#and uh. drawing them badly. and it’s one thing if it’s a beginner or a kid and a few features are wrong

[cherrysnax]

when I was a kid I was rlly upset that art teachers didn’t like anime-inspired art, and then I realized it wasn’t the anime aspect. jumping into highly stylized art without knowing the fundamentals AND with a refusal to learn them is a bad combo

[slava-perunu]

Finding Identity in Purity is a Mistake.

One of the things I've really had to challenge myself on, as somebody who has been pagan for 15 years now, is how insular and venomous some pagan spaces used to be online compared to how they are now, and how much the culture shaped me. At one point I was a member of a very popular Ásatrú (Heathenry as a term really hadn't caught on at the time and the term wasn't as loaded then) group, with maybe five thousand members. I was a teenager, and like most teenagers, I wanted to be accepted. Badly. And this was The Group. It had big, important community members in it. The culture was aggressively reconstructionist. There were Rules, both written and unwritten, and if you followed them you got to dogpile people who didn't. It was incredibly toxic.

This group was very proud of its "Shame Culture." That's not me trying to coin a term to badmouth them, that's literally what they called it. If you stuck out, you were Shamed. There were frequent threads dedicated to mocking members who were bullied out of the group. If you were out of line with the group Opinion, you'd be dogpiled until you lost your cool, and then banned for being angry.

As you can imagine, after a while I quietly left, but that group left its mark. I was out of the community, but I still struggled with its demand of absolute historical purity. Even more so when many of the group's Approved Beliefs began being contested by new research and being less popular. Suddenly well defined pantheons were no longer the law of the land and verboten deities (It's Loki, I'm talking about Loki) were acceptable, and somehow at 20 I felt like an old man yelling at clouds. Those things couldn't be right. Blót meant blood and Loki was made up and there was a perfect historical recreation of Real, Authentic Heathenry that was just waiting to blossom, after all the fake heathens and Wiccatru crazies (labels that were, upon reflection, aimed by group members almost exclusively at women and LGBT+ people) were chased out or shamed into submission. This is not a healthy mindset.

I hope it is obvious that I have not retained these beliefs. I regret ever giving them credence. It's a shame that I fell for them, but I am also not surprised that I did. They prey exactly upon the worst excesses of the feelings that can draw young people (especially young men, I'd say) to paganism in the first place- this idea of a unique, rugged, authentic spirituality hidden behind misinformation that only the brave and intelligent care enough to find. I was an angry, socially isolated young nerd, and that's exactly the thing that angry, socially isolated young nerds desperately want to hear: "Not only are you special, you're special on a cosmic level. You're one of the only guys who worship the True Gods in the Right Way."

I feel like moving towards Slavic Paganism helped me break away from that toxic mindset. First, in that it allowed me to be a beginner again as an adult. No expertise, no seniority, I had to sit down and listen. Second, in what I heard when I did: "We don't know." That was terrifying to hear when I started. What if I did something wrong? What if I messed up? Tearing the bandage off and realizing that those things mattered less than I had believed allowed me to grow.

Third, and probably silliest, was that it's called Slavic Paganism. I know, it's got other names, but those are, uh, complicated. But that second word was important. "Heathenry" lets you be separate. You're not a nut like those eclectic Pagans, you're a real Heathen. You tell somebody in America you're a Rodnover (or whatever other label you might choose) and they ask you what that means, and you mumble back "pagan" as quiet as you can. You have an identity beyond that, but you're not better because of it.

Don't fall for the grift that young me did. Wanting historical authenticity is perfectly fine. I still try and make my practice as historically accurate as I can, and people peddling outright lies as divine truth are still causing harm. But basing your identity on Purity is another story. Don't chase Purity, because you'll never catch it. It's a bald faced lie. The chase is long and fruitless and you hurt people as you pass. If you become obsessed with Purity, it'll eat you from the inside out and turn you cruel. Purity is the white whale of reconstructionist paganism, and it'll drag us all under if we let it.

[theclownprnc-arch]

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME: Roy PRONOUNS: he/him but they/them is fine too ZODIAC SIGN: Sagittarius TAKEN OR SINGLE: taken for granted 😤 still in a fulfilling relationship with the shadowman lounging around in the corner of my eye

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

— I genuinely hate talking about myself. Guess that counts as the first fact? But, alright, for starters: back in September I defended my thesis revolving around new genres of criticism (focusing on forms of literary criticism on the internet) and on one hand I do want to go into that direction more, but on the other hand, I fucking hate academia (just as much as I can’t stand Rupi Kaur’s work, don’t @ me) for countless reasons and I want nothing to do with it anymore. But… Time will show.

— My perhaps main interest is art and nowadays I’m trying to find more time to draw/paint as regularly as I used to. On a related note, I seriously consider diving into tattooing and in the near future, I want to finally get the beginner’s kit and start practising (yeah, about to treat myself as canvas too *wink*).

— I have two cats — Rufus and Gucci. They’re both assholes, but they’re pretty cute. Rufus is around ten years old, walking definition of If Looks Could Kill™ and a few days ago he stole a french fry from me. Gucci has the mentality of a possum (loves trash), doesn’t meow and he vibes with some of my vegan meat-substitutes.

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: I actually started on Instagram, but quickly moved on to Tumblr. In the meantime, I also tried to roleplay on forums, but it wasn’t really my cuppa. Sometimes I also write on Discord.

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: Throughout those years I’ve written mostly muses you could call, I guess, masculine-presenting. A few times I actually did try to write female characters, but each time it was triggering my dysphoria rather badly, so eventually, I gave up. LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S): I don’t think I have any? I mean, there are certain faces I’m not a big fan of (like that Timothee something dude), but I’m not sure if it would be enough to discourage me from writing with a certain person. As long as the character is fire, the faceclaim doesn’t matter that much to me. MULTI OR SINGLE: Tried my hand at multi once and, uh, it’s kind of dead in a ditch now, so personally I do prefer managing single blogs, but I love and appreciate anyone with a multimuse blog.

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF: I enjoy it in moderate doses, mostly because I feel like I’m not that good at writing fluff. Though there are days when fluff’s the only thing I wanna wallow in. ANGST: Give me. That’s good McFreakin’ food. There’s nothing I love more than the sound of my tears hitting the keyboard. SMUT: Mixed feelings about that one? Like, I’ve had some terrible experiences with smut that for a long time I was reluctant to write it and I’m still very selective with who I write it with. However, in the long run, I feel like I’m running out of good enough euphemisms (no, we’re not naming body parts in this circus tent). PLOT / MEMES: Plotting makes it way easier for me to really get into the dynamic and whatnot, but sometimes my head is too empty to put together a worthy idea. As for memes, it’s no secret that I’m a hoarder (but trust me, I’m doing my best to get more tidy with them). I like keeping them around for times when I’m not feeling my drafts, but I still want to write something. They’re also great ice-breakers.

TAGGED BY: @alreadybrcken​ ( thank you! ) TAGGING: youuuuu :o)

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 12

Masterpost

"I'm not sure that's actionable," Pepper remarks. "We don't want to burn our source, after all."

"It's useless anyway if we don't know where they'll move," Fury states coldly. "So nothing changes. You'll keep observing Barrandov and once they pack up and leave, we'll start patrolling the entire city until we find them again. The other ones are located, yes?"

"Yes," Sharon confirms. "We'll pull back now in order not to make them suspicious, only check in once in a while that they're still there."

"Bílá Hora's under control," Natasha mutters. "That's what he said."

"Time's running out," Fury reminds them. "So, how is the ice block?"

"I don't know," Tony replies. "How are you?"

"Fuck off," Natasha hisses.

"I was talking to Fury," Tony replies graciously. "It turns out you can actually be a nice person, you just don't like us."

"Stop acting like fucking children," Fury interrupts. "Banner?"

Bruce rubs the dark circles under his eyes. "I don't know. I looked at the vampire blood and it's got some properties that… The frozen man might have not gotten frost damage, my colleagues might be right about that, but if we're going to thaw him, we'll need to reconstruct a lot of tissue. And maybe injecting him with vampire blood could do that. I might be colossally wrong, though."

"You'd turn him into a vampire," Fury states.

"Injecting vampire blood does not turn you into a vampire," Bruce replies. "That has been extensively studied, in Russia, ask Natasha. Only the poison bite. I looked at the poison and the blood and… it's not very scientific but think of a beehive. The vampire cells in the blood are workers, they can't reproduce, so they just do their job until they fall apart. The poison, though, has the bee queens. They keep churning out workers and new queen cells, and that never ends. So, if we inject him with vampire blood, the workers will repair his body and then die, leaving him a functioning and human body. I hope. Again, I'm at the very start of understanding this massively complex system, it might totally backfire."

"The guy also must have frozen really really quick," Tony adds. "So there would be no real cause of death. He's just frozen in time."

"Do we even know if it's a guy?" Pepper asks critically. "You can't really make that out, in the ice."

Tony snorts. "Well, if it's a woman, she's certainly very tall and has very broad shoulders, cupcake."

"But we have no idea who he is," Clint remarks.

"None," Fury confirms. "They fished him out off the coast of Norway. He was inside some sort of plane but the cold salt water has corroded that so badly they haven't figured it out yet."

"But you'd need a lot of vampire blood, right?" Sam asks. "For his whole body."

"Oh yeah." Bruce rubs his eyes again. "A lot."

"I don't think Natasha's friend will give us that," Tony comments. "Depending on how much she has him under her thumb."

Yeah, they're not even on good terms. "Not an option. I could get a little, probably, but not a lot ."

"What if we smoke out a hunting party?" Sam suggests. "The one near Central Station. Three vampires. I mean, the Castle won't be surprised that we're hunting them."

"We couldn't hit them with silver, though," Sharon objects. "Contaminates the blood."

"That's gonna be tough," Clint remarks. "Without our weapons."

"We can still break their bones," Natasha argues. "Snap their necks. Cut their heads off with anything that's not silver. Even if we can't fully kill them, we can incapacitate them enough that we can get their blood, and then we can drive a wooden stick through their hearts."

"You're vicious," Tony remarks. "Seriously, you want to bring live vampires into the lab?"

"I'm not comfortable with that," Bruce announces. "Also, the UV traps will burn them to a crisp, even if you drag them in here."

"Turn them off for a short while," Sam suggests. "We're not going to be overrun because of that. And collecting the blood outside the lab is just not possible, we don't have the equipment for that."

"True," Bruce admits. "Maybe we could… cordon a part off for that."

"So," Fury states. "A raid."

"We are a lot of people," Clint admits. "Only three vampires, even if they're trained. It's doable."

"We were going to do it sooner or later anyway," Pepper reminds them.

"Barton, Carter, you know all the exits, draw up a plan," Fury orders. "Everyone else, keep staking out Barrandov, even if it's pointless, keep up the appearances. Banner and Stark stay in the lab, of course."

"My… friend might stop by tonight," Natasha offers. "Not sure, though."

"Might?" Tony repeats. "I better fucking hope he does. I really need the X-ray. Yeah, yeah, it won't kill him, we checked."

"Well, then we're all good," Fury remarks. "Now, get the fuck to sleep, you all look like zombies."

  She sleeps late into the afternoon. Sharon is in the gym, boxing against a sandbag. She almost turns right around but has already been noticed. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," Natasha replies unenthusiastically.

"I'm not that good in unarmed hand-to-hand," Sharon admits, punching the sandbag again. "So I thought I'd train a little. Did you sleep well?"

"No," Natasha confesses. "Bunch of nightmares."

"Mhm." Sharon lowers her fists, breathing, sweat forming on her forehead. "I get those, too. I think every hunter does."

"Maybe," Natasha sort of agrees. "Uh, we could try sparring, if you want."

"Oh, sure." Sharon unwraps her hands. "You should get warmed up, though."

Natasha sighs, grabbing a jumping rope. "Right. Give me a minute."

"Mhm, sure." Sharon rolls her head slightly. "You didn't seem very happy this morning, if I may say so. Something with your friend?"

Natasha snorts, over the whipping sound. Yeah, how can she explain that. "I might have pissed him off again."

Sharon shrugs. "Happens, right? What was it about?"

