when you’re upset

Spends time at home with you more when you are

Wants to show you that it’s okay and healthy to have emotions and express them

He’s hid his emotions before and it was pretty detrimental to his mental health, so he doesn’t want that to happen to you

Lots of affirmation that he’s here for you

He likes to show it more than to tell you

Lots of hugs, random romantic gestures

Date-nights in, impromptu picnics in the living room

Spends a lot of time at home with you or visiting you when you’re out for the day

He’s very very affectionate and clearly head over heels for you

Uhm random but he loves your hair

It’s so cool

The color brings out your eyes

And he loves staring into your eyes, would all day if he could

The style tho

He wants to try a Mohawk bc it looks so good on you but you recommend against it thank goodness

A Mohawk would not be a look on him tbh

Agh and he loves your freckles !!!

When he’s feeling extra domestic in the mornings he tries to kiss all of them

You can’t stop laughing

LIVES for the days when you bake

He likes when you cook in general but

Man LOVES sweets what can I say

Not very good at showing off his creative side

But he tries his best because he knows how much you like things as writing and drawing

He tries to do one of those wine and paint nights... yikes.

You now have a red abstract blob hanging up that was supposed to be a pumpkin haha

Next to yours which is actually probably good

The avengers find it hysterical

Which by the way

They really like you

Especially bc Thor is just... happier now that he’s with you

But you’ve definitely stood up to Tony before when he was being an ass to the others

And he was SHOOK

Like speechless

And he was like “oh.”

Could not get words out

“I’m sorry”

And he meant it

Because he knew if you spoke up then it must’ve been a big deal

Thor thought it was HYSTERICAL that you rendered him speechless for so long

But overall tony really likes and respects you

It makes Thor happy that you get along so well with his friends

Eventually he wants you to meet Loki

But with all the horrible pranks Loki has pulled on Thor he’s kinda nervous you’ll go off on him

Not that Loki would care but he wants to make sure everyone really likes you

Loki would like you all the more if you went off on him tbh

Thor just doesn’t want to pressure you with meeting his family until you’re absolutely ready

He’s a gentleman like that :)

But it’s mainly because he kinda wants you to himself

And if Loki flirted with you he would die for like the 300th time

Because nobody touches Thor’s girl

[doomedandstoned]

Chrome Ghost Give Emphatic Close to the Decade with ‘The Diving Bell’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

There's always been something endearing to me about the sound of Roseville, California's CHROME GHOST. Their last two EPs are decades-long favorites of mine, chiefly due to the bittersweet comingling of earnest vocal harmonies with punishing low-end. Each of their releases has brought unique and unforgettable moments and I've long contended that they would stand up well as openers for the likes of Alice in Chains or Tool, Yob or Bell Witch, in terms of how they compliment and contrast elements of both bands.

'The Diving Bell' (2019) opens in classic Chrome Ghost fashion, with a steadily unwinding ballad with a Lovecraftian twist. "Waltz in the Shadow of the Hillside" will hook you for the long haul. It definitely passed the "hum test" for me, in any event, as I've been thrumming the main vocal theme for days now. "Halo" follows this by unleashing a torrent of pent-up tremors, followed by a calming mantra accompanied shortly by an ascendant guitar lead.

"The Diving Bell" presents a solitude and stillness that is rare, even in genres like depressive and funeral doom. Sadly serene, the song is like the calm leading into a storm, for minutes in a march-like rhythm and growling vocals announce the approach of something awful. Then like intermittent patches of downfall, the storm clears and gives way to a warm, confident stride with dreamlike lyricism. I dare say you don’t need to know the words (at least not on first hearing) to get the full effect of this 14-minute wonder, for on a sonic plane it taps into that mysteriously intuitive musical language we all seem to relate to emotionally. On a compositional level, I’m quite impressed (and satisfied) by how the band has developed to this point in their career. Like I said, deserving of much more mainstream attention.

From ascendant to transcendent, the record closes with the cavernous "Visions." There's something about it that reminds me of Gregorian Chant. Certainly the layer-upon-layer effect of the complementing vocal harmonies aids in its sacred vibe. Unexpectedly, the tempo quickens towards the end of the song, as though a great window to the heavens had opened and Jacob's dream of angels ascending and descending like an escalator is before us.

Regardless of how you interpret it, revelations abound in The Diving Bell, which releases this Saturday, November 30th (pre-order here). And now, Doomed & Stoned is pleased to present the worldwide exclusive debut of Chrome Ghost's most accomplished effort to date. A triumph.

Give ear...

The Diving Bell by chrome ghost

A Listener's Guide to 'The Diving Bell'

We're grateful for the opportunity to visit with Jake Kilgore (guitar, vox), Jake Hurst (drums), and Joe Cooper (bass) of Chrome Ghost, who recently gave us the low-down on their most accomplished effort to date, taking us on a tour from the inside-out.

Art

The cover art was painted by Sacramento artist Molly Devlin (@devlinmolly on Instagram) She has an incredibly sensitivity to her work, and the way she works with elements of nature and organic stuff blew my mind. We are extremely lucky that she was into the idea, and honestly the album cover influenced the way I felt about the whole process. I like to have art done before the recordings are done for that exact reason.

Recording Process

The Diving Bell was recorded in May 2019 by Patrick Hills at Earthtone in Sacramento, California. Patrick has recorded all Chrome Ghost releases to date, as well as CHRCH, King Woman, Tera Melos, and more. We have developed an extremely strong working relationship with Pat, and we tend to understand each other with minimal discussion. Half the time we’re not recording, we are getting through the day by watching stupid youtube videos while files are rendering.

The album tracking was spread out over three days, drums, bass, and guitar, with vocals tracked at home. No click tracks were used throughout the process in an attempt to give the record a more organic feel, and to give us the ability to push and pull the tempo as needed. It goes without saying that this method is way harder, and we definitely punished ourselves with long work days trying to get things right.

We were originally slated to track the album in February 2019, but I (Jake Kilgore) ended up breaking my wrist right before we were meant to go into the studio. The injury not only delayed our plans, but sent me into a spiral. Unable to work, I spent most days on the couch, feebly trying to find positions to hold my guitar so I could keep practicing. In some ways, this benefitted the band by really narrowing our focus. We would rehearse with no guitar, only bass, drums, and vocals. I’d stand there and sing the guitar parts when necessary and it became something of a thought exercise for all of us to stay in sync while only imagining what we were supposed to hear.

General Themes

This record was meant to be personal and introspective, but I also wanted to incorporate more classic gothic themes. Instead of being as blatantly autobiographical as Chrome Ghost has been in the past, I got a little more abstract and started to incorporate images and moods that resonated with me in some way.

Jacob and I share a fear of deep water, and I couldn’t shake the image of a primitive Diving Bell from my mind for months. The idea of being totally submerged, surrounded by a small pocket of air, was so claustrophobic yet serene, and it helped direct the mood of the album quite a bit. Always contrasting the heavier and suffocating music we make with the lighter, more reflective stuff.

Photo by Kevin Carpio

"Waltz in the Shadow of the Hillside"

The opener was inspired by a Lovecraft story called Whisperer In The Darkness, which starts off with reports of massive floods sweeping away strange alien bodies. I was struck by the thought of bodies washing through floodwaters, and it sparked from there. That idea met with this mantra I'd had cycling in my head; Wild Rose, Dog’s Blood. Something beautiful and something terrible, side by side. That sense of duality might be cliché at this point, but it seemed to fit very well in the sense that the water in this song is an element of destruction, but obviously water is an element of life.

We built this song around that clean fingerpicking guitar part after the heavy intro, which I originally wrote while I was still in high school. Everything else was added to accent those voicings and melodies present in that sequence. Exploring that very primitive and repetitive 3/4 rhythm, and twisting it around in different contexts, was a lot of fun to figure out. The droning, experimental part in the middle is probably my favorite because we got to use a bunch of studio tricks on the drums, and I got to use some rad guitar pedals to get those washy reverse guitar parts.

