#Yes making your own bodice without a pattern is a bitch

[friday411]

Cosplay before cosplay was cosplay. The *ORIGINAL* Renaissance Faire - Northern California, Black Point forest.

(My husband's girlfriend is on the left)

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

chivalry fell on its sword

the wench and the witcher

“chivalry fell on its sword”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader

Summary: Geralt witnesses one of the many perils involved in your profession. It rattles him enough to try and do something about it.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence. Geralt and reader continue to be foul-mouthed little darlings.

A/N: Holy crap, guys, I wrote something that wasn’t smut. “You know what that is? Growth.” Full disclosure, there is no real, actual plan for where I’m going with this series, thing. I’m just here to write shit.

@coconutxraikage​ ; @pantrashtic​ ; @kingniazx​ ; @onyour-right​

“Geralt, is this really necessary?”

“Yes.”

You eye the dirk in your hand. “I cook with these, I don’t fight with them - I’ll fucking stab myself.”

“And that’s why we’re here – so I can show you how not to fucking stab yourself.”

You glare at him. ‘Here’ happens to be the courtyard behind your tavern. The witcher has been with you for three days, warming your bed and keeping you company – even your regulars have started to get used to him. Well, mostly. At the very least, they’ve graduated from ‘outright hostility’ to ‘passive distrust’.

Baby steps.

Your only problem with Geralt’s extended visitation is the fact that he’s become annoyingly protective. He mostly keeps out of the way, doesn’t expect you to change anything about your daily routine to suit him, but having a very large, somewhat menacing companion at your back takes some getting used to. No, you’re not exactly what most people would term as ‘threatening’, but you’ve managed the damn place for near-on five years. Belligerent drunks are simply a hazard of the job. You have a very particular way of managing people when they get out of hand at your establishment, and while it does work – most of the time, kind of – the previous evening was a wholly different story.

_-_-_-_-_-_

“I think you need to leave, friend!“

How the bastard had managed to get this drunk on your watch was beyond you. You were going to have a talk with the staff about over-serving. Right now, you’re more about getting the sod’s hands off the barmaid – he’s ignoring you in favor of trying to drag the poor girl into his lap. “Hey,” you bark again. “I’m talking to you – “

Your hand grabs his shoulder and yanks. The girl he’s pawing manages to worm free as the drunk reels about with a shout of indignation, “Get yer fuckin’ hands off me, daft bitch!”

You have to laugh at that, “I may be a daft bitch, but I’m the one who’s name is on the lease here. You’re harassing my waitstaff, now get the fuck out.”

The bastard scoffs at you and has the unmitigated gall to turn his back on you; you see red. Somewhere behind you, you here the rumble of your name – Geralt, trying to tell you to stand down. You ignore him, obviously, because who’s going to take you seriously if you can’t deal with one drunken shithead? With an irritated growl, you grab said shithead by the back of the collar.

“That’s it – “

“Get off, you fucking slut!”

CRACK. Your vision flashes white for a second, like a firecracker has gone off next to your face. The impact of the back of the drunk’s hand sends you stumbling into the nearest table, bell thoroughly rung. You manage to catch the end of the table before you go spinning to the floor.

Geralt shouts your name. Behind you, your assailant gloats, “Come on, girlie. More where that came from.”

There’s blood in your mouth. You spit, grimace, and grab the nearest heavy object you can find; one of your solid clay pitchers.

It’s makes a satisfying “thunk” when it cracks the drunk across the face.

“Fuck you, prick,” you gasp.

_-_-_-_-_-_

 You’d woken up this morning with an impressive shiner, but that son of a bitch had been dragged off with a shattered jaw, according to the gossip. By your standards, everything had been taken care of, but Geralt didn’t seem to be of the same mind. He’d grumbled something about men and fragile egos - ‘reprisals’, blah blah blah- then hurried you through breakfast, and promptly dragged you out of doors.

So, here you were. Staring at a knife. “Geralt, come on – “

“No, you need to be able to protect yourself – “

“ – I’ve managed just fine for most of my life, thank you very much – “

“You have a black eye – “

“ – and I caved that other guy’s face in!”

“That was a lucky shot and you know it!”

You startle so violently that you almost drop the blade on your foot; you don’t think Geralt’s every actually shouted at you before. He’s glaring at you while a muscle in his jaw ticks and you feel you’re your own temper start to bubble – he can’t just yell at you, and you’ve a mind to rip him a new asshole, because fuck him your goddamn face hurts and you don’t have time for this, but then he’s marching up to you and you give a small grunt of surprise when he grabs you by the shoulders.

“You can’t…” He growls, obviously frustrated, before he continues. “You can’t just hope for the best, sweetheart. You’re tough, and smart, I’ll give you that much, but if someone bigger comes along and decides you’ve got something they want…”

He trails off, lets you go, and paces away. You open your mouth to argue, but then he turns and pins you with those pretty golden eyes – oh.

Oh.

He’s worried.

It’s… unexpected? Yes, that’s the word.

But not unwelcome.

You drop Geralt’s gaze and look at the thin blade in your hand. It’s quite nice, actually – small and light enough to palm against your wrist. Hell, you could probably slide it down the front of your dress, if you ever needed to.

“… So I don’t just jab them with the pointy end?” you finally ask with a weak smile.

The witcher blinks, narrows his eyes, and finally exhales on a chuckle. You tamp down on your smile and do your best to keep your sarcasm in check with he begins instruction. He helps you find the balance point on the dirk, shows you how to hold it underhand, then overhand, followed by a breakdown of how to easily switch your grip.

Next is vital points on human anatomy. You learn that the fastest way to drop a man is to stab him through the neck and let him bleed to death. Stabbing for the heart his more difficult; if your blade glances off a rib, it can get stuck. Same thing with the kidneys in the back – hard to get to, but effective if you can manage it. Geralt shows you on his own torso. You stand in front of him while he guides your hand, keeping the sharp point of the dagger tucked to your wrist and away from his vital parts.

“Aim for the middle, if worse comes to worse,” Geralt tells you. “Stab the bastard and get the fuck out of there – he’s not going to be moving very quickly with a blade in his gut.”

With that, he draws a small-ish knife from his boot and moves to stand beside you. He slowly walks you through defensive stances, watching you like a hawk to correct anything he sees as a potential opening. Each movement is numbered and he has you drill through each one, first in order, and then in random patterns of his choosing. You only realize how long you’ve been at it when your arms start to ache. Tending bar can be hard work, but this is a different sort of practice – you’re a little winded, and a little sweaty, but you grin and shake your head when Geralt asks if you want to stop.

“No,” you tell him. “No, I think I’m getting it. Give me more.”

There’s a fierce kind of pride behind his eyes when he nods. Flipping the grip on his blade, he turns to face you and raises an eyebrow. He attacks with slow, even movements and you counter just as slowly. It’s like dancing. When you stumble or misstep, he stops, and the dance begins again.