She finds she doesn't want Sharon to view his involvement in their endeavor with suspicion. "I don't know. Just the- mixing of an interpersonal relationship and work, I guess. That always kills it."

"Quite the opposite, I'd say," Sharon disagrees. "He wouldn't be here if not for you, after all. You should be proud of that."

She's running out of breath, so she just bites her lip and says nothing, skipping over the rope. Sharon starts stretching, quietly. Someone's in the kitchen, frying something noisefully. Natasha stops, finding she kind of wants to talk. If it works for Pepper and Sharon and everyone else, really, why not for her? "I just- I don't know if- No, I guess that's too much."

"No, no, tell me," Sharon encourages. "Anything. Won't tell anyone else, promise."

Natasha sighs and goes to stuff the rope away, avoiding eye contact. "Maybe it's dumb but- what if he just wants sex?"

It's out, as cringy as it is. "Oh," Sharon remarks, pushing up and sweeping a fashionable escaped strand of hair back. "Oh. No, that's not dumb. Not at all. He's a vampire, after all."

Natasha snorts absent-mindedly. Right. "Maybe not all vampire."

"This job takes a lot," Sharon goes on. "Physically and mentally and- just, how it changes you. But there's gotta be limits. And sleeping with a vampire is one of those, I'd say."

Oh. Now she feels- every time she tries to do the same things as everyone else, the normal things, she ends up feeling bad about herself, like she's different, almost in human. "Forget about it."

"No, no, that's a totally real concern," Sharon interrupts. "You shouldn't feel that, just because he's helping us, that you have to do everything to keep him hooked. No one can ask that of you. Draw a line. And for him, just… just keep him at arm's length, as much as possible, without totally driving him away, of course."

Turns out Sharon is way more cynical than she looks. "No, really, forget about it. Come on, get in the ring."

Natasha holds the ropes up for her. "I'm glad you're talking to me, though," Sharon remarks, climbing through. "So, what are we doing?"

Natasha shrugs, feeling more comfortable. "Dunno. You have some training, right? Not a total beginner?" Sharon nods. "Okay, then let's just go. Hit me."

Sharon breathes deeply, taking a fighting stance. She strikes out with a hit and a kick, but Natasha grabs her leg, pulls it up and throws her down. Sharon hits the ground hard. Natasha doesn't waste time, moving to side control, pinning her opponent to the ground from the side of her torso, applying weight to her chest, slamming her chin up so that she can't bite- oh, tapping out. Shit. She gets up quickly. "Oh, sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah," Sharon rasps out, rubbing her jaw. "Wow, you really don't pull your punches."

"Habit," Natasha admits, pulling her up. "Vampire's way stronger, way faster, can't take any chances."

"No, you're right," Sharon agrees. "Did you do that a lot?"

Natasha shrugs. "In the beginning, when we didn't yet know what would work… we just broke them down, physically, incapacitate them, then cut off their head, burn them, all that. Wasn't very refined. Didn't have good tools either."

"Sounds brutal," Sharon remarks.

"Certainly," Natasha confirms. "Wanna go on?"

"Oh yeah," Sharon says. "Don't wanna get eaten by vampires after all."

  "Uh, hey," Natasha remarks. "Can I ask you something weird?"

"Great start," Sam comments, licking his finger. "Why, what is it?"

"Do you think I should pray?" Natasha asks, picking around her salad. "Even if I don't believe? Or is that blasphemous?"

Sam chuckles. "I don't know. Do you feel like praying?"

"I definitely feel like I should do something," she replies. "Something that's not… running around and killing things, you know? Something pure ."

"Try cooking," Sam suggests. "No, really. Praying is kind of like talking to Allah, and if you don't believe in that, it's probably weird. Or meditation. Everyone's different."

Natasha snorts. "Thanks, I already spend enough time sitting around and thinking, I don't need more of that."

"So you need a hobby?" Sam asks. "To keep busy?"

"I guess I wanna- something that feels better," Natasha explains. "Something that makes me feel better, about myself and all."

"I get it, it's grinding," Sam allows. "Yeah, you can try praying, if you want, no harm in that. But maybe you already know something that lifts your mood and you just forgot?"

"Maybe," Natasha admits. "I'll think about it. Uh, sun's going down, I guess I should leave you to it."

Sam snorts, grabbing his plate. "Wow. Are you the sharia police now?"

"No, no, I just don't wanna- I don't wanna keep you from it, really," Natasha repeats. "Think I'll go upstairs again, take a nap."

"Good idea," Sam remarks. "Sleeping is definitely keeping me sane."

  She doesn't actually sleep, just lies awake staring at the ceiling, mulling over the intractable uneasy feeling, so the knock doesn't startle her. "Yes."

"Your friend doesn't wanna submit to more tests," Tony's voice says. "You need to get down here and make him."

Anger bubbles up in her chest. "I'm not forcing him to do anything."

Tony sighs with exhaustion. "Just come on down. He says he wants to talk to you."

Well, she doesn't want to talk to him, after slamming the door last time, which was totally dumb and overreacting and pointless. Urgh. Hasn't she sufficiently proven she is horrible at this, this whole human shtick? She thought at least this… "Fine. Be down in a few minutes."

She doesn't bother getting dressed, just a t-shirt and sweatpants, combing her hair to one side, and then she shuffles down to the lab. Autopilot. Bruce is talking about some scan he wants to do, trying to calm and reassure a James who's clearly not even listening. Tony is looking as annoyed as he sounded, slouching on a chair arms crossed. "Oh, good that you're here," Bruce exclaims. "We actually found a way we can do the MRI, despite the metal in his arm, and in his teeth, I should add, so you just need to tell-"

"We need to talk," James interrupts.

Great. Phrase she loves to hear. "Fine. Let's talk ."

"Not that door," Tony interjects, tapping one foot. "That way's the ice block."

There's another door, fortunately, though it does have a glass pane. Will have to do. James has a quizzical look as he closes the door behind him. "What does he mean by ice block?"

"Long story," Natasha replies, crossing her arms. Another room with unholy amounts of lab equipment, for God knows what. "So. If it's about the fact that I was shitty to you last time, last night-"

"It's not about that," James interrupts.

"Oh." Somehow, that's worse. "What is it, then?"

"I'm going to leave town," he states. "And so should you. And everyone else, probably."

"What?" Oh, she was so right, he's just going to disappoint her. "Are you crazy?"

"There's another black cloak," James states. "In Prague. Arrived last night. I managed to avoid him so far but it's clear Schmidt sent him either after you or after me, in any case we need to-"

"Are you panicking?" Natasha asks.

"Am I- of course I'm panicking!" James groans. "The game's up and we need to see to it that you get out of it alive, that nobody's hurt because of my dumb-"

"Maybe it's not up," Natasha suggests. "Maybe he was just told to check in with you, see how it's going, that you're still doing as you're told. Then we'd just need to convince him everything is alright and boom, problem solved."

"You don't know him," James points out. "He's not going to leave without you, dead or alive. God, I thought he was in America anyways, that means we have to calculate with even more black cloaks-"

"James," she interrupts again. "I'm not going anywhere. Dead or alive."

"I can't stand the thought of you-" He sighs. "Run. Please. Just run. If you care for me, just a little bit, run."

"That's a real low blow," she remarks.

He rolls his almost white eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to you, doll, and this guy is going to drag you straight to hell and I just can't let that happen. Look, I would have liked to- be with you, really, but the only place you'll be safe is far from all this. Far from me. I can't protect you."

She breathes out. It's not like the prospect of another black cloak leaves her unfazed. "I think- I think we should talk to the others."

"It's not about them," he says. "It's about you. He's after you. Schmidt's after you. They don't understand, or they don't want to believe… but I know you need to run. It'll be hard but you're shrewd, you'll keep them off your tracks. I wish I could help you, I really do, but you'll only be safe far from me."

"No, you don't understand," Natasha returns. "We're a team."

  "This is bad," Clint remarks. "Really fucking bad."

"Are you sure it's-" Sharon tries.

"Yes," James snaps. "I'm sure. Absolutely fucking sure."

"Well, there's only one real solution," Sam remarks. "And I don't say this lightly, but we have to kill him. Simple as that."

"Nowhere near fucking easy, though," Tony replies. "Unless he's, like, the weakest black cloak in existence."

"He's not," James states coldly.

Clint groans. "If we don't kill him, he'll abduct Nat," Sam points out. "Or he'll tell Schmidt what's really going on, and then we have all black cloaks crushing down on us. When is your deadline again?"

"About 25 days," Natasha says. "And we're nowhere near ready."

"If we'll ever be," Tony mutters.

"Maybe we could convince him it's all right without Natasha?" Sharon suggests. "If she stays in here? He couldn't break in, right?"

"I can break in," James states coldly. "So Pierce can also break in."

"Seems we're back at killing him," Fury remarks. "Are you up for that?"

"Me?" James asks incredulously. "I'm- I don't know. He's strong. Maybe. It's a toss-up."

"And you don't want to risk that," Tony accuses.

"I don't give a fuck about dying," James returns coldly. "But if he kills me, Natalia's time is up. That's why she needs to run, right fucking now."

"I'm not going anywhere," Natasha repeats. "We always calculated we had to kill some amount of black cloaks at the end of this. This is only one. We'll kill him, as quietly as possible, without James' help, so that no one gets suspicious. And then we proceed as planned."

"We could upgrade the tower security," Bruce remarks. "We made you a mask and goggles and a hood, so you'd be safe from it. And then we could stay in until we're ready."

"This may be a bad idea," Pepper suggests. "But why don't you just talk to him, find out what his orders are?"

"Talk to him?" James repeats surprised. "What the hell would I tell him why this is taking so long?"

"Same thing you told the Castle," Natasha replies. "I'm stubborn as hell. That's pretty evident."

"Is Schmidt going to get suspicious?" Sam asks. "If his guy doesn't return in the next three weeks?"

James breathes out. "I don't know. Maybe not. Probably not. It's likely he'll just stay on until the deadline and then drag her to Schmidt, whether she wants to or not. Communication with Schmidt is difficult. I guess I could… ask Pierce."

"Different question," Sharon throws in. "Who's going out tonight? Are we still doing that?"

Clint groans. "Sam and I were supposed to. But I'm not very keen on dying, unlike certain other people."

"But we haven't seen the black cloak yet," Sharon argues. "And he probably knows that. So if we start holing up in here now, it's suspicious because we don't officially know yet."

"I don't think he'll randomly attack you," James says. "Not his style. But I could follow you, if you want, and distract him if he makes a move."

Clint clearly doesn't like putting his life in James' vampire hands. "Good enough for me," Sam states.

"I could… teach you some stuff," James suggests hesitantly. "What works against vampires. If you are really going to kill Pierce."

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" Tony questions.

James snorts. "Let's be honest, you just would have used it to kill me."

Silence. "Maybe," Fury acknowledges. "What changed?"

"I don't give a fuck anymore," James states coldly. "I want Natalia to get out of this alive. That's all I care about at this point."

"No one's dying on my watch," Fury returns. "Especially not Romanoff."

"What tricks, though?" Pepper asks, leaning on the table. "I'm curious."

"There's a few," James replies, nostrils flaring lightly. Yeah, he smells the blood. "Electricity, for instance."

"I thought electricity doesn't work," Tony points out.

"It doesn't kill a vampire," James acknowledges. "But it knocks out our senses, at a certain intensity. It's very painful and disorienting."

Tony grins widely. "Oh, I'd love to try that."

"Wilson, Barton," Fury interjects. "Are you ready to go out?"

Clint shrugs, Sam nods. "Guess we have to," Clint says. "I'd appreciate the backup, though."

"If you come back before sunrise and stay the day, I promise I'll stop Tony from electrocuting you," Natasha suggests to James.

"Oh yeah," Sam agrees. "There's a lot to talk about."

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Thirty: Zero Gravity ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yūhi Kurenai ] [ SasuHina, blood ] [ Verse: Like Magic ] [ AO3 Link ]

With a few days of classes under his belt, Sasuke finally makes it to one of them he’s most excited for.

Well, it’s not a class, per se - it’s more like a small series of lessons. And those lessons are centered around flying. Sasuke’s flown a bit at home on a little broomstick his brother used to use, but their mother is rather adamant about their safety...so he hasn’t had a chance to really get to a real height or speed. He’s hoping they’ll get to break into that a bit during these sessions.