LYRICS

night falls shadows bloom rise slow dance in the hillside

shifting earth hums below outstretched arms drag through the water

soft glow of eyes that shine dark cold shrouds all who wander

obscured shapes draw near long black hair drags through the water

hark! now comes the flood slow rain crushes the hillside

pray they will rest well see them all dragged by the water

wild rose dog’s blood pray all rest well

all that once was is gone from here whispered laments fall on deaf ears

washed clean of all but memory swollen in death and revery

wild rose dog’s blood pray all rest well

"Halo"

Halo was a strange one to write, because the lyrics kinda just came to me in a flurry and I wasn’t aware of what they meant until after the record was made. I sometimes suffer from debilitating panic attacks, and Halo ultimately became an ode to my wife, who in these moments has shown compassion and cared for me to the best of her ability. The song is about that paralyzing feeling of sickness that can render you temporarily dead to the world, but more importantly it’s about the debt that we owe to those who are there for us.

This is our attempt at a pop song. It’s the only song on the record with a chorus that repeats, and it loosely follows a verse-chorus-bridge-chorus formula. Other than that, we got to stretch our limits a little bit by making this the fastest song we’ve written.

LYRICS

healer weakened by the dark

wild rose cloven from the torn gently as the wind had blown resting high upon your crown

frail in your arms aching from the warmth bound to remain here suffer evermore

suspended in this moment of loss every nerve severed and raw the door’s nailed shut chained to the bed i’m so tired my eyes shut again

halo

"The Diving Bell"

The mantra Breathe Deep anchors this song, returning multiple times to reinforce that claustrophobia. This song explores the peak of a true panic episode, catatonia, helplessness, etc. The feeling of being out-of-body, and calling out into the void for help.

Obviously this track is a sort of centerpiece for the album, musically. There are repeating phrases and motifs that let you feel like you’re hearing something new, but in actuality you’re just hearing a different version of something from earlier in the song. This track was meant to showcase the most extreme distance between the heavy and light elements of the band.

Pat Hills also did the dual guitar lead part with us, and that is one of my favorite things we’ve ever recorded.

LYRICS

breathe deep the only way out espaces me

sinking lower in a slow dive

lay here motionless alone

breathe deep in waters of purity lungfuls of what is to be

sinking in waters of purity lungfuls of what is to be

lay here in waters of purity lungfuls of what is to be

quiet weightless catatonic eyes unblinking mute and empty bury me in silt

the pain comes in distant waves echoes of what once were hidden wounds voices cast out through still air listen for me calling home

breathe deep

"Visions"

The lyrics to Visions were meant to give it finality, as the end of the album. It’s about accepting death, and the darkness that follows some of us throughout life. It’s also about holding on, even in our final moments. Asking to be “buried slowly”, to let us all have time to think and work through some shit before we have to call it a day.

This track is a sort of mashup between a spindly clean riff that King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard might use, and a powerful seasick drone that a band like Yob might use. Visions has a very chant-like, almost Gregorian element to the vocals, and when that’s laid over almost tribal drums, we knew we had something interesting on our hands. That sorta didgeridoo-like sound during the choruses is an electric bass with two strings being played with a bow. That was 100% Jacob’s idea and he executed it perfectly.

LYRICS

sickness floating in the eye of all men

fallen tears in the well poison the crumbling earth rose in bloom thorned red and gold baby’s breath like cancer, grows

fading light casts a glow over my face alone when I go bury me slowly when I go bury me slowly

visions

Shallows by chrome ghost

Reflection Pool by chrome ghost

Choir of the Low Spirits by chrome ghost

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[thefloatingstone]

In 2012 I did not think I’d be able to make this list as I was convinced anime was on a permanent decline towards nothing but trash, but I am so happy that has changed! And so I give you a quick list of;

Favourite Anime made in the last 4 years!

Mob Psycho 100 (2016)

A no brainer, really. With a 2nd Season having JUST premiered earlier this week, MP100 is easily one of not only best LOOKING animes in a very very long time, but also one with an extremely strong empathetic message that’s completely opposite to most shounen anime. The theme of “having outrageous powers doesn’t make you any more or less special and important than any other human being” and how all the villains in the show are people, either super powered or not, who believe themselves “more important” than others is at the heart of its story. And our protagonist who is a person with horrifically strong powers, but who is trying to develop as a human being, and finds himself to be a rather emotionally brittle person who relies very heavily on others for emotional support. As well as focusing on the people willing to grant him that. It’s got some strong influential roots in the Earthbound and Mother 3 games and despite never saying anything along those lines, I can bet you anything the original Mangaka, ONE, drew heavy inspiration from their tone and presentation, as well as emotional core despite the oftentimes wacky setting.

The anime should also not be overlooked for its incredible Sakuga sequences, as well as using mixed media in its animation from pencil drawings, to paint of glass, to charcoal to sand, cementing it as easily one of the most visually interesting and ambitious shows in the last decade or so

Made in Abyss (2017)

An anime that understands concepts of Scope and Scale and manages to bring what is normally reserved for feature films to an episodic storyline. Made in Abyss’ entire theme and story is that of exploration of the unknown and everything in this anime’s power is honed to bring across that feeling. Its art direction headed by Osamu Masuyama whose previous work include working on the background art for both Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, is painstakingly rendered to bring as much gravitas to the setting as possible, aided by the soundtrack written by Kevin Penkin which is just as much atmospheric as it is musical in nature. Every ounce of talent is focused on making Made in Abyss’ world, culture and characters feel solid and real. And unlike other anime with cutesy art styles but dark subject matter, Made in Abyss’ darker tone is established right in the first episode and gradually builds to its first season’s climax, rather than blindside its audience out of nowhere.

I sincerely cannot sing this show’s praises enough.

It also doesn’t hurt that the animation itself is fluid and lively.

Re:Creators (2017)

When I gave this to an animator friend of mine, one who is NOT as big a weeb as I am, he referred to it as “if Ready Player One actually knew what it was doing.” Re:Creators is one of a trend of some anime where the narrative is extremely meta in nature, but rather than use this as a form of parody, Re:Creators instead focuses itself on using its meta storytelling to shine a light on Japanese popular media as a whole, both from the side of the creators who MAKE such things, as well as the side of the fans and not only their response to media, but their interpretation and addition to popular media. And unlike the more critical approach several horror anime have taken in the past, Re:Creators also shows the positive effect stories in the form of anime, video games, manga etc both on those who read it as well as those who create it. And show how fan creations and their responses and reaction to media are just as important and enriching to works like this as the very people who create them.

It’s also one of the first shows from any country that correctly portrays what online fan culture is like. Both good AND bad.

Erased (2016)

HOO BOY. The Big Guns. Most mainstream anime set in a modern setting inevitably seem to involve high school or at least characters who are high school aged. Erased, however, deals with a protagonist who is 28 years old. Due to time travel shenanigans, he is transported back to 1989 when he was 11 years old growing up in Hokaido. So already, this anime is complete skewing the generic setting for stories of its type, further hammered in by the fact that the show has no romantic subplot in it. There might be a smidge of something like “preteen romantic feelings” among the children but as far as “female hero the protag is going to fall in love with at the end” goes? Yeah there’s none of that.

Erased is an extremely dark anime, but not in the way Made in Abyss is dark. Whereas Abyss’ dark tone comes from things like getting eaten by monsters and body horror caused by the Abyss’ curse, the dark theme of Erased on the other hand is much more horrifying as it comes from “reality”. And it’s because of this I WILL have to warn people about its plot points because it WILL and DOES get uncomfortable.

The plot of Erased is our 28 year old protagonist gets hurled back in time to when he was 11 years old in Hokaido, as I said. In the winter of 1989 there were a string of child abductions and murders, and it’s up to our main character, again in his 11 year old body, to solve these crimes to prevent a tragedy in modern day. Not only does the show deal with the very uncomfortable topic of child abduction and murder, but a MASSIVE part of the plot revolves around the would be murder victim, Hinazaki Kayo, who is living with her physically abusive mother. And unlike shows like “Magical Girl SITE”, the abuse is not shown as “suffer porn” and blown up to be so over the top in how bad it is, ut is instead extremely grounded and feels waaaay to real to the point of being very upsetting. However, the abuse is not there to make the audience sad. The abuse is in the plot to further press upon the audience the borderline helpless state our main character is in. As a child, he has to rely on his experience and ability to think like an adult to try and prevent the serial murders, as WELL as try and get Hanazaki out of her abusive situation. It also serves as a learning experience for our main character, and him figuring out how he hasn’t changed at all since he really was a child, and how his own stagnation in life itself needs to change and be redirected. The show is bursting with tension and every episode exists to turn the stakes up just a little bit higher.