You only make it through two sequences, at first, but then it’s three.

Then four.

Then five.

And then you realize that Geralt hasn’t stopped to correct your form in some time. He’s gained speed, as well, and you’re able to keep up. You find yourself watching not just the glint of his blade in the sunlight, but the tension and flexion of his arm, or the way he twists at the waist – all of it gives you a clue as to where he might go next. The dance flows back and forth over the cobblestone courtyard, accompanied by the whispering of your blades when then slide together and deflect. Geralt’s smooth, flowing steps push you back towards a wall, but you find an opening, spinning under his arm and back to the center of the courtyard. The witcher is hot on your heels, sweeping a wide arch that you duck under.

Then Geralt missteps. You swipe forward without thinking and leave a thin line of blood on his forearm. He swears and hops back.

Shit – you drop your blade immediately, let it clatter onto the stones below. “Geralt,” you gasp. “Fuck it, I’m sor – hmph!”

Geralt sweeps you up, careful of his unsheathed weapon, and kisses you quite thoroughly. You’re startled for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for you to relax; you melt into his touch and wind an arm around his neck. When he finally draws back, you’re more than a little breathless, and it’s not just from the training.

“Good,” he murmurs. Honey-gold eyes stare down at you, and he lifts one hand to gently push your sweaty curls away from your face. “You did good, sweetheart.”

You’re only a little sorry when he lets you go and picks up your knife, holding it handle-out for you to take. “Find a place to keep that,” he says lowly. “Your bodice, your boot, your garter – doesn’t matter, long you can reach it without fumbling. Understood?”

You smirk. “Understood,” you confirm.

Geralt gives you one of his almost-smiles, offers you one more brief kiss, and turns back for the tavern. “Just think how good you’ll get when we have you working at this every day,” he calls over his shoulder.

You blanche. Every…

Shit. “Son of a bitch,” you mutter as you follow the witcher inside.

[vannahfanfics]

18. The wedding song Shitamaru and boss ass bitch. 😘 you da best boo

<3 Only the best for you, dear. Enjoy~

Her, Like the Sun, and Him, Like the Clouds 

“Are you finished yet?” Temari asked impatiently as she felt the soft make-up brush still dabbing foundation across her face, which she felt had received plenty of treatment already. The brush retracted after a final sweep over the bridge of her nose, and as she opened her eyes, little flecks of the powder falling from her mascara-pumped eyelashes, Ino was pursing her glossed lips at her.

“Temari, you wear make-up every day. Why are you complaining?” the blonde-haired girl tutted while snapping the foundation case shut and began rooting around the various make-up items on the wooden counter beside her to find her next project. Temari just exhaled deeply and leaned back in the chair, trying to keep her frown from deepening too much because Ino would yell at her and say she was going to get frown lines. “Lighten up already! You’re the one who asked for my help!” Temari tutted a response, her blue eyes flickering to the mirror to stare at her rapidly transforming reflection. Despite the woman’s fiery personality and unfiltered mouth, which would grate the average person, Temari rather liked Ino and they had become fast friends throughout her courtship with Shikamaru. You couldn’t tell that now; Temari had been snipping at her since she arrived, but Ino just lightheartedly tolerated it. She probably didn’t blame Temari for being on edge; after all, she was nervous as all hell.

In a few hours, she would be married.

“Just relax, Temari. It’s the happiest day of your life!” Sakura chirped from another vanity, peering into the glass as she meticulously curled her lashes. After she flickered them a few times to ensure maximum volume and coverage, she flashed the former Sand ninja a smile. “Everything is going to go perfectly.” Analytical as ever, Sakura had easily ascertained the root of Temari’s anxiety. She had never been a perfectionist by any means, but something about the occasion brought such behavior out of Temari; she was just simply frantic that something would go wrong and it would be ruined.

Temari had admittedly been looking forward to the day with utmost joy. She had never been the romantic type (that was quite obvious from her awkwardness at the beginning of her and Shikamaru’s relationship), but after being with him for so long, Temari knew with every fiber of her being that she loved him more than life itself and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Despite his own awkwardness and inability to say what he was feeling, she knew Shikamaru felt the same way about her. The Leaf and Sand villages had been cooperating well to make the ceremony a success. Yet, somehow, Temari just could not shake her pre-wedding jitters.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sighed deeply as Ino brushed a splash of blush across her cheeks. She went to lean her cheek in her hand until Ino firmly smacked it aside, and Temari’s mouth twitched. “I’m not getting second thoughts or anything. I just want it all to go well… I’ll only get married once, after all.”

“Stop worrying about it!” Ino said and forced Temari to shut her eyes so she could apply some eye shadow. Temari wanted to quip that it was easier said than done, but there was no winning against her. Instead, she tried to heed the two girls’ advice and relax herself. Everything is going to be fine. Everything will go well. She kept repeating that in her head, and though her worries did not disappear completely, she did feel a little better. By then Ino had long since finished her make-up and had swung her chair around to begin tackling Temari’s tresses of golden hair, pulling it out of her signature fluffy pigtails and combing it meticulously. “Damn, Temari, your hair really is thick, you know?” Ino grunted as she tugged and pulled at the strands with the brush and wound them around a curling iron.

Yes, she knew. No one ever knew it, but Temari had always secretly hated her hair. It was untamable, a pile of fluff on her head that obeyed no brush or hair products. She just always tied it back so she wouldn’t have to think about it and no one would ever know. That is, until Shikamaru. He always told her how much he loved her hair, running his fingers through it while they talked, complimenting how it caught the sun. As she thought about it, her heart swelled and a smile formed on her lips. He would probably compliment her hair today, too. “Done!” Temari glanced up into the mirror and her mouth fell open slightly in shock. Ino had transformed her poofy, golden pigtails into a gorgeous up-do, with the strands curled and pulled back into a messy yet stylish bun and curling wisps falling about her face. Temari turned her face from side-to-side, simply amazed with the look.

“You look beautiful, Temari. You’re gonna knock Shikamaru dead,” Sakura mused as she appeared over her shoulder, leaning over as she similarly marveled the bride’s reflection. Sakura’s hair was much shorter, so she had simply braided her hair like a crown around the back of her head. It was simple, but very elegant, Temari thought.

“Sakura, will you help Temari into her dress while I do my hair and make-up?” Ino asked as she plopped down in the neighboring chair and began her work. Temari accompanied Sakura across the bridal suite where her dress was hanging from a closet doorframe. She and Shikamaru had elected for a white wedding rather than a traditional one; her gown was pure white, of course, but she had wanted a splash of color. The gown featured golden ribbons for the corset that bled into a stream of golden fabric flowing down her back and through the train, eventually spilling out into a golden puddle amongst the milky whiteness. The slim-fitting bodice was threaded with golden patterns. Temari had decided on a sleeveless dress, given they were doing a summer wedding. Just as Sakura was tying the last of the laces together and Ino was piling her bleach-blonde hair atop her head, there was a knock at the door. After her vigilant make-up and hair artists confirmed it was not her groom trying to catch a peek of her, her brothers walked in.