Of course...there’s also the rule that first years can’t be on the Quidditch team, which he sorely regrets. His brother is currently Slytherin’s Seeker. Sasuke...isn’t sure what role he’d like. Probably either Keeper or Chaser. He’s a bit lacking in brute strength to be much use as a Beater, and...well, there won’t be any hoping to be Seeker until Itachi graduates after next year. From what little practice he’s had, he is rather agile in the air. So maybe once his brother leaves school, the position might be one he could have.

...that is...if he makes the team, and convince the captain to let him have it. But that’s what tryouts are for.

For now, however, he’s stuck with the beginner’s lessons. This time around, Slytherin is having theirs with the Hufflepuff first years. Though most of his new friends are in his own house, Sasuke has started a tentative friendship with the little Hufflepuff girl that’s been helping him in Charms class: specifically with the levitation charm that gave him so much trouble. So when he notices the yellow-tinged robes of the other house, he can’t help but perk up a bit.

Hinata, on the other hand...doesn’t really want to do this whole flying thing. As typical as the image is of a witch flying on a broomstick, she’s not exactly the sort to want to put herself dozens or hundreds of feet up in the air. She likes both feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. But...flying lessons are required, so she prepares to grit her teeth and get through it. She, unlike Sasuke, has never touched a broom in her life...nor would her father let her, even if she had the inclination. Which she didn’t. And still doesn’t, even as they all gather around the broomsticks lying atop the castle lawn.

But at least when she looks over the Slytherin class, she recognizes the boy from Charms class. Sure, he’s a Slytherin, and...well, they have their reputations. But he’s proven - at least in Hinata’s eyes - to be a very well to do boy. Maybe a bit pompous, but...well, it comes with the territory. Hinata is also from a pureblood family, but to her, it’s not very important.

At the head of the rows of brooms is a woman of wild black hair and ruddy brown eyes, hawkishly looking at the lot of them. “Greetings everyone, and welcome to your first flying lesson! I am madam Yūhi, and I will be your flying instructor. While many of you have likely had time to fly at home, many of you have not. Thus, we will begin at the very beginning. To those with some experience, I beg your patience as we catch up the rest of your classmates. Now...everyone, step up to a boom, with the broomstick on your dominant side!”

At once, everyone shuffles awkwardly, trying to arrange themselves properly. Sasuke keeps his broom on the left, while Hinata’s is on the right.

“Now, hover your hand over the broom, and command, ‘up’! It may take you several tries: be clear, firm, and direct!”

Sasuke, already versed in lifting a broom, does so on his first try. The handle fights him a bit with strength, but he just grins as others around him struggle to get their broom to obey.

...Hinata is one of them.

Shying back from her broom a bit, not wanting it to rise up and hit her, she mumbles, “U...up!”

...nothing.

Sighing, she inches a bit closer. “...up!”

The broom gives a small twitch, but...remains upon the grass.

Cheeks puffing a bit as her stubbornness arises, she then barks, “Up!”

With a leap, the broom slaps against her palm, earning a small squeal of surprise.

Beside her, a boy - distracted - gets whacked in the face by his own. Immediately his nose breaks, dribbling blood as he gives a cry.

Sighing curtly, madam Yūhi shakes her head. “Off to the infirmary with you!”

“B-but -!”

“You can’t fly with an injury like that.” Making up her mind, Kurenai gives a clap. “Everyone, I want you to remain grounded until I return from the infirmary. Anyone who disobeys will be banned from flying for the rest of their school career. Understood?” Receiving a chorus of yes ma’ams, she escorts the bleeding Hufflepuff boy back toward the castle.

Everyone else wilts in disappointment at the delay.

“Leave it to a Hufflepuff to be dimwitted enough to break his nose with a broom,” a Slytherin guffaws, earning laughter from a few of his classmates.

“Hey!” Stomping her foot, a Hufflepuff retorts, “It was an honest mistake! Like you’ve never done anything wrong when you first tried it?”

Leaning on his broom and grinning cheekily, the boy snaps back, “Not badly enough to break my nose! You ‘puffs are all the same: a bunch of ninnies who can’t tell your front from your rear!”

Red flushes angrily across the girl’s face. “W-well at least we aren’t a bunch of jerks!”

Rumblings begin to grow from both sides. Hinata, already short for a first year, hangs back as the two sides start to inch forward.

Sasuke, however, isn’t quite so timid. “Knock it off,” he growls, stepping up to his classmate with a scowl.

“Why?”

“Because you’re proving her point, you nitwit.”

“Who you callin’ a nitwit, shrimp?”

“Any idea who you’re talking to? I’m an Uchiha,” Sasuke bites back.

“Like I give a rip!” Shifting his stance, the bully takes him by the front of his robes. “T’hell you sidin’ with the ‘puffs for, anyway? Sure the Sorting Hat didn’t muck up your house?”

“If you really think Hufflepuff is a house of morons, I think you’re the one who got sorted wrong!” Sasuke manages to grunt, trying to pry off the grip.

Something ugly twists the other boy’s face. “...oh, you’re gonna regret that…!” Swinging a leg over his broom and keeping ahold of Sasuke’s robes, the other Slytherin takes to the sky above the lawn in one swoop.

At once, everyone panics. Hinata feels her heart leap to her throat as they all run to keep up.

“Put him down!”

“You’re gonna drop him!”

“Get down here, you’re gonna get in so much trouble!”

Clinging to the bully’s arms and going deathly pale in fear, Sasuke listens as his harasser laughs. “Not so tough now, are ya? Be a shame if you fell from here, eh? Apologize, and I’ll put you down!”

Robes cutting off his air, Sasuke can’t only gasp in reply.

“Is that a no? Well...don’t say I didn’t warn ya…!” Grinning maliciously, he releases his grip. For a few moments, Sasuke manages to keep hold...but sweaty palms betray him, and he plummets back toward the lawn, too shocked to even scream.

Collective gasps and cries ring out as everyone freezes. But one among them darts into action. Sprinting out and drawing her wand from her robes, Hinata swishes and flicks, shouting, “Wingardium leviosa!”

Suddenly, it’s like gravity disappears. Slowing to a stop, Sasuke hovers in midair a good fifteen feet off the ground. Shaking and on the verge of sobbing, he collapses as Hinata gently guides him down.

For a moment, things go still. And then, in a roar, the Hufflepuffs all swamp their classmate with praise and hugs.

“You did it!”

“You saved him!”

“That was amazing, Hyūga!”

Sasuke, however, is left to recover alone, his classmates torn between the two sides of the argument.

Drowning in robes and arms, Hinata manages to break free of the crowd, stumbling out to where Sasuke is still trying to stand on shaking knees. “Sasuke��!” Taking to her knees, she latches onto him, burying her face in his shoulder as he stiffens. “Oh thank goodness...I-I was so scared…!”

Heart still racing and breath panting, Sasuke hesitantly grips her back. “...you...you really saved me…”

“I...I just -”

“How’d you...do that? Think so fast?”

At that, she goes pink, leaning back a bit in his hold. “I just...knew I had to. A-after all, it...i-it was how we met...right?”

...huh. Yeah. Staring a moment longer, he then manages a shaky grin. “...reckon I owe you for that.”

“N-no...I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The pair smile at each other, and then realize...everyone is watching them. Shuffling apart, they both turn sheepish just as madam Yūhi returns.

“...what on earth is going on here?”

At once, the Hufflepuffs rush to explain, while Slytherins try to deflect. Still apart from the others, Hinata and Sasuke just watch until she calls for silence, striding up to the pair of them.

“...is it true? That boy hauled you up, and miss Hyūga caught you with a levitation charm, mister Uchiha?”

“...yes ma’am,” Sasuke murmurs, ignoring the expectant looks of his housemates.

“...I see. Well, I’m glad you aren’t hurt. Hinata, your quick-thinking just earned you one hundred house points. I won’t penalize Slytherin, given one of you was the victim...but as promised, the perpetrator will have flying privileges revoked for the remainder of his years at school. Now...I think that’s enough excitement for one day. We’ll try again next week. Dismissed!”

Mixed reactions pass through the crowds, and the pair of them find their feet. “...are you sure you’re okay?” Hinata murmurs.

“Yeah...a little, uh...freaked out. But no, I’m fine. Thanks, Hinata. I really do owe you.”

Hinata’s head ducks bashfully, twiddling her fingers. “...I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt. That must have been so scary…”

“Yeah…”

With the class block over, they give another nervous glance. “I...guess I’ll see you around…?”

“Y-yeah. See...see you later.” With that, they part ways for their next classes, each a bit quieter than usual.

And with that, well...there was no denying they’d each officially made a friend, no matter the house lines.

                                                    .oOo.

     More Harry Potter AU! I haven’t done this one in yonks - last entry was all the way on day 71, and the one THIS is a sequel to was day 28! So needless to say, we were in need of some more magic shenanigans x3      And of course, we have wee Hinata saving the day and earning herself a new best friend! Not quite like Ron and Harry saving ‘mione from the troll, but the same basic concept, haha - these two are now officially stuck with each other! Nothing better than a Slytherin and Hufflepuff friendship. And then, y’know...more than friendship. But that’ll be later!      Anyway, that’s all for tonight - thanks for reading!

[darcyduncan-blog]

Painting is dancing with chaos.

CHALLENGE 2

[Hello my beautiful people! I hope y’all are having a wonderful day so far. Here’s my fic for challenge 2, sorry if it’s long and full of writing mistakes so please bear with me. Thanks so much to Brianna @benjaminschreave I had a lot of fun :) Enjoy! WARNING: cursing.]

The gardens are looking extremely beautiful today. My gaze keeps landing on the big windows in my room.

The way the sunlight hits the flowers, the bees and butterflies drifting in the wind, the fluffy white clouds standing out against the light blue sky.

This is definitely my favourite view ever.

A knock on my door suddenly startles me. I can feel my heartbeat increase, my breathing stops and my palms become sweaty. This is it.

I don’t even know why I’m nervous. Is it because I’ll see Ben again? Or just because I don’t know what we’ll be doing?

As I make my way over to the door, I decide to go for the latter options. I’ve never been that big of a fan of surprises, mostly because they always appear when you don’t expect them. Like the day my name got drawn for the selection.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

“Ben,” I nod my head a little and curtsy.

Or something that is supposed to be a curtsy. I definitely need more help to get the hang of this.

He smiles a bit, “hi, all ready for our date?”

“Yes I think so.” I close my door. I don’t want anyone lurking in there when I’m not around. “Are you ready for it?” I turn around and take the arm he’s offering.

“If I’m being honest... I’m actually a little nervous for ours” He chuckles as we start walking down the hallway. “ And you don’t have to curtsy by the way.”

That is such a relief, no more making a fool of myself. “Okay thank you, I won't do that again.” I smile, “why are you nervous? Are we doing something scary or..?”

“Not exactly. We’re doing a painting class,” he lets out a sigh with a tired laugh, “and I’m terrible at anything artistic.”

“Oh I'm sure you're not that bad,” I tilt my head a little so I get a proper side view of him. “But we'll see about that later.”

“Whatever I paint, I guarantee you’ll have no idea what it is.” He returns my side glance, god those eyes.

A soft chuckle leaves my mouth, “nooo it can't be that bad.”

All of a sudden something hits me and I stop walking. “But first we need to talk about something. Because I put a really high value to honesty. And this is probably not the right time but then again I don't know if the right time will ever come.” I don’t know what to do or where to look, so I turn my full attention to the ground. What a gorgeous carpet.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Ben nods his head. It takes a few seconds before he says anything, but it feels like hours are passing by. “You’re not alone in valuing honesty. What’s on your mind?”

I take another deep breath as I try to order my thoughts and form sentences. A word vomit is the result.

“Please don't be mad at me, and know that I am really grateful for being here. But I didn't put my own name in for the selection. My friends applied for me. At first I didn't want to go but my brother showed me the opportunities so I decided to roll with it and just go. And now that I'm here, I've realized how thankful I am about everything.”

I’m still pinning my gaze to the floor. Am I still breathing?