I’ve heard some people are extreme disappointed by the show’s ending which I will not spoil, but personally going into it completely blind, I didn’t find any of it to be a let down and its very quickly become one of my favourite anime of all time.

The Ancient Magus Bride (2017)

(I actually don’t like the intro to Ancient Magus Bride so it only gets a link since I can only embed 5 videos)

https://youtu.be/KuZbmLLv1vM

Based on a manga by Kore Yamazaki, who has stated that her reason for writing the story was out of frustration that in “Beauty and the Beast” type stories, the beast always turns back into a human at the end. However this anime is far more than just a monsterfucker’s romance novel (although it... DOES follow a LOT of those tropes but hear me out.)

Set in the English countryside (although our female MC, Rise, is herself Japanese) the show makes heavy use of english folklore. Faeries are a constant presence throughout the show, and these are not the “nice” kind of faeries you’d see in Disney. Despite theyr good nature and honest want to help, these are the kinds of faeries that will kidnap you to their realm if you so much as let your guard down. We also have excellent portrayals of Titania, the queen of the faeries, and her heated relationship with her husband Oberon. Several other creatures from folklore make an appearance too, as well as old traditions such as faerie rings, seeing stones and the magical properties of herbs and flowers.

But beyond all of that, and even beyond the romance tropes or monster protector who is also a threat and powerful lead female who also needs protecting, the core theme of the show is on life. Or more specifically, death. Rise is a girl who is suicidal. And despite her not making any kind of suicide attempt in the show, this is a fact. The majority of the show is focused on Rise learning to “be alive” again, as well as process what life is, as well as what death is in its many forms. The show is a slow build of Rise reclaiming her will to live, not because of a romantic partner, but for herself. Reclaiming her own importance as a person removed from who she could be useful towards, and a slow coming to terms with a truly terrible event in her past and letting go of a traumatic past.

The show has some pacing issues here and there, but I still qualify it as one of the better modern anime shows to have come out in years, and can only praise its life-affirming message it’s trying to tell.

Osomatsu-San (2015)

I am.... not entirely sure how to explain Osomatsu-San.

Based on a manga published in the 1960s by Doraemon Creator Fujio Fujiko about 6 identical sextuplet brothers and their friends... the current and newest anime adaptation has borderline nothing to do with its original incarnation which was more your typical Showa era “hi-jinx” type gag manga. I think the very first episode of Osomatsu-San (which is not available for official purchase last I checked due to copyright issues) sets up the entire show perfectly, as the 6 boys and their friends learn they have a new anime adaptation coming up and realise that nobody in the modern age will want or even understand Showa era manga. So, instead, in an effort to be like “a real anime” they go about parodying literally every popular trope and show that’s out at the time. From yaoi-incest baiting to Jpop boy band to Attack on Titan to Sailor Moon, they keep cranking up the “modern anime” aesthetic until it literally explodes and collapses in on itself. And after realising they don’t have what it takes to compete in a modern anime word, the characters resign themselves to being losers who will never achieve anything in life.... and that’s where the show starts.

I can only refer to the show as “Millennial humour: the anime.”. 90% of it is just comedy with our 6 main characters who are, at their core, pretty terrible people. However, their issues and struggles of trying to be adults make them some of the most relateable anime characters out there. The show bounces from parodying popular culture both in anime as well as in movies to outlining the problems of trying to be a late 20-something year old in modern society to actual hard hitting drama that actually makes you angry because how DARE this stupid show actually make you FEEL things???

It’s borderline impossible to try and explain this show because, just like its 6 protagonists, it doesn’t seem to have any direction in its life. Which is exactly the point.

[artbyelana]

Artist Research

TANYA LING

Photos from https://www.tanyaling.com/

"Her Line Paintings, characterised by a beautiful efficiency are made in one session with an apparent effortlessness and are never reworked. No two are the same. Powerful, beautiful, strong and tender all at once they describe form but after all our looking there is no discernible object. They scale up and scale down, move in and move out, dip, weave and swirl into and out of each other. They twist, turn and run and then slow down again. Drips are left to fall" - https://www.themesandvariations.com/artists/373-tanya-ling/biography/

Tanya Ling (b.1966) creates these fluid paintings full of movement and gesture. After having a background in the fashion industry as a designer and an illustrator she opened a contemporary art gallery called Bipasha Ghosh with her husband in London. She's created custom illustrations for several big names including Louis Vuitton and Vogue which are made up of her continuous and sometimes colourful line drawings/paintings.

Tanya Ling was an artist recommended to me by a friend who thought we have similar processes. Ling creates her works in one session, not having them planned out too much and just creating it as it comes. The works are never reworked, they're left as they are when she finishes her session. My finger paintings are created very similarly where I have a general idea on what colours I want to use and if I employ any rules if I'm collaborating with any others, but generally the main instruction is putting the paint on the canvas using your body. My works are created in one session and once that session is over I don't touch the work again. I'm not particularly strict on that rule, I've just never thought that the needed anything added onto them.

I really like the emotion and expression in Ling's paintings and drawings. I find them very emotive and entrancing, and I also really like the ones with the dark ultramarine blue colour. Like in my last works, I often use blue as a nod to a strong reference model of mine - Yves Klein who was famously known for his YKB paint. Ling's paintings take over the space they're painted on and they seem to come alive and enveloped the surroundings. This is something I hope to achieve with my own works.

"Since 2013, Ling has dedicated her practice to exploring this hypnotic body of work, which she creates by using acrylic paint on white Somerset satin paper, each line rendered in a single color on either a white or deeply saturated monochrome background. Executed in single painting sessions, her canvases are the results of spontaneous self-expression. Ling also creates sculptures of found objects that similarly play with line, form, and color." - https://www.artsy.net/artist/tanya-ling

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Mechanical Dragon (Part 3)

She finds it hard to remember anything at all these days, she’s been here for so long. Her face is covered in many layers of grime. The foul stench of the place won’t leave her nose, she can almost taste it. Mostly she finds herself completely alone, an unexpected brand of anguish. She believes that it has been at least a month since she has seen anyone, even her captor. She wonders fleetingly (and not hopefully) if someone is looking for her. For company she only has the centi-worms and spider-ants--and if she’s particularly unlucky an elephant-rat or two. It is wearing away at her mind in a new way. She has been alone before, she recalls that much. But never completely. Back when she had been a human being she at least had nurses pretending to care. She had at least been able to see another human. Presently she isn’t even sure that there are any people in the world at all. Somewhere in her mind she thinks that she might be the only creature left. Left and waiting for her ration of unsavory food to reach its end. She has been doing her best to conserve it, but the heap of food is growing smaller. Sometimes the elephant-rats help themselves to her food, she supposes that it is better than the few days when they had nibbled on the pelts and her skin beneath them.

Eventually, with the help of the rodents, her food does run out. For three days now she has been without and is almost starting to miss the rancid taste of it.

At last the old woman joins Azula again and she sees why it has taken so long for her captor to get back.

The woman takes her time in setting up and Azula spends it in dread. She shivers recalling their last embroidery session. Faintly, her chest still gives a few phantom throbs at the thought of the needle.

Inhale. Exhale.

This time the mantra does nothing at all to alleviate the fear. She is hard pressed to level her breathing at all. The old woman’s antics only agonize her worse with each progression; Azula struggles to come up with something worse than their last encounter. Unfortunately her warden isn’t as unimaginitive.

The old woman clicks her tongue a few times, a sickly noise if Azula had to comment. But she doesn’t, she has learned to hold her tongue. Whoever she was before, under here, in this hole, she has no voice.

No right to one.

She knows this.

She knows that her words will only lead her to hurt more.

Today, though, is a special day. A grisly day.

The man is there too. As per usual he ogles her, makes her feel generally squeamish. His hand brushes over her back between her shoulder blades. His touch makes her shudder, still she says nothing. The woman grumbles something and draws herself a paint brush. She mutters something else to the man and draws two small circles; one for each shoulder blade, just a little off center.