“Well, boys? What do you think of our handiwork?” Ino grinned at them through the mirror, too busy expertly poking bobby pins into her hair to turn around. Temari smiled bashfully as the two younger boys walked over to look her up and down.

“You’re radiant, big sister,” Gaara smiled sweetly up at her, and Kankuro nodded in agreement. The fact that they were there meant that the ceremony would begin soon. Temari had no father to walk her down the aisle, so she and Shikamaru had come up with the idea that her little brothers would have the honor instead. They were both wearing tuxedos with ties that matched to color of the accents on her wedding gown. They had both tried to slick their hair down, but their locks were as untamable as Temari’s, so they still looked a scruffy mess. It made her happy, though. When they were young she was afraid they would never be close, especially her and Gaara, but time had proven her wrong.

“We’ll give you a moment!” Sakura grinned as she carted Ino out into the hallway, the girl protesting all the while that she hadn’t had the time to put on lipstick. The boys watched them leave before looking back at Temari.

“Ya know, I never would’ve dreamed that you would’ve ended up marrying Shikamaru,” Kankuro commented with a smirk. Temari knitted her eyebrows together in confusion.

“Why’s that?” An awkward look and a blush appeared on his face and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck while looking away.

“Well, you’re… you know… And he’s… You know…” he mumbled incoherently. Temari just giggled; she had only been teasing him. She and Shikamaru certainly were an odd match in a lot of ways; they had begun as rivals in the Chunin exams, and she had found him unmotivated and unimpressive, but he had turned around and impressed her in their match. Somehow, she had found herself gravitating toward him, a slacker who would rather watch clouds than do his duty but somehow still commanded her respect with his devotion to his friends and village. He had grown a lot and Temari had enjoyed watching him grow, though he sometimes got on her nerves with how clueless he could be. He was really the embodiment that smart people could still be really stupid in other areas- in his case, the opposite sex. She must have started daydreaming, because when she focused back on her brothers, they were smiling knowingly at her. It was her turn to blush.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just the perfect picture of a gushing bride,” Kankuro snorted, then cried out in pain as she smacked up upside his head. “Ow! Stop! You’ll smear my face paint, Temari!” he whined as he ducked another blow. Gaara laughed under his breath.

“I think they’re a good match. Temari has always been the most intelligent of us. It makes perfect sense that she’d fall for someone like him,” he mused. Once more a pink hue painted her cheeks. She wasn’t used to so much compliment and praise, especially from her little brothers. Gaara was usually to busy with his Kazekage duties and Kankuro was frankly just a little asshole. She was glad for it, though. Without warning, she reached forward to hug both of them around their necks, pulling their heads to touch them to her own, surprising them both.

“I love you both so much. Thank you for being here for me.” Temari knew that she had not told them that she loved them enough, and she was going to end that habit right that instant. Whatever their differences and annoying quirks, they were still her blood, and her best friends. They were stiff for a few seconds, and then each of them wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“Yeah. We’re gonna miss you, Temari.” Kankuro was much too stubborn to come out and say it, but she knew that was just his way of returning her affections.

“Come and visit us,” Gaara added.

“Of course. I’m not going to be too far away, after all,” she smiled as she pulled back and looked at them. She then grinned widely and ruffled their already messy hair, causing them both to squeak protests and scramble away from her. While she laughed lightly, Sakura poked her head back into the door with a mix of a serious and overwhelmingly excited expression.

“It’s time!”

After the boys had settled down and she had tried to smooth down the spots in their hair sticking up with no success, they walked out of the room and down the hall to a winding staircase. The building was a popular spot for white weddings, which had risen in popularity in recent years; the upper level was the bridal suite while the bottom was a clear space for the ceremony. The reception would be in another area, with an even larger room and an outside pavilion. As she hovered in the landing of the staircase, she could hear the murmur of hushed voices. They didn’t want a huge wedding, so Ino was her Maid of Honor and Choji the best man, with Sakura as her other bridesmaid and Naruto her escort as Shikamaru’s other groomsman. They had already begun their procession down the stairs and down the aisle, and Temari hovered above the proceeding ceremony between her two brothers with mounting emotion. It wasn’t anxiety, but a fierce bubbling happiness that actually brought tears to her eyes. She closed her eyes and tried to compose herself with a shaky breath, knowing Ino would never forgive her if she cried after all that effort put toward her make-up.

“Hey. Don’t freak out on me now,” Kankuro smirked in her ear and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you nervous?” her other brother asked worriedly. Temari smiled, opened her eyes, and shook her head, alleviated simply by their presence… and the knowledge that the man she loved with all her breath was waiting for her only a small distance away.  

“No. I’m just… very, very happy.”

“Well, happiness looks good on you,” Kankuro smirked. Below, an attendant signaled that they should begin walking down, and the pair of boys each took one of her arms and began walking with her down the steps. The attendant passed her the bouquet as she passed, an arrangement of Ino’s of white and gold to mirror her dress, with splashes of blue to highlight her sky-blue eyes. They turned around the landing and Temari’s slippered feet met the roll of satin-like golden carpet sprinkled with white flower petals, and she lifted her eyes to look at the altar, where Shikamaru was waiting for her.

Seeing that smile on his face made her want to drop everything and run to him. Shikamaru never showed much emotion, but for once he let it all show; all the warmth and happiness and love in his expression rolled over that carpet to strike her like a tidal wave, making her actually stop in her tracks for a second. She managed to regain her composure when Gaara gave her a reassuring push in her back and began walking again. Her dress streamed behind her, pulling the flower petal with it. Temari supposed all the faces gazing at her were a mixture of awe and joy, but she didn’t know. Her vision was trained on Shikamaru, the man she loved so fiercely it felt like it hurt, the man who had won her heart and whose heart she had won herself. She didn’t even hear what her brothers said as they split off from her to sit down, and her hand extended on its own so Shikamaru could take it and pull her up onto the altar. She didn’t even look at the officiator; she just stared, captivated, charmed, hopelessly in love at her husband-to-be. She probably looked like an idiot but she could care less in that moment.

“You should probably be listening,” Shikamaru whispered to her with a chin nod to the man now speaking, and with a jolt and a flush of her cheeks she turned forward and actively began listening to the rites. Then she felt the strand of curled hair hanging beside her ear rustle and the tingle of Shikamaru’s breath against her skin. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”

“Thank you… You clean up well yourself.” Shikamaru looked fine as hell in his tuxedo, not that she would ever admit it aloud to him.