“I couldn’t be mad at you for that. But... if you do want to go home, that’s okay with me too. I’d hate for you to be forced to be here when you didn’t want to.”

He couldn’t be mad at me for that. He couldn’t be mad at me for that. A shower of relief falls over me.

“No no no, I don't want to go home anymore.” I force myself to leave the floor as it is and look at Ben again. “Okay that sounds creepy, I mean you can still eliminate me if you want but I won't leave on my own.”I sigh, why can’t I talk like a normal person? “I'm not helping my case here sorry, but do you get what I mean?”

He chuckles as he puts a hand over mine on his. This gesture makes me realize I’m still clinging onto his arm. “Yes, I do. And as of now, I don’t plan on eliminating you.” He smiles at me and pats my hand.

I’m happy I got this off my chest and it’s all out in the open now.

We continue walking and I can’t help but feel at ease. “Thanks that's such a relief. I meant to tell you the other day at the introduction interview thing but I just forgot about it.” Truth is: I had so much fun during the introduction that it didn’t even cross my mind once.

Ben lifts a shoulder. “You told me now, no harm done.” I can feel he looks down at me, but I can’t look away since I see some stairs coming closer. “Bold move by your friends though.”

“Yeah, it was more of joke and they believed Sevens wouldn't stand a chance anyway. But then my name got picked.”

“You know everything really /was/ random right? Caste had no influence on who was Selected.”

I did not mean to step on anyone’s toes or talk badly about the selection. “Yes I know I know. Castes are just a number anyway, they don't say anything about a person.”

That’s something I’ve been told my entire life. By my parents and friends at least. People from other castes do not always agree.

“You’re right. They don’t.” I quickly look up to see he’s smiling. “I could have been completely awful.”

I chuckle softly, “maybe you are, but no-one has told you yet.” I nudge him with my shoulder.  

I’m just happy the rough talk is over so now we I can go back to laughing and enjoying this date.

“And are you going to be the first person to tell me?” he smirks a little.

“Well now that I'm being honest,” I pretend to think for a second, “you're not that awful.”

“I’m not that awful. I’d consider an achievement for today,” he’s smiling again, but this time the amusement is visible in his eyes.

Talking to Ben feels like I’m talking to my friends back home. We were always joking and being sarcastic, it was awesome. I miss them. “Perhaps I'll have to adjust my opinion after this date.”

“Hopefully not lowered in any way.” He sticks his free hand his pocket. For some reason I feel like a child clinging to her parent’s arm, scared to lose them. I guess I’m still not used to this whole selection thing.

I ask him how he has been doing. And he tells me he’s doing just ‘peachy’. This is something I’ve never heard anyone say before. I’m not even sure what it means, but judging by his joking voice I guess it’s a good thing?

Just as I’m wondering where we’re actually going to, we reach our destination.

Ben smiles as he opens the door. We walk inside some sort of sitting room. Chairs and tables are moved back to the walls. Right in the middle of the room are 2 easels standing next to each other. As I come closer, I see there are tubes with paint in every possible colour.

A man is standing in front of the easels. He bows as we come in, “Your Highness, Lady Darcy.”

I cringe a bit at the Lady thing. It’s weird to hear people call you that, when you’re used to being the outcast of society.

Again, I don’t know what to do with myself, so I decide to go for a curtsy/head-bow/hello combination. I look around the room, “impressive.”

Ben says something but I’m not really paying attention anymore. I’m just too amazed by the grandness of this all. I’m being guided closer to the easels. There are brushes in every possible size. Who even needs that many brushes?

The teacher, who is called Gabriel, has a very serious expression on his face. “I won’t be taking up too much of your time, simply showing you your still life piece and recommending some techniques.”

I don’t even know why I am this excited. I have never done painting before, so all tips are welcome. And this teacher looks like he knows everything about it. He could be Gauguin himself. “Oh I can’t wait,” I clap my hands softly.

Ben is handing me something. A smock. “To limit at least some paint we might spill,” he chuckles.

“Clever thinking, thank you.” I take the smock from him and put it on. “How do I look?” I smile and make a little twirl. Since when am I so girly? Something or someone is bringing out a different side of me.

He grins at me, “like a Selected ready to paint some art with a mediocre prince.”

Gabriel the teacher lets out a laugh. I had forgotten he was in the room. He clears his throat. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Ben puts on his smock and for some reason that feels very intimate so I turn to face the teacher. “It is. Those techniques you’re about to show us? Useless in my case.”

“You're so optimistic,” I chuckle. I’m not sure what to expect from his painting now. “Perhaps those techniques will bring out your inner Picasso.”

“And perhaps you’re in for a really awful surprise.” He glances at me from the side as he sits down on his stool.

I should probably sit down as well. “We'll see about that.”

The teacher steps forward and takes off a sheet to reveal the object we’ll be painting. I hear Ben suppress a laugh. “Today you’ll be painting a very common subject for beginners.” A bowl of mixed fruit.

I stare at the fruit bowl. There’s a red apple, a green pear, an orange, some grapes, a banana. Gabriel is going on and on about how to create the perfect light and shadow in a painting. Which brush stroke to use for each brush. How to mix paint together to create the perfect colour. I think at some point he even says, “you have to be the object you paint.”

How does one know so much about painting? He really is Rembrandt.

I try to take up all the information he’s giving us. However the person on my side is zoning out, he’s even glancing at me at some point.

Mister Monet explains some more about how to make the painting look realistic, until he claps his hands once. “Wonderful. Any questions?”

I’m staring at the teacher as I’m ordering all the information in my head.

Ben calls out my name.

“Uh yes actually, do I first draw it with a pencil as some sort of guideline or do I just start painting right away?” Wow Darcy, great question. What do you think all the famous painters did?

Gabriel nods his head, “I would recommend that, yes. It will help in painting a more concise canvas for your first time.”

I nod my head in return. “Yes I understand, thank you. I don't have any other questions.” I turn to Ben, “what about you?”

He presses his lips together, “Um, I think I’m good for now.” He turns to the teacher, “thanks, we’ll see how it goes.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Best of luck.” Gabriel bows and slips out of the room.

“He's a really good teacher and he seems really kind.” I stand up from her stool and walk over to the fruit bowl to get a closer look of the fruit arrangement. “Are you ready for this?”

“He is. A little dramatic but kind.” A small laugh leaves his mouth. “And I suppose ready as I’ll ever be.”

I rearrange the fruit a little bit. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Not successfully. I’m more into looking at art than creating it.”

“Ah I see.” The arrangement pleases me so I walk back to my easel and sit down. “Do you have a favourite artist or a favourite art object?”

“Paintings. All kinds, especially the ones we have in the art gallery.” I see he picks up a paintbrush and fiddles with it.

I let my eye fall on the pencils and pick up one that looks promising. “Oh that's cool. It sounds like a private museum or something.” I look at the fruit bowl and then focus back on the canvas in front of me. I bring the pencil to the canvas and attempt to draw it on there.

“Private museum to the palace if that’s a way to think about it.”  I can’t really see what he’s doing since I’m too focused on my canvas but I’m guessing he picked up a pencil as well. “I could show it to you sometime.”

However there’s one thing that did catch my eye. “That'd be fun, I'd love to see it.” I put my pencil down and turn to face Ben. “Also I saw the face you made, it was like…” I try to imitate it as best as I can, but make it approximately a billion times worse, followed by a laugh.

Ben laughs as well, “I know my talents. This isn’t one of them.” but then the laugh turns into a sigh.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. But perhaps some paint can make it better?” I don’t even know.

“Better in that it looks like more a fifth grader’s work than kindergartener’s.” He spares me an amused glance before he works some more on his sketch.

“Yes exactly, you get it.” I shake my while smiling as I continue working on my own sketch.

I glance in his direction to see that he’s painting something, that I’m guessing is supposed to be the apple, red. “See, you’re doing great!” I feel like such a mom.

“So you've mentioned painting is not your strong suit. But what are your other talents?”

“I feel like a broken record,” he smiles a bit, “but surfing is one. I’d say I’m half decent at my job too.”

I feel so dumb. The question about hobbies and talents is like the most standard one ever. Of course he has to talk about it with all the other girls. I want to facepalm myself.

One final look between my drawing and the actual fruit bowl, before I decide it’s alright as it is. “Oh of course everyone asks that, sorry.” I grab some purple paint and start working on the grapes, “being good at your job is nice though, that can definitely come in handy when you're working.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s an important question.” He chuckles, but I still feel like a stupid fool. “Besides that I’ve always been good at school if that counts. I love to learn.”

“I've never heard anyone mention school before when asked about talents. But sure, okay. What was your favourite subject?” In the meantime I continue painting. My fruit bowl is kinda coming alive. But I’m not sure if it’s looking good or not.

I also find out that Ben’s favourite school subjects are English, history and math. The guy likes almost everything. Except, of course, my favourite subject: physics.

It might not sound as the most interesting subject when being compared to history for example. But it sure is useful. Especially when you’re working in the steel construction business. You need to keep all things in mind: gravity, wear and tear of materials, weather conditions. You can’t afford to make a single mistake.

“What are you doing?” I ask when I see Ben’s putting splatters on his canvas.

He tilts his head, “what do you mean?” He then turns to his painting and sighs with a laugh. “Apparently everything wrong.”

“No no don't say that. Your painting is definitely unique!” One thing I learned about myself today is that I am surprisingly optimistic.

Ben looks at me with an amused expression on his face. “If you want to be nice about it.” He looks at his painting again, “might as well make it an abstract.” Then he gets even more paint on his brush and creates splatters all over his canvas.

I’m laughing once again, “you're creating some real art here.” Honestly I had never thought he could be this funny.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I get professionally commissioned in the future.” He jokes some more.

“Agree,” I’m still laughing, “if this whole royal thing doesn't work out, you can always become an artist.”

He snorts, “that’d be a real shock to my family. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I think the entire planet would be shocked.” I shake my head while smiling, “don't forget about this painting class though, it's where you created your first masterpiece.”

“Ah yes.” He puts down his brush to get a better look at it. Then he glances at my painting. “Not as much a masterpiece as yours though. Are you a closet painter or something?”

I turn to my own painting. “You don't have to say that.” I little smile forms on my face and my cheeks flush a little. “I've never done this before actually.”

I’ve only ever drawn blueprints of buildings but that’s just drawing some lines. This is something completely different.

Now he’s really studying my painting. “For your first time it’s very good.”

“Really? Thank you,” I smile as I’m looking down since I don’t know where else to look. That’s when I notice something else, my smock is still clean. “And I didn't spill paint anywhere, now that's an achievement.”

Ben turns to me with a smirk on his face. “I think I can fix that.” He picks up his paintbrush and splatters some paint on my smock as he snickers.

I jump up from my stool. “Oh no you didn't.” I laugh and throw a brush dripping with red paint towards his arm.  

He laughs, “hey, I at least put only the paint on you.” He starts swiping some yellow paint on my hand.

“If you only want the paint, then here you go.” I quickly take a few steps forward and smear some green on his face.  “Green really is your colour.” I laugh, thinking back to our introduction when he mentioned green was his favourite lipstick colour.

First he stared at me but then laughs some more. “How does this keep happening to me?”

I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about, but it does intrigue me. “What keeps happening to you?”

Ben points at his face, “this. The second time a Selected has painted my face.” He chuckles, but I realize I’m doing the same thing as some other girl has done already. Again. Just like the talents question.

“Oh it must be something in your face then, desperately in need of some paint.” I smile at him.

He lets out a short, loud laugh. “Am I really that terrible looking?”

“Hm,” I lift my shoulders in a playful way. “Colours always help a face stand out more.”

One of his brows goes up, but he’s not making any attempt to get the paint off. “And what other colors would you recommend for me?”

I study his face, “orange, yes definitely orange.”

He makes a face which makes me laugh. “Orange and green? Like a duck?”

“I've never seen a duck that's orange and green.” I walks over to the fruit bowl to show him what I was thinking about. “I was more inspired by this,” I hold up the orange. “The orange and this little green thingy here look great together in my opinion.”

Ben stands up from his stool and makes his way over to me. “Isn’t it a mallard duck? Or I’m just crazy.” He chuckles again.