Azula’s eyes fall on the woman’s newest find. She wonders if the woman had actually come across a dragon for the man to slay or if it is simply a very elaborate, well-crafted costume piece. A closer look tells her that they are no dragon wings at all, but rather, rotten and pockmarked wolf-bat wings. The bones protrude where those demons had ripped them from their sockets. “This dragon won’t fly.” She hisses into Azula’s ear. The princess believed that her flight ended long ago. She feels herself falling deeper within. It’s the only thing she can do to protect herself. The old woman comes to face Azula, her Oni mask renders her as a presence even more menacing. She dips her paintbrush in red and sweeps it across Azula’s face from the corner of her mouth in an upward curve and repeats the stroke on the left side. “I missed that smile…”

The woman rubs Azula’s head. First she cuts the little of Azula’s hair that had grown back. She is not careful and knicks the former princess’ scalp constantly. The princess can ignore this, she is used to this kind of pain these days.

.oOo.

She knows that she is in for a whole new world of strife when the man holds her steady and rigid. Apparently the X bindings no longer suffice. Azula squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t like what she hears and she doesn’t want to see it too.

The drill meets her back with a relentless fury. Her body gives an impulsive jerk, one that is futile against the man’s hold. In some twisted irony she is thankful for his jarringly tight grip, it is the only thing that had, and continues, to save her from flinching and widening the drill’s circumference of damage. Her skin squashes and suckels as the drill fights its way in. The blades must be horrifically sharp if they can grind away at her muscle tissue. The drill bit is wedged deeply near her left shoulder blade, it is massive and she wonders if she can survive the hole it left in her back. She is already weak, she has already lost so much energy and blood to this place. She can’t really see herself lasting much longer.

Somehow the thought is more comforting than fear inducing.

Her elderly abductor sets the drill to the side, and with more force than a little old woman ought to have, jams the wolf-bat wing into the opening she’d just created. Azula shrieks, an agonized wail that splits her already hoarse throat. Her breathing grows dangerously erratic. She feels sick and light-headed. And merciful she drifts away from her distressing reality.

.oOo.

She wakes up unbound and sprawled out on the floor, face down. Her back still throbs; she can feel the pain encompassing her upper neck to her mid back, spanning even to her chest, and finding a heart at the two puncture marks by her shoulder blades. She can barely move, if she shifts even slightly, the wings do too and a fresh barrage of stabs fork up and down her back. Instead she lies as still as possible, sobbing.

She just wants to go home. Wherever that is.

Even her wails are too violent for her fragile body. The wrack it and rock the wings in the most unpleasant way, beginning a cycle. One where she cries and shakes, moving the wings so that the pain intensifies, which induces another choking sob that displaces the foreign appendages more.

She fights to stop them, a battle that wears her down even further. But she has won.

Eventually her cries slow.

She fixes her eyes on the slits in the wall and stares blankly. The last rays of day are fading, she longs for the world they come from.

Some hours from then she will drag herself to the slit, reach her hand--now thin enough to fit--out, and grasp at sunlight.

Some hours from now, by chance--the same luck she supposedly had--her hand will be spotted by a lone figure.

[fabercastellcn]

Why Are Colored Pencils So Popular?

Colored pencils are a wonderfully dynamic medium that is highly beloved by artists and hobbyists alike because they’re so easy to use — plus they’re a lot cleaner and require almost no set-up compared to most other art mediums!

Whether you’re completely new to colored pencils or looking to learn more about this versatile medium, in this article I’ll help you figure out which colored pencils to purchase by covering such important topics as quality, consistency, type, permanence, brand, and what I consider to be the best colored pencils. Read on to learn everything you need to know about colored pencils!

Colored pencils have been widely used in classrooms for many decades. You probably used them when you were a kid — remember those hard, gritty sets that were given out to students, with colors that were too pale or too dull to be satisfying? For this reason, colored pencils were long seen as a juvenile (in much the same way that markers were overlooked as a fine art medium).

Even when high-quality colored pencils emerged in the 1930s, they were mostly used by humble illustrators or graphic designers. Fine artists sometimes used them for sketching and planning, but not for creating finished artworks. This attitude began to shift from the 1960s onwards, as fine artists began to embrace colored pencils for their versatility and ease of expression. These days, they’re considered a legitimate art medium and are also hugely popular with colorists.

Colored pencils are capable of rendering art styles that are expressive and abstract, or detailed and photorealistic. While they’re slow to use compared to wet media like paint (in terms of laying down color), they’re almost unparalleled when it comes to controlling and detail.

Because colored pencils are partially transparent, you generally work from light to dark, gradually building up your colors. Colored pencils, like watercolors, are famous for their translucent quality, which can give your artwork a striking luminance, especially on textured paper. If you don’t press too hard, tiny crevices or valleys in the grain of the paper are left untouched by pigment and allowed to shine through.

With that said, the versatility of colored pencils also allows the application of bold, opaque colors, either by pressing harder or by layering and blending. For example, check out this colored pencil painting by Alyona Nickelsen, the author of the book “Colored Pencil Painting Bible”. Note on terminology: colored pencils are mostly associated with drawings, but if they cover the whole support/surface they are called paintings, and you can see why… they really do look like paintings!

In addition to their versatility, colored pencils are also practical and hassle-free! They’re light and portable, so you can travel with them and draw on location. They’ll also last a long time; you don’t have to worry about them drying out as you do with paint or markers. Colored pencils also don’t require a bunch of extra accessories that you’d need for a medium like oil paint, for example, you can achieve a lot with just a simple set, a sharpener, and a humble sketchbook.

While I also enjoy using other art media, like acrylics, few are as relaxing as colored pencils because you don’t have to worry about making a mess, inhaling something toxic, or staining your clothes, and afterward, there’s nothing to wash or clean up. With minimal equipment or preparation, you can settle in and lose yourself in a frenzy of creativity!

Colored pencil blending example Colored pencils can be blended to create smooth tonal gradations. This can be done easily with layering or burnishing, or with the help of solvents, blender pencils/markers, and even baby oil. You can create blends so smooth that the end result looks like an oil painting!

You can create new hues and tones by layering colors (called optical color mixing), but because you can’t mix new colors directly (like you can with paint by mixing one color of paint directly into another color of paint), many artist-grade colored pencils are available in a wide range of colors that can usually be purchased individually.

Colored pencils can also be combined with other media, such as graphite, markers, gel pens, watercolors, crayons, pastels, and gouache! My favorite combination is to use markers to lay down lots of vibrant colors and then draw on top with colored pencils to add detail and give the artwork a more organic feel.

Colored pencils are generally easier to remove than paint or markers, but less so than graphite or watercolors. The pigment does lift off, but some color will remain. If you press hard (burnish) or have applied many layers of colored pencils, then the pigment will be more difficult to erase and will likely not erase completely.

You can get erasable colored pencils, such as Prismacolor Col-Erase pencils (affiliate link) if your style requires a lot of erasing. They’re also useful for drawing construction lines and base sketches.

Quality

When purchasing colored pencils, there are many different considerations to keep in mind that we’ll discuss on this page, but the most important decision you’ll make is whether to get “student grade” or “artist grade” colored pencils (those are Blick affiliate links).

If your budget allows, my recommendation is to always favor artist-grade pencils, which are noticeably superior. They do cost more, but that’s because they contain a higher proportion of pigment, which yields richer, bolder colors.

Artist-grade pencils are also more lightfast (discussed below), and usually softer, which makes them easier to use and blend. They will also boast a wider color range, and you’ll be able to buy them individually as needed (referred to as “open-stock”).

Consistency: Soft vs hard One of the biggest factors that will affect your enjoyment of colored pencils is the consistency of the “lead”. This can vary across brands and pencil types, depending on the particular combination of ingredients the manufacturer used.

Colored Pencils buying guide In general, a colored pencil is just a long circular “lead” — made up of pigment, gum binder, filler (chalk or clay), and wax — that’s encased in wood (usually cedar). Manufacturers tweak this recipe to produce pencils that all perform somewhat differently.