“I figured, with the way you were staring at me.” Temari puffed out her cheeks defiantly to stare up at him; of course, he had been baiting her, and was smirking in amusement. The officiator was still droning on about the blessing of marriage or whatever.

“I could still say ‘no.’”

“And miss out on netting this catch? I don’t think so.”

“You’re not a catch. More like a dirty shoe someone fished out of a dirty lake.” The officiator was either oblivious to their hushed back-and-forth banter, or simply didn’t care. Shikamaru laughed breathily, and while the officiator was looking off to the crowd, picked up that stray strand of golden hair and pulled it to his lips.

“Well, if I’m a dirty shoe, you must be the sun, because you’re glowing, Temari.” Temari opened and shut her mouth several times as she struggled to respond to that annoyingly smooth remark, while her groom laughed and hastily dropped her hair when the officiator returned his attention to them, as if nothing had happened at all. Ugh! He’s so annoying and so sexy at the same time! Such was the conundrum of their relationship; she hated when he got the one-up on her but damn it, she loved how smooth he could be when he managed to not be clueless about a woman’s heart. Shaken, she stumbled over her words as the officiator asked her to recite her lines, making Shikamaru smirk even more.

“I hate you,” she hissed at him as the clergy began to recite more lines. Her heart was pounding in her ribcage now, no longer from the excitement of the day but because he was so infuriatingly confident and suave at the moment.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be standing here, would you?” They were interrupted by the clergy’s prompting again, and without missing a beat, Shikamaru popped off the required words. Trying to hide her bitterness, Temari faked a lovely smile and a sweet tone to do the same, and after it was done, she immediately looked up at him dourly. “Hey, if you keep scowling like that, your face may freeze that way.”

“Shut up.” She was aggravated that she couldn’t think of anything smarter than that. Finally it was time for them to say their “I do’s,” and of course she wasn’t going to say no, but she sure was bristling at that point. Damn him and his smart little remarks… I’m not gonna lose! She fumed silently as Shikamaru responded to the priest, and barely listened as he turned to her. She stared at the man speaking, painfully aware as Shikamaru leaned over to whisper in her ear again, in just a way that the man didn’t notice.

“Come on, Temari, don’t you have anything better to say than ‘shut up’?”

“I do!” she snapped, ironically at just the right time. She went pink as the officiator looked at her funny and the crowd rustled with confused murmurs behind her. “A-ahem. I do,” she repeated more clearly and more calmly, shooting Shikamaru a side-eyed glare as he stifling his snickers. The clergy began droning on again. “You’re dead meat.”

“No, I’m a dirty shoe.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Since when is that new?” The officiator announced that they could kiss, and her face was nearly red by that point. She begrudgingly glared up at him as she turned to face him, him and that stupidly sexy snarky grin of his.

“You’re awfully confident today.”

“Well, I am marrying the woman of my dreams.” Temari’s eyes widened slightly, and instead of anger she felt a flood of amusement and happiness, because she finally had something good to respond to his awfully on-point banter.

“Well, that’s good. I’m marrying the man of my dreams.”

“That mean you won’t kill me?” he chuckled as he wound one arm around her waist, and swept his other hand across her forehead to brush away a lock of her golden hair like the sun.

“Not today, at least.”

“I’ll take it.”

Temari really did feel like she was glowing as he leaned down to softly press his mouth to hers, shining as brilliantly as the sun as the happiness filled her body and the sound of applause filled her ears. If she was Shikamaru’s sun, holding him by her gravity and bringing him light, he was her universe, the thing that made her whole and gave her meaning. When they pulled apart, she was gazing up at him with the same intensity of love and joy she had seen when she had first appeared on the aisle.

“I love you, even if you get on my nerves,” she smiled, her expression morphing into a coy and playful one.

“I love you, even if you can’t go one sentence without insulting me,” Shikamaru laughed and leaned forward again to plant a kiss on her forehead. They were about to start walking to the reception, but Kankuro suddenly sprung from the crowd and belly-flopped onto Temari’s train to clutch onto her leg.

“I take it back! Don’t leave!” Temari gawked down at him, amazed that he would abandon his pride and experience so much emotion, and then looked back when Gaara walked over.

“Um, Gaara, maybe you should-“ She was interrupted as he worldlessly grabbed her arm and buried his face into her shoulder, blushing profusely. She blinked, completely dumbfounded by the turn of events, then began laughing loudly. “Oh, good grief, what am I going to do with you two? I can’t be married for a minute, at least?”

“No. Marriage is over. Divorce him and come back with us forever,” Kankuro grumbled, his voice muffled by the trusses of fabric in his face. Gaara was still just silently clutching onto her like a newborn, his dignity as Kazekage on the line but still overwhelmed enough to be unable to resist. Shikamaru just stared down at Kankuro, absolutely floored and unsure of quite what expression to make.

“Guys, I’ll come visit.”

“Promise?!” they both shouted and looked at her pleadingly with their fingers digging into her dress.

“Yes!” she laughed, and they both looked at each other before begrudgingly detaching themselves from her. Shikamaru cocked an eyebrow as Kankuro shoved a finger in his face.

“I’m warning you. Make her unhappy and you’re dead.” He then whipped around to march down the carpet to the reception area with a very embarrassed Gaara trailing after him, until Naruto sprang on him to drag him off to go try some of the delicacies at the food table. Temari giggled and leaned her head on Shikamaru’s shoulder as she watched her adorable little brothers go.

“… Did I just have a stroke?” he asked as he looked down at her in confusion.

“Oh, you know how people get at weddings. Anything can happen.” He smirked and bonked his head against hers for a second before glancing up at the sky. Eyes still watching the clouds, same as always, she thought as she watched his dark eyes trace the puffy white ships across the blue ocean above. Now that she thought about it, he was like the clouds; unassuming, simple, but yet also capable of bringing storms when needed. While he was side-tracked, she stood on her tip-toes to peck him on the cheek. “We’d better get going before people start to get impatient.” His face screwed up in annoyance.

“Man, you mean this thing isn’t over yet?” he whined but obediently began walking her down the carpet.

“I warned you that marrying me would be a drag.”

Their playful arguing aside, Temari knew that Shikamaru was as happy as she was, and she found herself looking up at the clouds to. She was floating in the sky, carried by a wind of joy and unable to come down, with the man she loved right there next to her. Love was a drag, but a drag that was completely worth it when all was said and done. With that thought in her mind and happiness in her heart, she walked with Shikamaru into the arms of their friends and through the uncertain, exciting door of their future together…  

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

[artificialqueens]

Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca: Behind the Scenes (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Companion to the full Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca, explaining what the two of them were *really* up to when they were discovered.