“You may be right, but where is that duck orange? It's more yellowish and green.” I’m trying to remember what that duck looks like.

“Then that has more to do with the fact that I’m blind and need glasses.” Another small laugh leaves his mouth.

“Perhaps I'm the blind one.” An innocent smile is resting on my face, “would you like some orange with your green?”

He grins at me, “orange me away.” He then closes his eyes. “And trust me, I’m the one who’s blind.”

I pick up a brush with orange paint on it. “But you already have glasses, right?” At the same time I put some orange on his chin, nose and forehead.

“Yup. I wear contacts for certain events and days, but I prefer my glasses when I can.” Ben peeks an eye open, “am I all oranged up now?”

I mumble something, “glasses are quite sexy.” I think he didn’t hear me and I clap my hands. “Yes you're done, perfect.”

He opens his eyes in surprise and then smirks. “Sexy?”

“Yes,” I chuckle, “I don't know, they add something. Very attractive if you ask me.” Glasses point out both one’s jaw line and cheekbones. Oh and someone’s eyes as well.

He grins again, “I'd say the same. Not everyone prefers them though.”

“Hm it also depends on the person who's wearing them.” I turn around to see if I can put the dripping paintbrush somewhere. I spy my palette and put the paintbrush on it.

I then turn around to find Ben standing there with crossed arms. “And what would my verdict be? Because I'm told I could even be compared to a cute granny.”

I laugh, “a cute granny?” I shake my head a little, “no I don't see that, you're more like a charming student or something.”

“Huh. I think I can work with charming student.” He smiles at me, but then crosses his eyes. I chuckle when I realize he’s looking at the orange paint on his nose. “A student who's let himself become a canvas.”

I laugh again, “now you're a walking piece of art. Be careful that they don't put you in an exhibition in some museum.”

After that we joke around some more. But then it’s soon time for me to go back to my room and for Ben to wash the paint of his face.

I let him know how much I’ve enjoyed this date. Both because I learnt so many new things, and because my company was pretty great.

“Always a winning combo in my experience,” as he chuckles. There’s my door again, “and let's hope this paint comes off the both of us.”

I let go of his arm, “fingers crossed. Thanks again for the lovely date.” I smile at him.

“And thanks for /being/ a lovely date.” He smiles back at me. “Have a good rest of your day, Darcy.”

I open my door, ready to head back in and get this paint of me. “Thanks, you too.”

Ben waves a bit before he turns around to leave.

I walk into my room and close the door. That was pretty awesome.

[viria]

I really really want to start drawing too and I know the hard work will probably pay off in like what? 30 years? But uh I really don't have the aptitude for it and everything I have so far is really scribbly and bad and well uh do you have any more drawing advice for absolutely COMPLETE beginners like me?

Apart from a neverending practice and some patience, I think yes!

Try to appreciate the little progress that you have done, maybe those steps you’re making aren’t as drastic and huge as you’d want them to be, but they are STEPS! Try to get rid of that impatient mentality. I know how much you want to be able to draw the way you see in your head, or as good as other artists you like do, but it’s not how it works. Like, you have to draw. And at first you are going to be bad at it, you can’t get great immediately. If you don’t draw because you draw badly, you will never be able to become good at drawing. Out of those amazing artists you see on the internet or in galleries, very few were born gifted. The simple majority has to work for it.

It’s all about that suffering and unsatisfaction, and those little glimpses of pride you get when you notice you improved a bit. Remind yourself that you are a beginner. And how great you draw for a beginner! I mean, you draw! That’s alone is so huge.

Your hard work WILL pay off. Most likely sooner than in 30 years, it’s going to be paying you slowly but deliberately. Always remind yourself that you are going to be good eventually, and work for it. Start off with tutorials on the internet, they will make your progress easier and your understanding of what you’re doing to develop a bit quicker and steadier. You want to draw something? Look at drawing tutorials from it, find the one you understand the most and draw.

I know I literally always say work work practise practise, and I feel like you guys get so annoyed at me for it. BUT THAT’S HOW REAL LIFE WORKS. There’s no sorcery that will suddenly make one good.

You see amazing artists you love so much at this point where they are now, and you think they have it easy, and you want to be like them. But you don’t want to endure the same struggles, the same amount of time that has to pass, the same tears they had when they were just as unsatisfied as you. You just wanna be great. So....Patiently work for it. Draw things. Sometimes you’re going to draw things that make  you proud, and you’ll get addicted to that feeling and you will want to achieve it again. 

Artists are such competitive and greedy creatures I feel like they always want to be like that and to draw like this and to visualize like something else, but first of all they always compete with themselves and it’s what get them going farther and farther.

[worldcakecakecake]

The Society of Romulus and Remus

Ludwig is the product of a centuries old curse that transforms him into a dangerous werewolf. His only chance for a cure is with Feliciano, heir to the Society of Romulus and Remus, a group of hunters who hunt on the supernatural.

                                                     Chapter 8             

“Now, are you sure you don’t want anyone accompanying you?” Augusto still insisted, coming close, making sure that Lovino was appropriately dressed, earlier making sure that he had packed all that he needed, even giving him some extra small weapons to keep in his pockets if anything.

“Nonno, stop worrying, I’ll be fine, I’ve done worst trips than this,” Lovino assured, coming close to the group of people saying goodbye as they waited for the bus doors to open in preparation to leave.

“Be safe still,” Feliciano worried just as much.

“There’s still the wave of werewolves in the area,” Augusto reminded.

“So? I’ve done my fair share of hunting already. I can take them,” he was confident, already tapping the pocket where he kept everything specifically for werewolves. That’s when the bus roared, when the doors opened and all the travelers began their ascend, wishing last goodbyes and hugs, one Lovino had to participate in, especially with worry warts as his grandfather and younger brother. Feliciano held the tightest and longest embrace, swaying and wanting to coax Lovino enough to staying.

“It’ll be only two weeks,” Lovino assured him.

“Still, I’ll miss you so badly,” Feliciano pouted on his shoulder.

“Oh come on, you’ve dealt with months without me, what is this going to be? Tell you what, I’ll bring you a gift, just like I used to, ask away and I’ll do what I can to bring it,” he promised with that rare pure smile and loving intent in his eyes. It spread over to Feliciano, excited over the millions of possibilities he could have, that he knew Lovino would give him. He stayed pensive as he jumped in his spot thinking, licking his lips and looking above as if his sure idea could fall from the sky.

“Flowers! Bring me the prettiest flowers you see in the trip, and I’ll make us both the most wonderful crowns,” he decided, excited already and many designs surely presented in his mind to create.

Lovino rolled his eyes at such a childish and calm idea, but nodded in sureness, one last embrace before he decided to move away, a last wave to his family as he boarded, the last member the driver was waiting for, once having him in, already settling off to the hidden road that would soon bring them back to the bustling of normal civilization away from the lives of the base and hunt. Augusto and Feliciano didn’t leave until they saw it disappear with the darkness of the hidden tunnel, gone and to deal with everything how Lovino could. All they could wish for was luck and their uttermost blessing.

  No matter the personal turmoil, Feliciano was expected to go on with his usual daily lesson with Ludwig. Augusto himself had insisted and he decided on being obedient, down the usual routes of the base, into the building and up to his office, trying to erase the sadness from earlier with a blow and an opening into the room. To his surprise, he met Ludwig packing some things from his office into a small bag…which took his own seat, leaving him standing there awkwardly as he watched his instructor move about the room.

“Um…” he tried to get his attention wondering what he should do.

“Ah yes, Feliciano, about your lessons the next two weeks,” he worried about now as he brought his GPS to pack in a safe area, the last item in one of his pockets before he sealed it.

“Uh…are you leaving?” Feliciano wondered as much.

“Got assigned a mission in Lithuania."

“Lithuania? With all the werewolf sightings?”

“Exactly. They need some extra hands on defending some of the smaller villages and they decided on recruiting me on that brigade."

“So, you’re leaving?” Feliciano was startled and confused, Ludwig was not one to do his business so suddenly, especially when he was in the midst of dealing with instructing the leader’s grandson.

“Yes, in about,” he checked his watch, “thirty minutes. My rental should be arriving then and I would head off instantly.” He went to some cabinets at the other side of the room checking if there were some weapons he should bring from the ones there.

“For how long?” Feliciano followed him all throughout.

“I’ll try to make it a week and a half. I already told them I can’t stay longer, I should only really be focusing on your teachings.” Done, there was nothing else to pack, he could close his bag in finalization.

“And…what about my lessons then?” Feliciano wondered, a sudden excitement within him as he already celebrated some days of relaxation and freedom. He didn’t hide it enough as Ludwig glared and was already suspicious.

“I’m leaving you some work to do, already numbered and organized in that folder there.” He pointed to the sole item on the desk with even a pen and pencil for Feliciano to use.

“Really?”

“I want it all done by the time I return, with no excuses or failure. You have more than enough time and chances to get help,” he grimaced and pointed to him with insisting, command and anger, clear and absolute.

“Still, I won’t let you deal with all this just by yourself.” He opened the door and-

“Feli dearie!” Gilbert shouted in instant welcome, arms expanding in his self-explosion and presentation.

“Gilbert will be substituting in the meantime. He’ll make sure you’ll be working and knows more than enough to help answer any questions you might have,” Ludwig assured, ignorant to his brother’s sudden display.

“I’ll prove myself more than capable!” He shouted in determination, with a salute as he came between them. “…being less bossy too,” he whispered to Feliciano, who chuckled but Ludwig must have heard since he glared with annoyance.

“I have to pack some last things from my room, afterwards my rental should be here and I’ll settle off." He accommodated in his mind as he maintained continuous sight on his watch. “Gilbert, don’t be a nuisance and, Feliciano, be responsible with your work and have it all done for when I return."

“Will do,” Feliciano assured for now.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gilbert winked and smiled, Ludwig trusting it enough to give a sigh of luck, a turn and away into the halls, into business and away from the base.

Gilbert and Feliciano smirked with all kinds of tricks and ideas.

  With their recent time together, Feliciano found himself wishing for Gilbert to be his instructor. He was easier going, he laughed, he bolstered, he made constant jokes (although sometimes bad) and didn’t roll his eyes or groan whenever Feliciano did something wrong in his writings and reports. He would turn his chair towards him, point out easily and not have him start papers and drawings all over again. They enjoyed their working by balconies, with flourishing fauna, the fresh air and the liveliness of the people commuting in the base. Gilbert didn’t rush him, in fact, they spent most of their meetings trying to hurry up and finish whatever documents Ludwig had left for the day so they could each settle on other plans of leisure. Those starting three days had been wonderful, especially when Ludwig had left Feliciano to start a particular kind of lesson that he had been expecting for quite a while now.

  Feliciano dropped the old large book on the pavement, enough of a force to shake, to resound and to arise dust into the new day fresh air, coughing it away, trying to catch his breath after having to carry it from Ludwig’s office. Kiku, in his moving form, came close and peeked, spotting on its cover a wolf symbol...a Venetian mark, the very same mark Feliciano had decorated on his hand.

“Is this…?” Kiku wondered.

“Yes! Michelangela’s compendium!” Feliciano was proud, letting his hand trace the old leather, wondered at how beautiful it was and how it stuck well together despite the decades.

“How did you get this? How were you even allowed?” Kiku was dumbstruck.

“Nonno made three copies after finding it, this is one of them, the original one in his private collection, one in America and the other in the Chinese base. Ludwig left me to do a reading from this book and it gave me permission to take it out,” he explained as he finally opened it, revealing the index, titled and ordered in an old Italian, but readable and Feliciano could easily learn from it, his fingers tracing as he alighted at every word, looking for numbers and turning the pages to see how it was beautifully decorated, in extravagant letters, drawings, symbols and diagrams to go on, never missing a touch of intricacy and whimsicality.

“It is as beautiful as it has been spoken about,” Kiku delighted, truly taken by even the paper that was used, leaning more in his watching over Feliciano’s shoulder.

They explored the book together, going through all kinds of explanations of spells, magic, even detailed drawings of different kinds of creatures. There were basilisks, vampires, fairies, of course werewolves, but only one part, only one section was Feliciano’s purpose and main interest. He was welcomed into it with an intricate web design, one of a tree of life, a great symbol for what lay in the next pages.