Soft colored pencils are preferred by many artists, including myself, because they lay down color easily, and blend well. Some soft colored pencils are smooth and creamy, while others might be crumbly and grainy.

Most artist-grade pencils are on the softer side, which is partly because they contain less binder and filler, and more pigment, resulting in bolder, more vibrant colors. One downside with soft pencils is that they won’t hold a point as well and they’ll need sharpening more often.

Hard colored pencils can be sharpened to a very fine point that won’t crumble, allowing fine lines well-suited to detailed artwork and certain textures (like hair and fur). Most student-grade colored pencils are hard because manufacturers cut costs by adding more filler/binder and less pigment, which produces dull colors. Hard colored pencils can also be less fun to use because it takes more work to apply color, blending is more difficult, and they make you want to press harder, which can damage your paper and possibly cause hand fatigue.

In summary, your preferred consistency partly comes down to personal preference and the style of art you enjoy. Most people, especially beginners and colorists, will enjoy a soft colored pencil that lays down vibrant color smoothly and easily. Some might prefer a firmer, more versatile pencil that won’t crumble as much and is capable of being sharpened to a decent point when needed.

Types of Colored Pencils There are three main types of colored pencils: wax-based, oil-based, and water-soluble. You can also get color sticks and woodless pencils, which consist of the same “lead” material. I’ll also briefly address pastel pencils, but they belong in a separate category.

Note: you can mix these different types of colored pencils in the same artwork. They aren’t like oil paint and acrylics (which don’t mix), so you don’t need to worry about committing to a specific brand or pencil type.

Wax-based Colored Pencils

Most colored pencils are wax-based. The right amount of wax gives the pencil a smooth texture which helps the pigment flow across the surface. The wax also helps the mark adhere to the surface or to other layers of pencil, which means that you can put down multiple layers without having to worry about smearing or adhesion (a common issue with pastels).

Wax-based pencils are available in a wide range of consistencies: from the hard pencils made for students to the soft varieties designed for professionals. Because wax-based pencils are so common, there’s likely to be a particular set that fits your required combination of price, quality, and consistency.

The only downside to wax-based colored pencils is wax bloom, which is a natural oxidation process that can cause the wax to rise to the surface of your artwork, leaving a pale haze. It can take hours or days to appear, but it usually doesn’t occur unless you apply lots of heavy, dark colors, like in the example you see here from one of my artworks. When I first laid down the colors, I made the background a consistently dark violet-black, but over the years wax bloom has lightened some of those dark areas, as you can see in this pic, resulting in a “splotchy” look.

Don’t fret though! If you see some wax bloom, you can wipe the affected area with a clean, dry cloth before applying more color. Once the artwork is finished, you can seal it with a fixative, which will prevent wax bloom from returning.

Depending on your style, the wax bloom may never be a problem for you. But artists who use lots of dark colors and heavy layers should consider oil-based colored pencils, which don’t suffer from wax bloom.

Oil-based colored pencils use oil to bind the pigment and distribute it on the surface (but they still contain some wax). What this means in practice is they have a slightly different consistency and they don’t suffer from wax bloom.

Most oil-based pencils are medium-soft: a bit firmer than many wax-based pencils, but still softer than student-grade pencils. Although still quite smooth, they won’t lay down color as quickly as the Prismacolors, for example, but they’re better at holding a point and arguably more versatile. The firmer lead also means that they’re less likely to break, and won’t need to be sharpened as often. Some artists prefer a more restrained application of color because it gives them more control.

Oil-based pencils do have a few drawbacks, though. They’re more prone to smearing and are harder to erase. They also tend to be more expensive and may have a more limited color range (depending on the brand). Despite the bump in price, oil-based pencils are not inherently better or worse than their wax-based counterparts.

I personally don’t notice much difference between artist quality wax-based and oil-based pencils. When it comes to practical concerns, such as blending and color vibrance, I can happily work with both types. I’ve found other factors, like grade, brand, and consistency to be more noticeable than whether wax or oil was used in the binder. As if to illustrate this point, most manufacturers don’t make it obvious if their pencils are oil-based, indicating that it isn’t a crucial difference.

Unless you’re worried about wax bloom or prefer the consistency of oil-based pencils, I recommend a high-quality wax-based colored pencil that will likely offer a better combination of price and performance.

Although there isn’t a whole lot of difference between wax and oil-based pencils, that is not the case with watercolor pencils! They can be used dry, just like regular colored pencils, but the binder they contain is a water-soluble gum that allows the pigments to be thinned out with water. Artist quality water-soluble pencils are essentially dry watercolor paints in pencil form.

Watercolor Pencils In practice, this means they are fully capable of producing watercolor paintings by combining them with water and a brush or sponge to blend colors or create washes. Other effects are also achieved by drawing on wet paper or dipping the tip of the pencil in water beforehand (creating very soft strokes). Many artists also use them in combination with regular watercolors and other media (including regular colored pencils). They can be difficult to get used to, but if you’re fond of watercolors you should definitely give these a try.

Instead of wood encasing a lead of wax and pigment, pastel pencils contain the same stuff you’d find in pastel sticks. The only difference is that the pastel core is made a bit harder so that the “lead” doesn’t break or crumble.

Pastel pencils, despite their outward appearance, don’t really fall into the same category as colored pencils. While the latter are known for their transparency (discussed above), pastel pencils are opaque and therefore used very differently.

Color

Because you can’t mix colored pencils as easily as other media (like paint) to create new hues and tones, most artist-grade colored pencils come in a wide range of colors.

I generally like to purchase as many colors as I can get, but it’s also easy to go overboard. You don’t want to end up buying pencils that you never use. I recommend starting off with a 24-pencil set and then buying additional pencils individually as you need them.

Once you have your pencils, it’s a great idea to make a color chart. This will help enormously when you’re creating art. The nearby image is the color chart I made for my 120 Faber-Castell Polychromos Pencils.

I didn’t design that color chart myself. You can find free, blank color charts that other artists have created by searching on Pinterest or Google Images. Some manufacturers, like Faber-Castell, also provide blank color charts that you can use.

Permanence All art media can fade over time as light and humidity break down the molecular bonds of the colors. The ability to resist this process is called “lightfastness” and it’s a major concern for fine artists who want their work to last.

If you’re using artist-grade pencils, and you’re not a professional artist, I wouldn’t worry about lightfastness. Because colored pencils use pigments (as opposed to dyes which fade more easily), artist-grade colored pencils will be sufficiently fade-resistant for most artists, especially if you plan to digitize your artwork for the web and/or print (which is where most of my work ends up these days).

If you’re especially concerned about permanence, be aware that it doesn’t just vary across brands, but also amongst pencils of the same brand, depending on the specific pigment used for each color. For this reason, most artist-grade brands provide lightfastness ratings for each pencil.

[berry-cat7]

Treasure

@kurokolovesakashi

For AkaKuro Month! The prompt is Fairy tale AU, so I went with trapped in a tower with a dragon, but with my own twist.

Can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction.

Kuroko no Basuke

G Rating

Brief mention of nudity

2,032 Words

Characters: Akashi Seijurou, Kuroko Tetsuya, Momoi Satsuki (Ft. Aomine)

Summary: A new knight approaches Kuroko's tower. It goes better than expected.

"Oh dear." Kuroko remarks rather flatly.  

His reaction is more appropriate for noting an impending rain, rather than the sight of another knight preparing to storm his tower. However, he feels mild annoyance towards both phenomena, so perhaps it is quite fitting. If they were a messenger, they wouldn't have been so heavily armored, and nobody lugs around a broadsword for fun.

This knight can't be too unreasonable if they decided to make their approach from the forest though. While it is filled with many dangerous creatures and the terrain quite treacherous in general, it does provide excellent cover from the dragon's fiery gaze. The last fool who thought to take the mountain path directly to the western face of his tower saw their death approaching long before they had a chance to even catch a glimpse of the 'damsel' himself. Admittedly his keeper was feeling rather agitated that day, since that was the fourth challenger that week; usually the dragon is charitable enough to at least let them approach his fence, and give him a chance to send them away with their lives.  

Not that they ever listen.