Read the original stories: Season six, Courtney Act, Michelle Visage, Shangela, Alyssa Edwards

A/N: As the situations and explanations grew continuously more ridiculous, the explanations had to be almost completely mundane.  Let me know if you’d like to see me write these for Courtney and Michelle’s chapters.  Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Black and White Drama - Season Six

Walking back into the workroom, Bianca took one look at the confab taking place in the corner and made a neat 90-degree turn to her alcove instead.  While she wouldn’t mind talking with Darienne and DeLa, the last thing she wanted to deal with was the oncoming bout of drama Laganja was doubtless going to stir up.

The rhinestoned evening gloves went back into their mesh bag, followed by her bracelet and heavy earrings, then her wig separated back into sections (most definitely not thrown into a pile like some of the other queens).  Rubbing the indent on her shoulder, she unclipped the oversized sculpted bow, leaving her in just the bodice and ballgown skirt.

A quick glance around didn’t produce anyone who could help her out of the gown.  All of the other girls were still across the room focused on the lipsync surprise.  Adore was the only other one in the process of de-dragging, but it looked like she was too busy untucking to bother.

Bianca pulled the stuffing out of her bra cups before sucking in and twisting her arms to reach for the hooks and zipper.  The bodice came undone with a bit of effort and she started in on the skirt.  After hours on stage and in the lounge, she would be more than happy to have its weight off her padded hips.

The zipper slid down a couple of inches before getting stuck, and she rolled her eyes.  Of course.

Turning her back to the mirror, she could see where the zipper was hung up on the crinoline hoop.  She lifted the entire skirt far enough to slide her fingers under the catch, hoping to work it loose by feel.  It seemed to be snagged on several layers of fabric, which meant she was probably going to need help to avoid ripping any seams.

“Well shit,” she muttered, hiking up the skirt again to give it another try.  

She repeated the process again; this time when the zipper came back up, it caught on part of her corset lacing.  Giving a frustrated tug only resulted in pulling the lacing further, cord caught between the zipper teeth and hoop casing.  The sudden constriction surprised her into to dropping the skirt, its momentum yanking things even tighter.

Bianca gritted her teeth and made another attempt at getting free, but everything was too tangled at that point.  

“Ah…” Her voice came out thin and breathy.  Cursing silently, she leaned out to see if Laganja was done with her moment.

Nope.  Maybe Satan was actually here today.

Instead of wasting air to yell, she grabbed the nearest small object (a box of bobby pins) and lobbed it across room.  It bounced off Adore’s back and she jumped in surprise, looking left and right, but didn’t turn around.

The next thing to hand was a large sequined flower, which tangled itself in Adore’s wig.  She finally looked in her direction in confusion before responding to the urgent ‘come here’ gestures, tights halfway down her legs.

”Why’s your neck all blotchy and stuff?”

Even in her current predicament, Bianca had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.  

“ ‘M stuck,” she gritted out, pointing at her lower back and trying to stay calm.  Never let a bitch see you sweat.  “Can’t breathe.”

Adore immediately reached for a pair of scissors, but Bianca shook her head.  Comprehension dawned (thankfully) and Adore stepped behind her, trying to untangle the snag but only succeeding in making it worse still.  Bianca groaned, then grabbed her arm and lifted the front of the skirt.

”Hoop’s caught…underneath.”  

Adore dropped to her knees in front of her, frowning before sticking her head under the skirt, pushing aside layers of tulle until her hands met at the bottom of Bianca’s corset.  

Bianca's ears were starting to ring, and she dropped the skirt to grab Adore’s shoulders for support, breathing in shallow pants.  Sweat dripped from her hairline, and she really hoped that the skirt wouldn’t require a repair job.  

”Oh god, hurry up,” she forced out.  There was no way she was going to create reality tv drama by passing out on camera - particularly when the operators were all too busy filming in the corner to notice.  So much for safety on set.

“Think I’ve got it?” Adore’s voice was muffled by tulle and organza.  Whatever she did next loosened things enough for Bianca to draw in a little more air.

”Yes, almost there…I can feel it.  Watch the teeth,” she added as Adore tugged on the zipper.

“Chill, girl,” came the response from somewhere near her right hip, “I know how to use one.”

The tension in her corset eased all at once, and she heaved a huge breath.   Considering how little she knew about dress construction, Bianca had to give Adore credit for persistence (and not calling the other girls over to laugh).      

Right as the skirt came loose accompanied by a wave of relief (or maybe that was the blood rushing back into her midsection?), Laganja, DeLa, Darienne, and Joslyn tumbled to the floor less than ten feet away with a loud exclamation.  

Bianca really didn’t want to ask.

********

My name is Adore Delano and I’m a messy slut  - Shangela

The door swung shut after Katya, who called out something in Russian and was off in a cloud of blonde hair and eyeball-printed polyester, following Violet, Detox, and Alyssa.

Bianca added a couple more pins to make sure her wig was secure and gave it a last blast of hairspray, eyeing the arrangement of curls with a critical eye.  Beside her, Adore was frowning into the mirror as she dug into her bag of lipsticks.  Several tubes were laid out alongside opened lip liners, but she tossed the last one down with a groan.

”Something wrong?”  Bianca spoke around the bobby pin between her teeth.

”None of these are right.“

Once she could see the other side of Adore’s face, Bianca paused to take in the whole picture.  A series of roughly oval shaped blotches of lipstick covered the side of her neck, in no apparent pattern.  Combined with her red-smeared mouth, she looked like a vampire movie gone wrong.

”Crime scene realness?”

Adore slumped even further in her chair.  

“See, I had this idea for photos.  Like how I’m always saying I’m a messy slut?”

”…right.”  She raised an intrigued eyebrow, not sure where this was going.

”I wanted to make it look like the morning after.  You know, one of those nights you wake up after and don’t remember what happened until you look in the mirror?”

Bianca considered her glum expression in silence for a minute before giving into the urge to try and make her smile instead.  

“Want me to give it a shot?”

Receiving a shrug in response, she grabbed a makeup wipe and reached for a lip liner.  Unfortunately, a few minutes of experimenting with different colors and products left them with only marginally better results.

“None of it looks real enough,” she admitted reluctantly.  “Too bad Katya isn’t here, she’d probably bite your neck for free if you asked.”

Adore paused in scrubbing her neck clean for the fifth time.

”I dunno if the lipstick would show up anyway.  Guess I’ll have to do something else.”

Bianca hated the look of defeat, no matter the cause.  The colors all went on well enough, but it seemed impossible to reproduce the distinctive lip-print texture.  

“Hang on.  What if - let me see -”

She reached out to steady Adore’s chin, dusting her neck with loose powder to create an even surface.  Applying a fresh layer of lipstick, she leaned in and quickly pressed her lips to the freshly powdered skin, ignoring the bitter taste of makeup mixed with remover.

Adore eyed the results in the mirror and perked up. “Huh.”  

”Not bad, actually.”  Bianca had to admit it looked far better than their best attempts at drawing.