“What exactly did Ludwig tell you to do?” Kiku still questioned and wondered. This was not a book to be given to just anyone, especially a beginner like Feliciano.

“Just read, we’ll be starting on healing for when he returns and he said there’s a lot of things here that can make it easier for me for when I start."

“How much?”

“Just two pages, but…” he gave Kiku a teasing smirk, enough to let him know that Feliciano was not going to limit himself, not when this book held something that he had been craving for so long.

Anxious he was, he quickly read his part for Ludwig’s homework, enough for the testing that he should ask at some point from Gilbert, before discarding, going on with the pages, the words, the charts, step by step explanations, an amazing concentration that didn’t budge even as Kiku floated around him. It was rather odd, but exciting and a chance for Kiku to see a side of Feliciano others rarely saw. His side of dedication, intelligence and calculation that was best Kiku moved aside to not disturb a single line of his thoughts and learning.

Feliciano spent a good amount in the book’s hold, giving a tap here and there, a hum, an alight, until finally at one moment he laid it upon the floor, a new dedication and smile.

“What is it?” Kiku wondered, quite startled.

“I think I got it! I think I know how to properly life awaken!” He announced proudly.

Holding to the book, he stood up and chose from one of the many statues in the terrace, one of a young man, with long waved hair, a particular curl rising from his center forehead, more modern with the glasses and war uniform he wore.

Kiku followed behind him curious, “who is he?”

“It’s the newest of the statues, made after World War II. It was erected to honor a Canadian soldier that had helped the base greatly in being protected from an air raid. My great grandfather wrote many good things about him and there’s a very old picture of him with Nonno as a baby.”

“So you decided on choosing him long before?”

“Yes, he seems very kind and noble. I wonder what kind of person he could really be.” Feliciano gazed up, letting its form assure him yet again, before he kneeled, placing the book properly before him, reading the enchantment and spell well. With a breath of relief, with a centering, a focus, he got it.

“Feliciano…are you sure?” Kiku still questioned.

“I’ve been using my power long before getting here, Kiku, I know my limitations, I know what I can do,” Feliciano was sure, starting his release with his closed eyes, relaxed figure, lost still in himself.

“Yes…but you’ve been doing this without proper instruction and guidance.” It was one thing that worried Kiku ever since Feliciano started testing this back when he was eight years old, when he made him awaken. But as always, it was like he didn’t listen to his words, he continued on.

A light glowed from the palm of his hand, focusing it forward as he let it lay on the statue, releasing beads of magic unto it, brightening and brightening until everything in their vicinity was left blinded. It was sudden and harsh, it distracted Feliciano, and thinking he was done, he let himself stop, to settle, to try and find vision as the strong light subsided. Kiku was in the same state despite being a spirit, for the first time in a while having to shake himself and let his whole being make use to the darkening of this terrace once again. Once it was all gone, they met with the statue not standing on its pedestal by the small stairs, but lying face down on the floor, arms and legs splayed, for a moment both wondering if it had just fallen without any result. Suddenly there was a groan, a rising of the head, adjusting his new eyes to fluttering, to watching, with big questions and surprise surely. He moved about his head, his arms causing a rise, the rest of the body joining along in its standing, still analyzing, still letting his eyes explore. Feliciano reacted to this by shrilling, jumping and letting even his arms bounce in the air in his own congratulation.

“Look Kiku, I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it!” He even hugged Kiku, spinning him in his delight, despite the huge shock that was in Kiku’s expression as if he had been shot.

Feliciano then quickly let go, deciding to offer his help for the now alive statue to stand, while Kiku composed himself, fixing his robe and trying to pretend nothing had happened.

“Oh, you look so good, and nice, and pretty, are you okay? Did the process hurt? I really tried my best and I’m so sorry if I did. Do you have any memories? Do you know your name? How are you feeling?” Feliciano pestered on as he examined, taking his arm to weigh, touching, spreading, so close that the now lively statue was feeling uncomfortable, especially when he was still examining everything anew, trying to find his own independent movements, even speech.

“Um…uh…” his gentile voice could only utter, looking around as if some obvious hint could speak for him.

“Feliciano, calm down, one thing at a time, he’s still adjusting,” Kiku commented, offering the statue a calming smile to assure there was nothing to worry about.

“Oh yes…yes, you’re right, I-I’m so sorry, may we first ask for your name please.” Feliciano moved away at Kiku’s signal, giving the statue just what he needed to…breathe he guessed.

These seconds gave him just enough peace and reaching, to present properly, for once with a friendly smile that showed the trust Feliciano had seem from the statue ever since he first spotted him here.

“He-hello, I suppose it’s a pleasure, as for name, it is-”

“Feliciano…Feliciano!” There came that distant interrupting call, surely from the halls that would lead to the terrace, an oncoming person that was unwanted to what Feliciano made here.

“Who is that?” Kiku showed his worry clear, his eyes searching for the pillar he would take as a refuge once whatever person came in.

“I…I don’t know.” He was sure it wasn’t Ludwig or Gilbert. He stayed as frozen, hoping it would be enough to hide his creation. Kiku doubted that this statue in its early birth could quickly learn such a skill.

“Feliciano!” Kiku reminded with a point, earning a gasp from the young brunet as he tried to find a quick way to hide the new statue. As the steps of the coming person became stronger, Feliciano had no other choice than to pull and push the new man into the hide of a wall, away from sudden sight, from the opening bang of the door, from the new dark eyes that settled, the statue given only but a glance from his giver begging for him to remain in his hiding.

“Ah, there you are!” The visitor greeted, taking readied strides down the steps until he stood closer to Feliciano.

“Keron, it’s great to see you!” Feliciano delighted.

“Likewise, my dear Feli, likewise,” he smiled, taking sitting in one of the pillars, settling himself for a long while and Feliciano had to try hard to hide a strain and a groan.

“I hope I’m not being rude, but what are you doing here? Did Gilbert sent you for me to do something? I was sure I didn’t have anything for today.”

“Oh no, no, no, I came here on my own accord,”

“Oh, is something the matter?”

“Oh definitely not, just wanted to see you,” he grinned uncomfortably, which made Feliciano question, tapping and leaning his foot as a show of urgency that Keron quickly caught on, deciding then to be quick about this before he lost the momentum.

“Feliciano, have you liked your time in the base?” He thought he could start.

“Um…I guess, I mean, I would have preferred to be somewhere else, but yes, it’s been nicer than what I expected. People are really kind, hardworking, so smart and with so much to-”

“Yes, yes, yes, that’s all very nice. How would you find that it would be better?” He smirked, leaning now much closer in a way that only made Feliciano move back, finding it odd.

“Um, I guess for me to leave or to just…not do all these things my grandfather wants me to do.” He was honest.

“Really? Do you really not believe that…you could…perhaps just have someone instead to make it much more interesting?” He smirked, he leaned closer, devilish and eager.

“Um…what kind of someone?” Feliciano was not following and Keron had to hold himself from smashing his head against one of the statues there.

“Perhaps…perhaps you need someone like me,” he finally reached.

“Someone like you? For what?”

“Why, for walks across the forest, for lonely nights with just us, for whatever you crave… we could even hunt and I could let you see me fight in one of my famed killings. Anyone in the base would envy you greatly if they knew you had such an opportunity,” he coaxed, he hoped Feliciano had understood enough.

“That um…that sounds really romantic, Keron.” Ah yes, this was going the directions he wanted. “All until…the killing and…hunting part that is.”

“I could make some adjustments.”

“That would be nice.”

“Do I take that as an acceptance?” He smiled, already sounding trumpets of victory in his mind, to take Feliciano to those instant words and have him be his.

“Keron, that is all…very kind and thoughtful of you, but I’m…doing quite well by myself and I don’t think I would need something like that to add to what I’m going through. I’m sure you could find somebody else to do all those fun things, maybe someone who likes to see you hunting,” Feliciano smiled sincerely, all while Keron’s demeanor began to fall.

“So…you’re denying me?”

Feliciano tried to think of something that wouldn’t sound so harsh or mean, but as he took a glance to the statue, who was surely nervous, peeking, close to a reveal, not to mention Kiku was also starting to stir from his position just as wondering about that interaction with this fellow, Feliciano realized he had to hurry.

“I’m really sorry, Keron, but I…don’t have that kind of interest in you and the kind of life you have here,” he revealed warily, dreading how mean he surely sounded, but he really had to hurry and he had to set straight his wishes when it came to others.

“I also would really like if you would leave me for now, I’m doing some…studies that really need my attention and I can’t have distractions…sorry,” he leaned in apology, an intent with a beautiful shine in his eyes that was enough to not have Keron punching him. He still slammed a fist against a marbled rail, surely cracking, making Feliciano worry over the statue that hid by its side.

“You’ll find yourself regretting this decision Feliciano Valenti, you made quite a loss today.” In a quick swish, in harshened steps, in a loud bang of the entrance door, he was gone, creating a nervous atmosphere in this place that Feliciano had liked to consider of peace.

Finding everything clear, Kiku materialized himself fully by Feliciano’s side, and the other statue began crawling back into the light, joining them as well.

“Who was that?” Kiku instantly questioned.

Feliciano sighed, “it’s…nobody you should concern much about, it’s my own dealing.” His gaze then returned to the new statue, his new presence enough to alight Feliciano with stupor and want again. “Sorry, now we can properly introduce ourselves. What is your name?”

The statue brimmed, “Mathew Williams.”

  Lovino closed the trunk, all the items inside safe and ready for the new trip.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Toris asked him, his Lithuanian client to who Lovino had just brought the sword to the Baltic base.

“A lot of members would want these items quick and I still have other items to carve back at my own base. I want to get them done as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure they can wait, if anything we can offer our own workshop.”

“I feel more comfortable in mine.” Lovino went forward to open the door to the driver seat of the car he was loaned.

“If you’re settled, then very well, but please be careful on the road, werewolf activity has been very high in these areas and we have already lost some of our men to them. We had to call members from your own base to deal with them, even Ludwig is here.”

Lovino rolled his eyes at the mentioning of his name, taking sitting and closing the door, adjusting himself before the wheel.

“Don’t underestimate me, I’m just as capable as that bastard,” Lovino addressed him as such without a care, dreading how people wouldn’t confide in him enough just because he hadn’t reached the levels and badges Ludwig did. Lovino has only been in the base for two years, Ludwig for five, of course he would have more time to get tittles and missions. He wished his grandfather wasn’t so paranoid and worried over his protection to give him some of the harder tests and missions.

“I wish you farewell and an immense amount of luck. Send us a text or a call letting us know you drove through Poland all right."

“Will do.”

It was their last exchange before Lovino turned the engine and Toris moved away, Lovino taking instant leaving into the route planned for him. A single wave and the Baltic base began to hide again in the deep forest that encircled it deeply in secrecy. It took a while for Lovino to reach a main road, and with the late hour, it was still as vacant as his thread through the forest. In his boredom he turned on the radio, messing with the satellite installed until he found some stations from Italy, jumping from some top 40’s station to the latest news about his favorite football teams. He would bang his hands on the wheel, let himself sing along without a care, the surroundings nonexistent as he let himself enjoy what would be many hours of driving to get back.

As he swore he was soon meeting with the Lithuanian-Polish border, all his sudden joyous swaying was interrupted by the all too familiar glow of his own wolf mark. His was the Neapolitan one, spinning around his arm, most of the time covered, but the glow enough to show through his darkened clothes. It was designed specifically for it to do as such.

He instantly stopped, the car halting in the very middle of the road. Whoever was behind could pass right through, Lovino didn’t care when he had other things to worry about. He slicked back his sleeve and saw clearly how his mark resounded in light, signaling the approach of the monsters his very line was born to hunt. He took a moment to breathe out any kind of fear, find his bravery, his hand reaching to the back, finding through the mess of weapons his riffle, his long thin sword, some freezing ponds as well as some net capturing ones. With all his items settled, he dared bring an opening to his door, weary from that very instant he met with the cold and fresh air, closing the door behind him, making anew his settlement to begin this mission, end it and bring forward a price to his base. Maybe then his grandfather will finally see, maybe then he would be granted some new level or badge.