Between their greed towards the ridiculous amounts of riches the dragon has amassed in this castle, their desire to slay a mighty beast, and the power they've attached to his name; many chose to ignore him and press on.  This usually results in the forest fauna coming out for a midnight snack on the remains if the dragon is out of sight. Kuroko doesn't like it when the dragon chars his lawn to burn the bodies, and the dragon refuses to actually eat them, so what isn't scavenged, is scattered along his grounds in warning.  

This knight is definitely promising though.

Rather than charging in blindly while the dragon is still out of sight, they slow their steed to a trot and carefully examine the area. Kuroko knows that his companion has taken to the skies, silently observing the situation. The knight is too far for Kuroko to read the insignia painted onto their shield, but the powder blue of their cloak, and the style of the horse's reigns match those of Teiko, his kingdom of origin. Despite their cautious pace, the knight approaches with absolute confidence. The vibrant red plume decorating their helmet wavers in the wind, and their cape billows artistically as they draw nearer. Honestly, Kuroko is rather impressed. Usually people don't have that kind of flair for dramatics anymore.

At this distance, the golden dragon insignia of Teiko is clear and just as they reach they the barrier around his tower, they pull their horse to a halt. The knight is silent for a moment, before they reach up to remove their helmet. Messy pink hair drawn up into a loose bun, and a feminine face. It seems to be another woman this time.

The knight's voice rings loud and true through the clearing. "Fair prince, I am Sir Momo! Momoi Satsuki! And I have heard tales of your beauty and virtue! They say you are held captive by a fearsome beast and I have arrive to rescue you, and offer my hand in marriage! Where is your captor?"

It's a pain to strain his voice, but Kuroko addresses the challenger from his window. "Fair knight, I thank you for coming all this way, but I fear your quest has been for naught! I am in no peril! And I am no prince! Nor am I looking to marry!"

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"...Then who are you? There are many tales of your royal status!"

"I was but a humble farmhand! I befriended the local dragon, and moved into this tower! People have come and gone, spinning ridiculous fables of increasing fantasy!" That's quite an over-simplification of the situation, but it's unwise to shout such a long and personal story out of a window to a potentially dangerous stranger.

Overall, he's not quite sure how things escalated to this point himself. At first a few travelers stumbled across his little abode and the dragon was content to watch from afar. But once he had almost been killed by a roving band of looters, he supposes some rumours had begun to spread once the survivors regaled their harrowing tales. The average wanderers stopped appearing, and the warriors and knights started flocking in for various reasons.

Kuroko is far from captive when he travels back into town every other week for supplies. Not that many can recognize him.  

"I apologize that you have come all this way! I can only offer my regrets." The last time he had bribed away an intruder, the dragon had sulked for days, curling around the tower's treasures possessively until Kuroko polished quite a few in repentance.

The knight shifts on her saddle as she thinks over this new development. "...Are you sure you require no aid? Are you truly unthreatened by the dragon?"

"Not unless you offer repair services." All of the rain has been rather troublesome. His wood fence is starting to rot from all of the moisture.

"Unfortunately, my main craft is the blade. My apologies for the disturbance then. Though I do hope you won't mind if I return for a visit? Someone as lovely as you should at least have human company every now and then." Ironically, he gets plenty of human company, it's just that they're usually hostile while the dragon is a reprieve.

She's been polite, outwardly nonthreatening and respectful, patient. Kuroko is about to grant tentative permission when a distant roar echoes in warning. It seems the dragon has grown tired of their guest. Thankfully she's aware enough to understand this unsubtle warning herself. "It seems I've overstayed my welcome. I bid you farewell, and may our paths cross again." She says with a sweet smile and a wave. Quite the juxtaposition from the worn armor broadening her frame and the gleaming blade strapped to her back.

Although she intended to take her leave, it seems her horse has other ideas. It continues to graze on the lush grass of his property, regardless of its rider pulling at its reigns. "Oh come on! Dai-chan, you can eat later!" The horse takes its time chewing through one more mouthful before it finally heeds its master's cries. And once the knight disappears into the forest from whence she came, the dragon is quick to land.

Kuroko rolls his eyes to himself once he is safely out of sight, and heads to his front door in order to greet the dragon in person, taking the spare cloak with him. He really is a sight to behold, gleaming wine-coloured scales and magnificent wings. Large eyes focus on him, one cranberry red and the other daffodil gold, both scanning for a hair out of place even though the knight hadn't even unsheathed her weapon. It's ridiculous and over-protective, but he can't complain when it's done for his sake. The dragon sort of sighs out a puff of smoke and a flurry of embers, a sign that he is satisfied with what he sees and Kuroko is permitted to move.

"See? I'm fine. But thank you Seijurou."

The dragon's lipless mouth is unmoving, but a velvety smooth voice can still be heard. "I don't understand why you won't just leave with me, and be done with these vermin."  

Kuroko puts a hand on the dragon's warm snout, each nostril almost half of his height and every exhale a visible heatwave. "As hot as you can keep the cave and as lavishly as you furnish it, I'd rather not actually live in a cave. Kagami-kun already claims that I'm so isolated I may as well live under a rock, the last thing he needs is validation."

The dragon releases a burst of hot air at the mention of one of his few friends. He's close enough that the twin jets of scalding steam billow out past him without harm, but it's still uncomfortably hot at this distance. He smacks the dragon with a frown in reprimand, but the gesture is more symbolic since he doubts it was really felt through such thick skin.  

"I can be human too." Kuroko is sure it's supposed to sound ominous or maybe even vaguely threatening, but he's learned to associate that tone with a petulant child. He absently resumes running his hand against the dragon's face. The larger, shield-sized scales covering the rest of his body are mostly cold and sharp, but his face is covered with smooth snake-like soft-scaled skin.  

He has to tread carefully, because the last thing he wants to do is offend. Inter-species relationships – romantic or otherwise – are always complicated. "...Yes, I know, but even I would like to see other faces every now and then. I'm not a jewel Seijurou, I need more than just safety."

He can feel scales heating beneath his palm, just shy of painful as the dragon shifts. He closes his eyes against the bright light but he can already feel a feverishly warm cheek resting in his hand. Two very human hands grab onto him. One rests overtop of his, while the other carefully grips his fragile wrist. It wouldn't take much to turn his joints into mush, break his legs and render him immobile – completely helpless and dependent. But the dragon is careful, his touch always almost annoyingly feather-light with his unspoken fear.  

He opens his eyes to meet red and gold.

There is a possessive look in Seijurou's eyes as he speaks, low and reverently. "I know human's require a lot of care to remain in optimal condition, but I can't help but place your physical well-being before your happiness. It's fine if you hate me. As long as you are alive and within my sights, I don't care what you do if it's not detrimental to your health. Your life is short as it is. You are my most precious treasure." The dragon places a tender kiss over the pulse point of Kuroko's inner wrist, and the human flushes a bright red as he recalls Seijurou's bare state. Seijurou himself always stands proud, completely unbothered by his nudity because he only wears what Kuroko forces onto him.

Without context, that whole speech would be rather concerning, no doubt that knight would come sweeping back to rescue him had she heard some of the other things he's said. But Kuroko knows that the dragon would never treat him like that. An object to be hoarded in the dark. He's merely voicing his opinion, the disgruntled grumbling of the guard of a particularly troublesome treasure. Kuroko pulls Seijurou into an embrace, surrounding himself with the dragon's heat. He rests his chin over the other's shoulder. "I know. You're my most important person too."  

In all of his years of life as a simple farmhand, Kuroko Tetsuya had never seen much value in his life. He considered it a good life, but like any peasant, he thought he wasn't worth more than the mud he toiled in. It was mere chance that he had stumbled across this abandoned structure filled with wealth, and perhaps some would call it misfortune that it turned out to belong to a dragon; but his restraint had been his saving grace, and once the dragon had located him further down the path the rest had become history.

It's another irony, one he thinks about every day, that a dragon – creatures notorious for their material greed – believes that his life is worth more than his weight in gold.

It's easy to slip out of Seijurou's hold, all hard muscles and soft grip. It's not as bad as it used to be, but he's still embarrassed that he was in the arms of a naked man out in the open. He carefully throws the cloak he brought over Seijurou's shoulders, one of the only articles of clothing he'll wear without a word of complain, and leads the dragon by the hand into his castle.