”Looks real.  I mean it is real, just it shows up pretty well.”

Bianca nodded and scrutinized her own face, checking for smudges.

“You know…”

”What?”

”Wanna do the rest?”

“Seriously, queen?"  Bianca fixed her eyes on Adore’s best hopefully innocent expression in the mirror.  "The things I do for you.”

Several coats of lipstick later, Adore’s neck was decorated with enough red lip prints that it resembled a Valentine’s Day card.

”That good?”  At this rate, she would have to redo her lip liner.  Again.  

”It needs more, but I dunno how to make it scream ‘messy slut’ to the camera.”

”I thought that would be obvious without the makeup.”

”Fuck all the way off. Although,” Adore tilted her head in a way that usually spelled trouble, “what about hickeys?”

“For real?  I swear I’m gonna go get Katya.”    

“Please B?  Just pretend I’m-“

“Finish that sentence and I really will cut up your wigs.”  

Bianca gave her a dead eye stare, receiving only a pleading pout in response.  

"Fine.  Up,” she pointed at the vanity table, “if I’m doing this right, I can’t lean down that far.”

“You’re the best, B!”

With one more long-suffering huff, she picked a spot over Adore’s collarbone and pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the skin.  Deliberately not thinking about what it would look like if anyone walked in, Bianca bit down carefully.

Half a second later, she reeled backwards, stars exploding behind her eyes.

“What the fuck?"  Bianca gingerly touched the bridge of her nose where it had collided with Adore’s shoulder when she flinched.

"Sorry!"  Adore sounded simultaneously apologetic and trying to fight off giggles.  "That tickled bad.  Promise I won’t do it again.”

Gripping Adore’s arms firmly to anchor herself, Bianca leaned back in.

“Try not to break my nose this time?”

“Can’t help it, it’s a big target.”

“You’re lucky I love you, bitch, because this is just weird.”

********

The Naked Truth - Alyssa Edwards

Bianca didn’t so much wake up as be bludgeoned into consciousness by the headache.  She might have been able to ignore her throbbing temples if they hadn’t been accompanied by the feeling of her brain sloshing around inside of her head.  Her chest felt horribly heavy, and the sheets might as well be a sauna.

There was a reason she liked to stick to wine.  This felt like the mother of all hard alcohol hangovers.

Opening her eyes didn’t help much, because all she could see was a mass of dark hair that seemed to be covering her entire face.  Last night was a slightly blank spot, and Bianca closed her eyes again and tried very hard not to move.

Did she pass out before de-dragging?  It didn’t happen often these days, but it was always a possibility.  That might explain why she was having trouble breathing, except the constriction stretched unevenly from just under her collarbone on the right down across both hips.  

A low groan directly into her ear made her flinch hard enough that her head started spinning.  

Shit.

What was most definitely not a corset resolved itself into an arm and leg rather effectively pinning her in place, at least until the hangover wore off enough that she could pry the limbs off.  

Bianca tried to turn her head to see who might be sharing her bed, feeling stubble brushing against her cheek.

At least it probably wasn’t a woman.  That would be even more awkward.

Whoever it was had their face pressed against her shoulder, breath fanning hot over her throat.  Another groan that sounded more alert was followed by lips pressing purposefully up the side of her neck and the hand starting to slide teasingly across her ribs.

Great.  A morning sex person.  After whatever night she’d had, that was firmly off the table.

Bianca glanced down her own body and silently thanked whatever deity watched over drag queens as the MEOW tattooed on the hand currently roaming her torso swam into focus.

Identity panic resolved, Bianca set about trying to get free.

”Ahh-“ The name caught in her dry throat, and she tried again.

”Adore.”

”Mmmmm….whuh?”  Adore nuzzled the skin behind her ear.

”Do you mind?”

The fingers stopped mid-caress, and Bianca relaxed when the lips pulled away from her neck.  She’d tease Adore about mistaking her for trade after the hangover wore off.  

“Sorry.”

Her sense of relief vanished as she suddenly became aware of two things.  

One, Adore was naked.  That in itself wasn’t an unusual state of being, although she always wore at least underwear to bed if they were sharing.  

Two, and more distressingly, Bianca realized that she was too.

Frozen in place, she met sleepy green eyes with a look of dawning panic as Adore pushed herself up on one arm and raised the other hand to her face.  Glancing down their bare bodies, she voiced Bianca’s sentiments perfectly.

”Oh fuck.”

****

Being a drag queen meant viewing your sisters in various states of undress with the same disinterest as when they were clothed.  The ABCD shared dressing rooms often enough that most of the time, no one even bothered to go into the bathroom to tuck, and Adore was notoriously unselfconscious about standing around in a skimpy thong or nothing at all.  

A drunk Adore was handsy and flirtatious, and being drunk with Bianca tended to erase their already barely existent sense of personal space.  They’d fallen asleep together countless times over the years in any number of locations (tour buses, taxis, Courtney’s living room floor), to the point that waking up tangled around each other was the closest thing to normal.

None of that made waking up naked in bed together any less awkward.

Bianca yanked the sheets around her waist as Adore scrambled back with what was probably an identical expression of shock.

”Ummmm.”

Adore frowned around the pillow she had clutched to her chest.  One eye still had a mostly intact winged liner and streaks of dried melted mascara ran down her other cheek.  Bianca turned to her own reflection in the mirror above the desk, cringing when it revealed actual raccoon-like eyes from the mess of dark eyeshadow smeared up her forehead.

They stared at each other for a few seconds longer, until Bianca thought she could keep her voice steady.

“Do you remember last night?”

“Uhhh…we did a show.  At that club?"  Adore moved the pillow to her lap and tilted her head in thought.

”…yeah.  After that,“ Bianca groaned.  "Also, where the hell are our clothes?”

“Oh.  Here?” She leaned across to the other bed, lifting a pile of pleather and mesh that squelched unappealingly, water dripping onto the carpet.  “Think yours is over there?”

The sequined mini dress she’d worn to perform in was laid on a towel across the table next to the sections of her wig, tights draped over the back of one of the chairs.  She lifted the dress, ignoring the cold air hitting sensitive body parts.

“B?"  Adore had come around the bed and was standing on the other side of the table, wringing water into the wastebasket. “What are you doing?”

Bianca raised her head from sniffing at the dress fabric.  “Smells like bleach.”

“Is it cum?”

“For fuck’s sake Delano, how much cum would it take to soak an entire dress?  I’m not that much of a whore.  And it looks like water.”

“…actually, mine does too.  And I am that slut.”

“Not helpful.”

Her heels were underneath the chair, one on its side and slightly damp.  The other was upright with a small puddle of water still inside, the smell even stronger than her dress.

Sitting back down on the bed, Bianca felt more pieces slide together in her brain with an almost audible click.