There was a forest right before him, dark, foreboding, every sound haunting and hinting cries of what lay inside. He took no care, he came forward, knowing steps, his weapons already pointed and prepared, being careful as to not let any breaking branch or shell or item resound, eyes watching every space, every opening, rise, below, ducking, moving aside, even jumping and climbing trees to have a better upper watch. His glow kept blinking, which meant he or she was still far, still out of area and no matter how deep he came, no matter the small cliffs, the brooks, the boulders, the hikes up treacherous hills, nothing, in fact, his glow completely stopped, which meant it surely left, off into another forest, without hints, sites, a run or a capture. Lovino groaned as he jumped down the steep of a hill, decided on returning, on moving his weapons to lay in a hanging on his back, on defeat of nothing, murmuring curses all the way.

He knew how to return, he knew what signs to pinpoint as a lead, he wouldn’t get lost, he confided on returning. So focused he was on what he thought would be a hunt that he properly didn’t take the surroundings, the beautiful dark green under the crescent moonlight, the shines of the water, of how the rocks and boulders formed into nature’s own carved statues, into meadows, into spaces of freshness and wonder that Lovino let himself admire, let himself relax as words died out and he simply decided on wandering and watching.

As he could spot the road from a distance, as he thought he could finally leave, his eyes instead took a sudden light of color, one he couldn’t disobey, couldn’t ignore. When he gazed to the side he saw a patch of flowers, colorful, beautiful, telling him of softness and scents that moved him forward. He thought of Feliciano, knowing he would love these, knowing that this was the gift he asked, decided on his picking, leaning down and starting a bouquet with as much as he could bring.

As the form became much more divine, Lovino let himself grin at the smile Feliciano would surely wear once he saw this. He could already feel him jumping, shouts of excitement and crushing hugs that would refused to budge no matter his harshest threats. Was this enough? Were there enough colors? Should he pick from those others or settle with the nearest ones. Fuck it, take those white ones, the crazier Feliciano would get about it. It would add quite a heavenly touch that fitted him…also on himself, since he knew that Feliciano would surely make one of those stupid flower crowns for him too.

There, that should do it, now to get something to hold them, maybe even some water- his mark alighted sure, bright, intense, it was here. Growls, ferocity, lurking right behind him. Lovino pushed himself away before he was crushed by the massive black figure, by the claws, by the raging teeth that begged for a bite of this lone figure in the woods. Bruises with his roll against the floor and then a hit against a near tree, but nothing, he took out his weapons from his back and aimed, beginning his slash with his sword and the firing with his gun. It was big, probably one of the largest he had ever seen, a dark coat that didn’t suit him for his aim, for it helped it camouflaged well between the shadows. The only thing that made it stand out were the clear blue eyes, shinning quite beautifully even in its hunger, in its blinding, in its want of kill. Even if they were somehow lost, they were also targeted, keeping a heavy focus on the hunter, both spinning and avoiding in jumps, trying what they could for a slash, for a weakening that could give them a cut of harsh blood.

Hits, purpling, bits of blood flying about and coating the grass, the trees, heavy breaths, yet neither refused to back down, they continued in their clash, shouts, growls, but at one point one was to weaken, one was to fall. Lovino got a deep gush on his leg that kept oozing, slowly weakening him until it proved fatal to stand, until one push had him caged, the monster’s saliva, the blood from the cuts he managed to bring on the beast and huffs reigning down on him ready for a sweet feast, for a sated hunger. Nothing he could do had been enough, no matter some last trying kicks or punches. No, the beast held him down, baring his teeth, inching for his bite and Lovino had begun to accept.

He lost, he was gone and his last aching thoughts were that he let the flowers scatter into ruin on the ground.

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[abutterflyscribbles]

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 10

shoutout to @dainesanddaffodils @deluxetrashqueen @lunalocura for proofing this chapter!

(if you read, if you enjoy, plz reblog and comment!)

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ao3

“I feel like something Brian Froud would draw.”

Marianne strained her neck, trying to watch Dawn fasten the back of a shirt around the base of the limp purple wings that had so recently taken up residence on Marianne's shoulder blades.

As promised, Griselda and Dawn had gotten some clothing together for Marianne. It was a relief to exchange her ragged jeans and compromised shirt for something clean and whole. Even if the new garments appeared to be made out of leaves.

There must have been some sort of magic involved that kept the leaves fresh and allowed them to be stitched and tailored like cloth. Marianne put on a pair of dark purple leggings that stretched just like knit fabric even though they gave off the faint perfume of flowers. The green tunic sort of thing was something like a belted leaf poncho that hung down to her knees and had some tricky fastenings in the back to allow for wings.

Dawn was doing up the fastenings and was not talking. Very loudly not talking. Which would have been easy enough to ignore if Dawn's silence radiated any amount of anger. But, no, it was a sad silence. The careful silence of someone afraid of offending with a badly placed word. Someone trying very hard to be tactful.

It made Marianne feel guilty and that in turn made her angry. As far as bad days went Marianne's surpassed anyone else's by far. She shouldn't be expected to have the emotional energy to deal with anyone else's woes. Unpleasant truths were clawing at the comfortable veil that had been drawn over her life, ripping apart everything Marianne had thought were rock solid. This left her with no time or inclination to humor the wistful hopes of a teenager.

Then again, a king dealing with a kingdom in chaos wouldn't have been expected to spare the time to offer comfort to a supposed fairy changeling that had stuffed him into a jar earlier on in the day. Bog really was just too awkwardly sweet for his own good. Marianne felt obliged to pass on a little of the niceness she had received and restore cosmic balance.

Mood somewhat lifted by a change of clothing, even if her wings were still trying to drag down her shoulders and her mood, Marianne made an attempt to cheer the princess up.

“Look, kid,” Marianne said, feeling new muscles pulling in her back when she strained to look over her shoulder at Dawn, “I'm not . . . I'm not mad at you or anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Dawn said flatly, finishing with the fastenings and stepping away.

Marianne fumbled for something kind to say that wouldn't bring up the lost princess business. She was sure if she had to hear one more word about that she'd scream. Dawn would look up at her with those big blue eyes full of hope and Marianne would feel like a monster for crushing that hope. Even so, the expectations prickled her temper and she would end up being horrible to the kid again.

“I'm . . . I'm sure Sunny is going to be fine,” Marianne offered, “I mean, he'll get the potion and it will all be . . . fine.”

“Sure,” Dawn agreed, still lacking her characteristic sparkle.

“And—and your dad will be impressed by how you've been handling this whole thing. I mean, getting the goblins to cooperate with you, that's a pretty big deal, right?”

“Yeah. Impressed. Sure.”

“Uh,” Marianne said, trying to provoke the conversation into continuing so that the strains of lovesick singing would remained masked, “Um.

Marianne pulled at the edge of the leaf tunic. It acted almost exactly like fabric. When she pinched it there was no bruising or stickiness of a crushed leaf, just the faint smell, like trees warming under the summer sun. Built-in perfume. Nice.

“I'm sorry if I was kind of abrupt,” Marianne tried again, “It's been a very long, very weird day and I'm six different kinds of scrambled.”

“It's fine.”

The stonewalling tactic had been used on Marianne before and she had an array of methods to deal with it, but most of them involved tackling the taciturn individual and either tickling them or putting them in a headlock until they begged for release and agreed to talk.

These methods had not been devised with a wilting fairy princess in mind.

“Uh, Bog invited me to stay here.”

“Oh?” a spark of life returned to Dawn's face, a gleam of interest in her eyes.

“Yeah, to learn glamour after this love potion is cleaned up. I mean, I would kind of have to stay anyway, really, to learn how to get right-sized again, but it's nice to have a clear invite. Maybe this heap isn't a four star hotel, but maybe it looks better when the sun is up.”

“You're going to stay?”

“Yeah, maybe. Yes. I'll be around for at least a few--”

Dawn sent Marianne staggering with a hug. They both would have tipped over except Dawn spread her wings and hovered with her feet kicked up off the floor.

“--days,” Marianne finished, trying to speak around the shoulder that was crammed into her throat.

“I can show you the fields!” Dawn shoved Marianne to arm's length, “and Sunny's village! You could come to the festival! It was supposed to be tonight, but I bet it was canceled because of everything and--”

“Dawn, I'm going to be staying here. In the forest. If I stay at all.”

“Oh, I know, but you can still socialize! You'll be Boggy's guest, not his prisoner. He likes you.”

“He doesn't like anyone,” Marianne rolled her eyes. Her face felt warm and she really wasn't sure why. It was probably the smirk on Dawn's face, “Especially not people who stick him in badly washed mayo jars.”

“Oh,” Marianne,” Dawn fluttered to the side as she flicked her hands to dismiss the idea, “You do that to everyone. It's just your way, we understand.”

Marianne sputtered out a laugh. “I went my whole life without collecting tiny people in jars, and then in one day I get three. Beginner's luck.”

“Think of how good you'd be if you practiced.”

“I'm trying not to make a habit out of it. With the exception of Roland. I'd like to get him in a pickled onion jar and lob it into a landfill.”

“I only understand half of what you're saying,” Dawn remarked, giggling as she floated around, fussing with Marianne's tangled hair, “but it sounds funny.”

“I'm a riot.”

“Now, don't you look just lovely?” Griselda pattered back into the room, a length of something bundled in her arms, “You could still use a comb, though, mushroom.”

“I've sort of given up on that,” Marianne blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes after she shooed Dawn's hands away, “It doesn't seem to be worth the effort.”

“Your message to your dad was sent off, dear,” Griselda told Dawn, “And it looks like all the love-dusted folks have been gathered up. Patrols are still out but they haven't reported any new cases of love-sickness in awhile.”

“That probably means somebody got the potion away from the imp,” Dawn tapped her fingers together, “the question is: who?”

“And how's the antidote coming along?” Marianne added.

“Plum does things in her own time,” Griselda's wide face dipped into a frown, “Ridiculous little airheaded twinkling maniac and her useless potions. Oh, of course it works now when it'll cause a mess, but . . . hm. Never mind. She's working on it. There was a little bit of a delay because my boy had her make this.”

Griselda shook out the bundle she had been carrying. It was some sort of blanket or cloak made up of layers of flower petals. Dark purple petals overlapping like scales, rimmed with a slightly darker shade of purple.

“Hellebore petals,” Griselda said, “Had some stowed away. Anyway, my boy had Plum make a wrinkle for you. I had to haggle with her for an age. I said you'd give an IOU for it, sunshine, seeing as it's fairy business in its way. Couldn't get her to name a price that we here could pay.”

Griselda address the last note to Dawn who nodded, “That's fine. She probably wants to make sure she has a protector and patron once she's free. Dad will be happy to oblige. Boggy is so thoughtful!”

“A wrinkle?” Marianne asked, feeling uneasy that a favor done for her was going to be paid for by the fairy king. It felt like Griselda and Dawn were working on the assumption that Marianne really was the lost princess and they were humoring her declarations to the contrary. She would rather have been in debt to Bog and Griselda, if she couldn't be responsible for it herself.

Marianne looked at the offered assemblage of petals that was offered to her, reluctant to accept it, “What is it?”

“A wrinkle, dear. A wrinkle? You know, a wrinkle in the veil? Oh, just try it on, sweetheart.”

The “wrinkle” was like a sort of sleeveless shift that was open down the front. It was waistless and fell straight down to Marianne's knees, no openings in the back for the wings, so it just laid over them. It was nice enough, she supposed, but she couldn't figure out why it was apparently so special. Which was a relief, since that meant she could decline the gift and the debt to the fairy king.

“What's it supposed to do?” She turned in place to see the movement of the garment, “prevent wrinkled clothing or cause it?”

Marianne stopped in the middle of her second rotation, the hem of the wrinkle flapping around her legs. Something had changed, something . . . She spun around, trying to see her own back. She reached behind herself and felt shoulder blades, ordinary shoulder blades and nothing else, poking through the back of the wrinkle.

“Oh, that doesn't look right,” Dawn shuddered, her face tinged with green.

“They're gone!” Marianne spun around again, enjoying her reclaimed balance, “The wings are gone! I can move again!”

“You look all wrong.”