The lifeblood rushing through his veins, every breath he draws, every day for the rest of his days – all of it, Kuroko is more than happy to give him to cherish.

[lxcxndatlkalct]

The flash of cameras was nothing new to her. The flickering of lights that might have blinded someone less certain of where they’d come from. Lucinda had long since understood it best to look above them, than directly at them. So often before, she’d been on the other side of the lens, with the lingering familiarity of a camera in her hand, she found it near impossible to ignore a sliver of envy flicker at the tips of her fingers. She’d given Kingsley and the myriad of aurors time, as he’d asked, but the facts remained that the people of their world deserved to know the truth; not the half arsed attempt at it that the ministry could so often offer them before now.

Their world built on secrets, founded on lies that were warped and twisted to suit those in power, and while she wasn’t completely against that for the greater good and the magical legacy of their world, she was neither opposed to the truth. Especially if it would further satisfy the belief she shared with so many. The ministry was as corrupt as it claimed their enemy to be.

True, that she’d bent the will of those that came before the shatter in their hierarchy that he’d left in his wake, twisted words to suit her her own goal, one entwined so deeply with that of the Dark Lord that it was often difficult to decipher where one thought began and another ended. As she neared the dias, the makings of a certain manic happiness burst within her chest while the stoic features of Lucinda Talkalot showed everything but to the public as she had many times since her appointment in public relations. While the Ministry spared the face of the minister himself unless the time truly called for it, she’d become a waypoint, a public figure over night despite her timely discomfort. Like the second skin she wore with the mask and hood adorned by those deemed the enemy, she slipped all too easily into a facade that she’d upheld for far too long and that perfectly placed veil had rendered Lucinda as Tom’s first choice in infiltrating with so much risk.

Right beneath the nose of all those who might have known better, she’d been on the receiving end of every detail, every slip of information that would never reach the public and while she’d been sworn to secrecy on all things that would never move beyond the walls of the ministry’s most private spaces, there were now far more people that knew than those she’d sworn herself to, were aware of.

This, however, wasn’t a ply for more information. The cracks had shattered the earth beneath them, the death of the minister at the hand of her Lord were just a stepping stone in ripping the ministry apart from the inside out. He’d been clear. Crystal. She was not to leave a single detail out. And so, with the blinding flash of cameras, a blur of voices that soon dulled to nothing but white noise as the protective detail she’d been given quietened the growing plethora of media vultures. A momentary pause, a memory that wasn’t her own, placing Rodolphus Lestrange right where she stood, moments before he was executed. While she certainly had no intentions of setting a grenade off at her own feet the way he had just to open the eyes of those too scared to look willingly, she certainly wasn’t shielding any single person willing to listen. Her poison was much less blinding, a subtle sting that would reverberate slowly through the veins of the wizarding community and with any luck and favor on her side, she’d play her part in tearing the foundations of this world down to start anew.

“Three days ago, we released a general statement alerting you all to the untimely, tragic death of our beloved minister, Harold Minchum. The passing of our leader, ---” She paused, the corner of painted lips drawing in a near impeccable smile filled with a sadness that didn’t belong in her heart, “-- and to some, our friend, --- has without doubt shocked us all.” Like a wave, the somber reminder that the fact they were there at all stemmed from a tragedy that those too naive to see was without a doubt a necessary evil in the minds eye of those willing to fight for the betterment of their world. One that didn’t allow the lessening of power through the continued allowance for those muggle born to share in any of it. A disservice to themselves, to their ancestors. “Perhaps it’s now that we need to remember that it is in times of great sorrow and change that we must consider our choices more than ever. Some believe that you do not need to understand what happened, just that it has. That the Ministry has it under control, that we’re mending out defenses, that we’re working to find a way to give you the government that you so greatly deserve. That is what Minister Minchum would have wanted you to know and believe in his stead. In a strong front, unwilling to break or bend to loss and confusion, a community that begs for the betterment and development of those that need it the most and perhaps that is what you will believe, regardless of what you’re told.”

She cast hues that echoed the sentiment of every word she spoke out across the growing mass of people. For years she’d remained silent, in the background of all that she could. Once an observer more than one to take action, however, the long continuous study of the people around her gave her more leeway to bend her own features, to replicate those she’d seen, the sounds she’d heard in the depths of voices she knew all too well. A mockingbird with wings clipped as her orders to speak slivers of the truth embedded themselves in fingertips that traced the wooden dias with a slow tenderness that might have been one detail too perfect for one such grievance as reporting the death of one they’d thought so mighty, now only temporarily replaced by an even mightier coward. “Barely a week has passed, and it is already becoming alarmingly clear..--” Hues traversed the crowd, some barely listening while others clung to every word she spoke as if it were already law. “That for so long now, you have all been fooled by the blinded trust you held in those deemed to protect our very real right for justice, for the truth, and I have been no better informed than you. Beaten into submission by a government that would not have you hold the ability to question us in return. For so long you have been made to believe that our democracy was just that; while slowly but surely they took your ability to live well from you, in any which way they could. Your right to the truth was torn from your very fingertips as Rodolphus Lestrange was murdered before your very eyes without an offer of explanation like so many before him --- and like so many that came after, dusting every truthful word he spoke under the rug even when it screamed to high heavens the depths of corruption behind closed doors. Your very right to your own truth, to justice and your own health and well-being has been unknowingly compromised by a government that refuses to accept that you’re owed as much.”

Luce wasn’t a fool, the shock that would come with even the mention of one so many deemed a traitor would ripple through the crowd and likely paint a target on her back that none knew she already held. She wasn’t here to start an uprising, she wasn’t here to erupt chaos amongst them; but the seeds of doubt could run deeper than most imagined, rooted miles below the surface and near impossible to later remove. All she needed was this moment to plant them. “I will not keep the truth from you.” But she would twist and manipulate it in a way not unlike the ministry at all; though her hand would turn the tables and place every misconception their society might have had about the stability of their own government, foundations must be broken to rebuild.

“Three days ago,” The breath in her lungs seemed to catch with the facade of breaking such an oath to the now fallen minister, darkened lips pursed and after a few long passing moments of near silence, she lifted her shoulders and caught the reflective effects of every camera head on. “The Dark Lord walked past our every defense, slipped right in through those doors,” emphasized only be her willingness to gesture to the grand Ministry building, “Attacked dozens of people and murdered your minister without anyone knowing what how how it was happening, much less who it was, until it was much too late to do what we promised we would. He was not forced to claw his way in, we did not fight to stop him. Our confidence became our greatest weakness, our pride in a world that couldn’t possibly be so threatened became a gaping vulnerability that he was able to manipulate to an advantage that we will feel the weight of for longer than we will ever realize. The safety that we were so sure of failed because we were too blinded to see the faults that etched cracks in our system by our inability to see what was really going on.” The unsettled shift of the crowd before her was more than enough indication that Lucinda had already hit her own target, the smallest seeds of doubt already burying themselves in the ground. “This happened, because we have spent far too long clinging to the idea that this was as good as we were ever going to get. We cannot be fooled into thinking that we will never be more that we are through the timeless act of refusing to hear the truth when it is right there in front of us, hidden and manipulated into more lies by those who have deemed you, our public, our community, unworthy of hearing it simply because it paints us in a less than flattering light. If we want to be better, if we want to protect what is ours, what we love the most, the truth is the only way we will ever be able to do this. As your government, how can we expect you to protect one another without knowing every detail we know too? We are only as strong and as knowledgeable as you allow us to be.” It was near impossible not to feel the weight of those clinging to her every word, a somber speech turned to something build of revolution and yet brought to them in the confidence that she willed no uprising, just another chance. One chance, it was all they needed to rot the system from the inside out. “We failed you, but it will not happen again. This will not happen again. The Dark Lord will not succeed in flooding fear into our veins, neither will he tear us apart so easily without a fight.” The heaviness in such a statement brought her to a pause, a long trying moment for it to sink in, to stick with those teetering the edge of loyalties. It mattered little to her in which way they showed their favor, but failure did not deem favorable with Voldemort himself, and she’d yet to truly fail at all. “The minister is gone, and though he may now be at rest, we have a chance to change how we fight a war most of you didn’t know was here purely out of the cowardice of those now perished. You deserve the opportunity to make your mind up for yourselves, to fight and protect our world with everything we have, of which you can only do through knowing everything. You all deserve the truth.” Each word enunciated to near perfection as she lifted her head a little higher, dark tresses shifting to fall down her back as the every intense hue with an ever familiar regality to it that only few could truly manage. “And I will make sure you get it.”