“Alyssa bought us shots.  We walked back after, pretty sure we weren’t breaking any public decency laws.”

“Being naked is natural.  People are uptight.”

“Still not helping."  

"Ummmm.” Adore paused with her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth.  On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous.

“Hey, I remember!  There were hot guys in the pool.”

“…chlorine.”

“Oh.  Oh!  Right.”

“Bet you went in fully dressed.”

Adore fumbled on the other nightstand for her phone, scrolling to the camera roll, then burst out laughing.

Bianca snatched it from her unresisting fingers and blinked in surprise.  The last photo was a selfie, with a grinning Adore in a sopping wet wig, makeup running down her face.  Next to her, a much less amused and equally waterlogged Bianca, normal pouf of curls hanging limp across her shoulder and eyelashes missing.

“I’m not going to ask how I ended up in the pool, but I’m willing to bet it’s your fault.”

“Hey!  That’s not fair.”

“It’s usually your fault.”

“…true.”

Someone knocked on the door, startling them both.  Bianca checked the clock - 10:30 am.  Probably one of the other queens wondering where they were.

Alyssa’s voice came through the door, loud and clear, and she sighed.  Shifting, she checked for something to put on, but other than the still-wet drag, there didn’t seem to be anything else to hand.  The knocking became more insistent, and Bianca called back a reply.

She looked at Adore, who shrugged and stood up to start digging in her suitcase.

“Great,” Bianca muttered, grabbing a pillow off the bed.  “the Haus of Edwards is going to have a field day over this.”

[0erasurehero0]

The Reaper of Ashmore: Chapter two

Hey, it’s been a while! Finally I have updated The Reaper of Ashmore (TROA)! I’m excited for what you think!

@rayonfrozenwings @dragonbound135 @a-court-of-ink-and-paper @i-put-the-sass-in-assassin @repressed-feels-syndrome @the-bookish-soul

I tagged those who were in the comments and those who asked to be tagged. If you want to be tagged for further updates just say so. I’m sorry if I missed anyone.

                                                 Chapter Two:

                                                 Wake Up Call

 Groaning, Ash slipped from the black, silk sheets and stepped into the bathing chamber. A large, claw foot tub leaned against the far wall; the sink stood on the right along with the toilet. On the left wall was a rack that held towels, bath products, and clothes. A door on the left led to the walk-in closet.

        She turned the faucet and began running a hot bath--it was to relax her muscles, which seemed to twist together when she got drunk. These days, it feels as if her muscles are twisted every other day.

        Reaching behind her, Ash plucked the bottle of bath salts off from the ground and poured some into the bath. The water was so hot that steam billowed all around her. She sighed; this was going to be wonderful.

        Slipping off the robe that hung closely to her hips, Ash carefully stepped into the bath, hissing at the warmth that greeted her.

        She stayed in the water until it was cold, or to the point where her toes were so pruned she looked like she had aged a hundred years.

        Stepping out of the tub, she got dressed quickly--dark red undershirt, brown leathers on her chest, shoulders, knees, wrists, and elbows, brown, knee-high boots, and a pair of black pants. These were the clothes she wore most around the kingdom. She had a nicer pair of leathers, full body on, that she wore when traveling.

        Or when she felt particularly good-looking that day.

        Ash ran her hair through a towel, it would dry quickly considering it was so short, and stood in front of the mirror.

        Her skin was as pale as snow, her dark, brown short hair (styled as an undercut) hung slightly in her face. She quickly fixed it so that most of the hair was slicked back, except for one short piece that was flipped and hung in her face. But it wouldn’t affect her activities.

She found herself as being...pretty. Pretty boyish, that is. It wasn’t her fault. She knew a lot of women in her family that were the same way. It was just something in her genes.

        But she couldn’t deny the fact that she liked it this way. Her looks attracted the attention both of that of men and women, giving her an advantage in the dating world.

        As if she’d date at all. No one wants the commander--they want the royal.

        The clock on the wall dinged, indicating that it was time for the classes to begin. Ash turned to leave, but stopped short when she realized she was forgetting something. She snatched up the sunglasses from the bathroom counter and swiftly made her escape.

                                              ******************

        The halls were eerily quiet at this time in the morning. No one was awake except for the students, who were kept in a separate wing in the palace.

        She stopped by the kitchen and grabbed one of the pastries that her favorite cook left for her--a middle-aged woman with olive skin and dark, greying hair. Her eyes were a forest green that always seemed to be alight with joy.

        “Thanks Madame Renee!” I slipped out of the kitchen, but listened for Renee’s reply.

        “That child--always in a hurry.”

        Laughing, Ash jogged down the hall.  

        Swiftly making her way down the winding corridor that encompassed many rooms that held sleeping royals and royal advisors, Ash went over today’s agenda:

        First, eat breakfast.

        She stared down at the half-eaten pastry in her hand and smiled a closed lipped smile. Check.

        Second, find out whether the shop has obtained any more steel or not. Preferably the kind that can be stained with color for pleasing-my-eyes-type-of-purposes.

        “Ah, so we’ve already begun the day with a tedious task. Wonderful,” she said to herself.

        Ash came to a stop at two tall, mahogany double doors. They were intricately designed with patterns of the tails of snakes, dragons, sea serpents, the marks of sharp-clawed beasts, flowers, vines, what seemed to be a child-like drawing of wind, and words written in the ancient language. All this was carved into the mouth of a sharp fanged wolf. The top of the mouth started at the top of the doors, widening all the way to the bottom of the doors.

        Ash smiled to herself. According to knowledge of only her, her brother, and her mother, Ash had helped design that door. With the help of her Vallasar, Zenaida, they two of them spent a month of brainstorming, sketching, then carving into the two large slabs of mahogany. It was one of her favorite things she had ever created, especially since she did it with Zenny.

        Ash gave a little knock as a warning that she was about to enter and pushed open the doors.

        She stepped into chaos.

        People milled about the room, using their outside voices, giving her a headache. They jumped person to person, pointing something out on a piece of paper or object that they held. She saw a group of blondes bent over some papers, maps, and figurines on a table in front of the far wall. A wall completely open to the outside world. Magic kept things from getting in and from getting out.

        Oh, and glass, of course.

        Ash frowned and strode over to the table full of blondes in the back of the room. She considered what all the hubbub could possibly be about, but nothing rang a bell. The only thing she could determine it being was that they called for a meeting that she simply just wasn’t invited to.

        What a bunch of cowards, she thought to herself. Too scared to come and talk to me when I’ve woken up with a hangover. I’m not that bad.

        If she were honest with herself, Ash quite enjoyed the fact that they feared her. It gave her a sort of leverage.

        She stopped in front of the group of people and leaned against a pillar that lined the steps leading up to the dais where the table stood. No one turned. No one even seemed to notice her.

        Rubbing her hands together, Ash cleared her throat.