[caspian-skye]

The Apoptosis Project Ch.9, Biscuits, Tea, and the State of Humanity

Wow, considering I’m up to chapter 34 on ffn, and probably about chapter 10 on Ao3, you can see I’m not great at keeping anything besides my main posting on fanfiction updated oops.

"...So yeah! Back in the day, there was a species of Grimm that could drain your will to do just about anything, leaving your body to atrophy until it eventually just shut down entirely!" the always upbeat professor Brown concluded, her ponytail bouncing with her enthused words. "None of that will be on the test, but I just thought that was a cool little story!"

The bell rang, signalling the end of Intro to Grimm Studies. Caspian joined the others in closing his books, packing up his things, and zipping rain coat all the way to his neck. He planned to do the usual for a weekday, grab lunch with his friends in The Roots, get a bit of homework done alone, and spend the rest of the day back with Ichigo, Rowan, and Snow.

"Hey. Lilly," a voice grunted.

Caspian and Lilly both started with surprise. Towering over the two a row back was Noxis, stony gaze locked on the one he called.

"Yes?" Lilly prompted.

"Are you free? Let's grab some tea."

Caspian's heart felt as if it struck the inside of his ribcage. He kept his gaze down, jaw threatening to shatter his teeth with how hard it clenched.

"Ah, there actually is a place I've been meaning to try!" Lilly responded. "It's a bit North of campus but just a block or two away from a Link stop, so we should stay mostly out of the rain!"

"That works. I want to drop off my bag, so let's meet at the stop near Cedar," Noxis confirmed. Without another word, he turned and joined the crowd draining out of the lecture hall and into the storm. Lilly followed, then Rowan. Biting his lip and strapping up his backpack, Caspian joined with dragging feet.

The doors opened to Sentinel's Blue Square, often regarded as the center of campus. Students crossed the square in every direction, some coming out of the lecture hall behind the three, others going in. To their right was Slate Library. Its first floor was an open study space, with tables and chairs surrounding an abstract statue that spiralled up to the ceiling between the rings of mezzanines making up the second and third floors. Directly across the square was Skye Hall. A bit conceited of his dad, Caspian thought, naming the infirmary and main administrative tower after himself. But he earned the right to sit in his office, two hundred feet above the rest of campus. Between Skye Hall and the other main lecture hall to their left was a set of stairs lowering down toward the flowers and fountain of Halfmoon Plaza. No buildings had been built between those stairs and downtown Port Cyrreine a mile and a half across the bay, gifting the square a gorgeous view of the city, day and night.

"I was with Aspen until so late last night, I needed something to pick me up like this!" Lilly commented from under her umbrella.

"You sure are popular!" Rowan teased. He cocked his head with a mischievous smile. "Hey, if Noxis and Aspen fought over you, who would win?"

"Oh, stop," Lilly dismissed. "Aspen is a friend, and this is just going to be two partners getting to know each other."

"...It's not a date?" Caspian managed.

Lilly shook her head. "It's not. And if it was, I would politely decline. He doesn't seem much my type."

"What is her type?" Caspian wondered.

"I'd like the lavender chamomile, please," Lilly asked of the bunny-eared waitress. "I had been looking for cafés nearby since before coming to Sentinel, I'm so very excited to try this one!"

"Well, I hope we can live up to your expectations!" the waitress returned with a smile, entering a note into her Holoband. The stone fireplace ignited behind her as she turned to Noxis. "And what would you like?"

"Oolong."

"Ah. Good choice," the waitress affirmed. "Anything else?"

"I think that will be it for now, thank you," Lilly concluded. She brushed a white lock of curly frizz from her face, then folded her hands on the table. "So, did you ask me here for a reason?"

"Yeah. You seem like the only other one on our team who has any common sense," Noxis responded. "I want to pick your brain a little bit."

"Well, then. Pick away," Lilly invited.

"What do you think of this city?"

"This city?"

"Yes. Port Cyrreine."

Lilly bid a slight smile, looking to a painting mounted on the mahogany-panelled wall. "I grew up nearby, and have many good memories here, so I'm quite fond of it. The city really is quite beautiful."

Noxis looked dissatisfied with her answer.

"And you? What do you think?" Lilly inquired.

"This city makes me sick."

Several uneasy gazes flicked to him. He hadn't made any effort to keep his voice down, after all. As the waitress returned with their tea, the eyes turned away.

"It was little more than a handful of ports before Frontline built their headquarters here. This city is built on greed, and it's plain to see. Have you ever been to the Eastern Docks district?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"I'm not surprised," Noxis replied, slightest twinge of irritation in his voice. "Highest crime rate in all of Vale. Mean income? A third of what it is up here in the North, just a couple of miles away. You can't walk a block without seeing some addict passed out halfway in the street- or worse. It's worse than Mistral's slums these days. Worse than Mantle."

Lilly took a sip of her tea, and bowed her head. "It's... an unfortunate situation, yes."

Noxis's eyes narrowed. "An unfortunate situation? These are peoples' lives in this city,'' he growled. "All while Griswold Baine sits in his tower, watching over the place like he owns it, and building Organds to take more jobs from the people of Vale. He'd let the entire kingdom go to shit if it meant more money in his pocket."

"Of all companies, it seems odd you should take issue with Frontline," Lilly asserted.

Noxis raised a brow.

"They have done far more good than harm," Lilly stated. "Frontline's scientists have developed cures for multiple diseases previously thought incurable. Much of the money they make goes to funding further research, and-"

"What they're doing is unnatural."

"Excuse me?"

"Organds make humanity weak," Noxis snarled. "Their use in security has rendered the few who still choose to be huntsmen useless, unless they go into that corporatized professional league." He took a deep breath, then returned to his point seemingly angrier than before. "The Creatures of Grimm are humanity's predator. People have grown complacent with the creation of those... glorified computers, and have forgotten how to defend themselves. Organds shouldn't exist."

"I see..." Lilly offered.

"Have you heard of natural selection?" Noxis continued.

"I'm familiar with the basic idea, yes."

"Then you'll know that in the natural world, those with some advantage over their peers will survive to pass their genes to the next generation more often?"

Lilly nodded. "That's how species evolve, yes."

"Well, in Frontline's care, we've created a world with no place for natural selection. All can survive and pass their genes on, no matter how slow, sickly, or unworthy. We've stunted our own evolution."

Lilly looked down to her tea, then side-eyed out the window, pursing her lips. She took a breath of pause. "The question as to what constitutes 'worthy' of passing on genes aside, I fail to see how Frontline curing illness has ceased our evolution," she debated. She looked up. "On the day mankind first created weapons, and harnessed the power of dust to defend themselves against Grimm, did they become weaker? By your logic, it would seem so. But I daresay this allowed humans to survive longer and reproduce at a greater rate; biologically making them a more fit species."

"Weapons are different. They're simply a tool humans use in order to ensure their survival," Noxis explained.

"You've previously called Organds 'computers.' How is this not a tool?" Lilly inquired. She took a sip of her tea, waiting for a response that did not come. "Left only to their strength, without weapons or dust, not even the most physically gifted human can hope to compete with nature's top predators, nor the Creatures of Grimm. The human body is simply weaker. Human evolution is through the mind. With all its advancements, Frontline Biomedical is evidence we are evolving more rapidly than ever before."

"I..." Noxis began.

Lilly smiled politely, straightening up in her seat. "The tea here is quite good, wouldn't you agree? I'd like to return sometime."

Noxis bolted upright, the pounding of his boots on the hardwood floor drawing half the eyes in the café. Lilly held her cup to steady it against the shaking of the table. The wolf faunus plunged his hand into his pocket, and slapped a few one-lien notes on the table in front of her.

"This should cover mine. Goodbye."