        Again, no one turned.

        Clapping her hands together once and clearing her throat with obvious annoyance, Ash was finally able to gain the attention of the blondes.

        They turned in unison.

        The royals. The king, queen, prince, and princesses.  King Rynses was a…burly man. He was covered in hair, heavy set and still slightly muscular around the arms from sword training, and riddled with power. It seemed to pool off him in waves of green.

        Power had a visible color to her while others never could see it.

        Her step mother, the queen, stood tall in all her green glory. She was a perfect match for the king, Ash had noticed a long while ago. The older woman, around in her fifties, wore an emerald gown etched in silver and gold around the bodice, sleeves, and hem of the dress. She smiled wickedly when she realized who it was that interrupted their meeting.

        Her father huffed.

        “I was wondering where you were! I sent Willham to go get you up, but I guess he forgot.” The king swung is head over to Ash’s little, half-brother. The fourteen-year-old smiled apologetically.

        Her father turned back around, a warm smile coating his face. He always seemed to smile so wide that his eyes would automatically close. She loved it.

        “Ash, my dear, we’ve noticed a few problems have begun to arise in Ether. We’re not sure what it is that’s causing the issues but…we know what the issue is.” The king rubbed his face, a heavy, tired sigh rising from him.

        “And? What’s the problem?” I pushed off from the pillar and crossed my arms. I could feel my heart beginning to beat to rhythm of excitement.

        “Things aren’t dying,” he whispered.

        Ash’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to gasp. Her eyes widened with disbelief.

        As if! I would have known. I would have felt it!

        “That can’t possibly be! What are the statistics…what are the numbers? How many are past their death date?”

        Out of nervous habit, I began tapping my foot against the linoleum. The clicking of my shoe rang out against the room and it gained the attention of a few onlookers. My heart began racing to the beat of fear, confusion, and fury.

        Only one creature can stop death.

        A death god.

        And one seems to be messing with the fabric of life.

        That son of a bitch, Ash thought. And an idiot at that. A death god knows better than to stop death. Especially without permission from the mother goddesses.Or from their own mother. Even a mother can change an all powerful god’s mind.

        “Ash, I need you to round up a team of Reapers and head into Ether to deal out death slips.” Ash, I need you to round up a team of Reapers and finish the job. Kill those who did not die.

        She hadn’t been sent on a mission in a while. What about her vacation…she was supposed to leave tomorrow for…well, she forgot where she was supposed to be going but it didn’t matter. It was a break from this place.

        “And on the matter of your vacation…after you’ve done your job, you and your students may stay in Ether for two more weeks to do as you please.”

        It was still a vacation and she’d take it. Ash gave her a father a smile and bowed before running out of the room.

        Her father yelled out, stopping her for a second. “Ash?”

        “Yes, your majesty?”

        “Appoint a second, third, and fourth in command. I’ve noticed the trouble you get into. It might be best to have backups…just in case.”

        Ash lifted her chin. “The probability of me dying is a low one.”

        King Rynses raised his head in turn. “But it is a probable one.”

        And with that, Ash ran out of the room and made her way toward her classroom. Class would be taken outside later today.

        The room teemed with tired souls and some of those few that were always hyper. Ash made her way toward her desk and set down a cup of coffee.

        She had a feeling she would need two more cups before the end of today’s lesson.

        “Good morning! How is everyone today?” Always greet the class with a smile and go-lucky expression. The first lesson on how to get your students to somewhat like you.

        A series of groans and grunts filled the room. Ash’s smile faltered as she realized this was going to be slightly difficult if no one wanted to cooperate. With a sigh, she walked to chalk board near the right wall and began writing down today’s objective.

        Defeat level twenty angel. Raise a level forty demon. I placed the chalk back into its spot and read over what I wrote. They were ahead in their demon studies. I had always preferred demonology over angelology. Demons were, after all, her specialty.

        Someone from the top row whistled. “Is there some special thing or exam going on that we should know about? Because raising a level forty demon is way ahead in our lessons.”

        There could be a slight chance, Ash thought to herself, that I forgot to mention that they stopped on raising a level twenty-five demon. They go by fives, except that the first demon is a level one.

        Ash squared her shoulders and swung around to face her students. She gave them a toothy grin, her capped fangs glinting in the light. Too many sweets as a child.

        “Well, you see, we’ve come face to face with a real issue. I need all of you trained. Fully trained.”

        Someone scoffed. “The new year practically began yesterday, and you want us trained fully by the end of this day? How in the realms are you gonna accomplish that?”

        “First, Seraphine, use proper grammar. It’s ‘going to’ not ‘gonna’. And you shouldn’t underestimate me. You’d be surprised by what your mentor can accomplish in one day.”

        The room was silent, the only sounds being that of pen tapping and feet shuffling. Ash huffed.

        “A lot! I can do a lot in one day!”

        I was pretty sure this day was going to last a lot longer than I had anticipated. I was just hoping that the students would understand, would listen.

        “Wait, does that mean we’re going to be fighting really soon?”

        Ash glanced up toward the top row of seats. A young man, around the age of twenty-three, her age, was seated far into his seat. It was as if he was trying to hide.

        “Ah, that. Well, I’m not so sure. But by the end of the day I will be taking three of you with me to Ether to attend a mission with me. Those three will be named my second, third, and fourth in commands. Today’s lesson is a competition.”

        I swiftly made my way towards the chalk board and drew out my plan for the lesson.

        “There will be ten teams of three. I will give each team a paper with six objectives written down that you must complete in the span of an hour. The objectives are pretty easy to understand; three of them are to defeat a certain level angel and three are to raise and control a certain level demon. The levels will be a surprise. Use the techniques you’ve learned these past few months; all of them will help you. I will not make you do anything I know you can’t do. If you lose control of a demon or angel, I will be there to assist you. I will hover over each team for ten minutes apiece. One team will have my help in the beginning and the other at the end.

        I will select who will be on each team. I will select who I help first and in what order I want to help them. I won’t stand there for ten minutes for each team, I’ll spread the time out. Maybe I’ll help you for five minutes in the beginning and then five minutes at the end. Or I’ll help you for two minutes here, four minutes there, and another four minutes some other time. This class is dismissed.”

        Everyone packed their things and began to leave, but before they could go I stopped them.

        “I’ll have some syllabuses ready later when we begin. For now, dress in your reaper gear and eat something. Rest your bodies. Try to stay relaxed as this is not for a grade. Really, just think about is a competition.”

        Again, they turned and opened the door, but I had remembered one last thing and stopped them once more.

        They groaned and turned to face me.

        “And remember—if you do win and go with me to Ether…you can die. You do not gain your indestructible abilities until after graduation. Please, remember that. But do not slow your team down because of this. If your team wins and you do not want to go, I will replace you with someone on the second-place team. Now, you may leave.”