“Are you kidding?” Marianne bounced up and down on her heels, “I could do cartwheels. Move over, I'm going to do cartwheels.”

“Don't you dare!” Dawn grabbed her shoulders, “The room is too small!”

“Handstands, then. Something!” Marianne rolled her shoulders, “How don't I have wings?”

“Take off the wrinkle, dear,” Griselda said, flapping her hands to hurry Marianne up.

Marianne did, and the weight settled back on her shoulders, the wings returned.

“Wrinkles are tricky things, changing just a little part of you to be what it isn't in a world where it is. Probably no one could do one except Plum, My boy thought this might help since you were having so much trouble getting around.”

“I'll thank him when I see him,” Marianne put the wrinkle back on and did another twirl, “I will show my gratitude by respecting his personal space and not hugging him.”

Griselda snorted on her way out of the room, “My boy doesn't know what's good for him.”

“Boggy is so sweet,” Dawn said with some of her usual sparkle, though she was still trying not to look at Marianne's wingless back, “I don't understand why we've been so scared of starting up talks with him. Marianne, stand still!”

“I'm going to do cartwheels!”

“You cannot do cartwheels!”

“You sound just like my brothers. 'Marianne, you can't do cartwheels'. 'Marianne, you'll break something'. 'Marianne, this is the third time you've broken that arm'.”

“Third?” Dawn asked, eyes wide, “How many times . . .?”

“My family invested in rubber stamps so they wouldn't have to sign their names by hand every time I was in a cast. In my defense, it didn't look that far from the roof to the ground.”

Marianne ceased her spinning and dropped herself into a chair. She could sit in a chair again, just like a real person who hadn't been dealing with an otherworldly incursion in their kitchen. She was just Marianne  Gallagher who had more stitches than sweethearts to her name.

Except she wasn't.

“I was trying to fly,” Marianne said, remembering how she teetered on the edge of the porch roof, looking down at the smooth carpet of lawn. There had been an expectation in her tiny, baby brain that she would fly. Or that someone would catch her.

Someone with blue eyes.

Blue eyes always made her sad, a little wistful. Bog's eyes reminded her of that, but they were different from the memory that slipped out of her hands. It was like chasing a gauzy scarf in the wind. It shimmered in the air, rippling out of reach. Dawn's eyes . . . they were almost familiar.

“Dawn . . .” Marianne slouched down in the chair until she was almost sliding off of it.

“Sit up straight,” Dawn tapped Marianne's knees as she walked by.

“What, you afraid I'll wrinkle my wrinkle?”

Dawn giggled, swatting Marianne's knees as punishment for the joke, “Does everyone talk like you? Where you've been—where you come from?”

“There's a whole range,” Marianne gestured in an arc, “I fall on the mouthy end of things. My brothers, less so. It's my coping mechanism in times of extreme upheaval and weirdness.”

“It sounds like . . . like you have a lot of fun with your family.”

“Yeah. We did. Do.”

Teetering on the edge of the roof, teetering between two realities, watching a scarf dance in the wind. How long could she teeter before she fell one way or the other?

Marianne pushed herself up in her chair, her new outfit rumpled around her and the wrinkle wrinkled up beneath her. Distracting herself with the details of getting comfortable, letting the fresh smell of the leaf tunic and flower petal cloak surround her in a comfortable, outdoorsy perfume, Marianne asked the question like she would have dropped a pebble into a dark hole to judge by its rattling descent how deep the darkness went.

“What happened to your sister?”

Dawn looked sad over Marianne's phrasing of the question, and still somewhat queasy over Marianne's missing wings. She sat down, her wings falling effortlessly into place as she did.

“We were kidnapped,” Dawn said, starting the story off with a bang, “some of dad's political rivals took us to use as leverage. Well, actually, it was a cousin, a third or fourth cousin a few times removed. He wanted to be king and he was going to use me and you—me and my sister to make dad step down.”

“Intense,” Marianne remarked.

“I guess,” Dawn shrugged a shoulder, “I can't remember, I wasn't even a year old. Mar—my sister was just five. He had us taken and hidden, but his plan fell apart pretty quickly. All the people he was counting on as allies didn't really want to help him be king. He thought they would all rally around him.”

“Failed a perception check.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So, dear old cousin Back-stabber--”

“Luke, actually.”

“--decided that he wanted more than the simple life of moisture farming on Tatooine and decided to try his hand running the empire. Sorry, never mind, ignore me, keep talking.”

Marianne knew she was being unnecessarily snarky and wished she would stop. It was her way of controlling the situation, as was her habit. Sarcasm and quick jibes kept everyone else on their toes and too busy to press on with an attack against her. It was a tactic she had had much success with, most of the time. It was less effective when no one got your pop culture references.

“Then he tried bargaining to get off without being charged. Mom and dad wouldn't negotiate and sent everybody out to look for us.”

“They obviously got you back. What happened to your sister?”

“It was all kind of confused. We'd been kept at two different places and the people guarding us were under orders to do whatever they had to to keep use from being found. I was being kept near one of the elf villages, actually. The elves found the hiding place and sneaked me out. When the soldiers caught up they found me safe and sound, playing with Sunny.”

“Aw, you were baby best friends.”

“I cried when the soldiers tried to take me away. Mom had to come get me herself.”

“Awww.”

“That's part of why dad has always put up with me going down to the village. Not that he's ever going to let me again, not even with ten times the usual number of guards.”

“Wow him with your super diplomat princess skills. If you make a triumphant return, leading the goblin king by the hand, your dad might reconsider some views.”

“Not likely. He's going to chain me to a chair and chain the chair to the floor so that I can't scoot anywhere. And he'll never let me see Sunny again, not ever. Not that I want to ever see Sunny again.”

“Of course not.”

“But dad doesn't get to make that choice for me.”

“Absolutely not. So . . . while you were happily burbling over a borrowed rattle, what happened to your sister?”

It wasn't clear to Marianne what she was hoping to learn from this story. Maybe some detail she could point at and say, “aha! That proves it! It couldn't have possibly been me!”. Maybe find out that the princess had a distinctive birthmark that Marianne didn't. That was the usual method in these sort of melodramas. And Marianne could quite safely claim she had no birthmarks, distinguishing or otherwise. A sizable collection of scars, but none whose origins had not been documented.

Purple wings were all that Dawn had to go on, and Marianne refused to be convinced on such flimsy evidence. There had to be something that would explain everything. Something in the story that would prove . . . well, she was starting to feel a little beyond believing that she could prove she was purely human. But maybe there was something that would just . . . let her be her. That if she was a changeling, she was an anonymous orphan without family or ties that would pull her away from the world she wanted to belong to.

“They found where she was being kept, too,” Dawn continued, “Or they were pretty sure. They surrounded the hiding place—it was on the edge of the Dark Forest in the hollow at the base of a tree—and moved in to take Luke's accomplice by surprise.”

“How do you know all this? Seems like your dad wouldn't want your gentle ears dirtied with such sordid details.”

“Sunny's mom told me when I was older. Nobody at court would dare breathe a word about it around me. Lottie thought I should know and when I asked about it she told me everything.”

“Sunny's mom?” Marianne laughed at a sudden thought, “She's going to kill him for all this, isn't she? If she's anything like my mom, she will.”

“Oh, goodness, she will! I kind of hope I'm there . . .”

“Share the front row seats with me. I'll bring popcorn.”

“Why popcorn?”

“Wait, you know what popcorn is?”

“Why wouldn't I know what popcorn is?”

Marianne imagined a fairy eating an individual kernel of popcorn and wondered how they popped corn without getting concussed.

“Anyway, Sunny's mom told you everything?”

“The important things. She didn't give me many details, except that mom tripped over a guard in the dark when they were creeping up the tree. She smashed him behind the ear,” Dawn made a punching motion, “dented his helmet.”

“You're making that up.”

“Busted up her hand, but luckily she was ambidextrous.”

“I'm not left-handed,” Marianne muttered.

“So she could still hold a sword and lead the charge against Luke's men.”

“You are making this up.”

“Mom won, of course. There weren't enough guards to do more than slow her men down  for a few minutes . . . but it was long enough. One of Luke's people ran away and it was dark, but they thought he might have been carrying my sister, but . . .”

“He got away?”

Dawn wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at her knees. She spoke in a lower voice, hushed and serious, “He got snatched by an owl.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Marianne's earlier concerns about owls and other flying creatures of the night were justified and the confirmation sent a shiver down her spine. The shiver even felt like it traveled into the wings, outlining them for a passing moment. A fairy caught in the talons of an owl . . . wings tangled, maybe ripped, a baby in their arms . . .

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, “Everyone kind of got scattered and they couldn't find the owl's nest afterwards.”

“But . . . why did you guys think she could be alive? Even if she wasn't eaten by the owl she could have fallen and been snatched up by something else.”

“Nobody knew for sure!” Dawn said hotly, “Nobody had actually seen Marianne! They found four more hiding places afterwards and decoy guards all over the place!”

“Okay, okay!” Marianne said, feeling bad that she had upset Dawn again, “So there's a chance she made it. Where did she end up, then?”

Dawn gave Marianne a flat stare.

“Oh. Duh. Right. Changeling.”

“Uh huh.”

“Give me a break, it's been--”

“A long day.”

“Shut up. It's true no matter how many times I say it. Why would they stash your sister with humans? And if her, why not you too?”

“I hadn't thought of that . . .” Dawn drooped a little, “That does stick out.”

A touch of excitement made Marianne's heart skip a beat. The scarf was in the wind, her fingers nearly on it, she was on the verge of finding out something that would put the world back to rights. The changeling princess theory was about to fall apart.

“But then why do you look so much like mom?” Dawn stood up and threw her hands out in a plea for answers, “Your wings? Your—your attitude? Everything I remember, everything people tell me, mom was strong, she was funny, and she was really kind! You're all those things too! You're a changeling! Nothing else makes sense!”

“None of this makes sense!” Marianne shot back, standing up too.

“It does so! It's got to! You've got to come back! You've got to come back and it'll all be okay! We'll have you back! The kingdom will be so happy, dad will be . . .” Dawn choked a little, “dad will be happy.”

He's not my father.

Marianne couldn't say the words out loud. Again she was caught between her need to scream her hopes until they became true and her unwillingness to crush this fragile little girl. Dawn had taken too many hits already that day.

“Kid . . .” Marianne sighed, putting her hands on Dawn's shaking shoulders, “We'll . . . we'll look into all this. Look for some answers. Two kingdoms are involved, I guess I'm not going to be able to just skip town. But, kid, please don't hang all your hopes on me. Please.”

Dawn hung her head.

“Look me in the eye, kiddo.”

Dawn lifted her head and looked into Marianne's eyes. “Okay. That's fair. But if you are my--”

“I'm your friend. I'll be hanging around awhile. That is all I can promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” Dawn offered a bright smile, still looking into Marianne's eyes, her usual brightness quickly eating away the sadness.

The wind changed. The fluttering scarf blew into Marianne's hand. She remembered edging along the gutter on the roof, looking down, looking for something. For someone. A familiar face that glowed with warmth, sparkled with happiness. Someone with eyes that were . . .

Marianne tore her gaze away from Dawn's face. She covered her face with her hands and refused to look at Dawn. She tried to throw the fluttering memory away. She didn't want it. She wanted it to dissolve again, this time forever. But the scarf had turned solid in her hands, wrapped itself in knots around her fingers, and she could not tear it off.

“Marianne? Marianne are you alright?”

The room was too small. There wasn't enough space in it with the memory filling the room from corner to corner.

“Dawn,” the memory squeezed Marianne's chest until the whisper came out, the question was asked, “What color were your mother's eyes?”

“Blue,” Dawn replied, “Dad says I have her eyes.”

The scarf was somehow attached to a heavy weight and Marianne tumbled off the roof, falling and knowing there would be no one there to catch her.

“You've got to stop doing this, tough girl.”

Bog was suddenly there, keeping her from tipping over.

“Doing what?” Marianne asked, blinking away the blur in front of her eyes.

“Not fainting.”

“I was not not fainting. I tripped.”

“While standing still?”

“I'm talented that way. When did you materialize out of the ether?”

“Just now. Just in time. Are you alright?”

“Fine. It's just been a--”

“Long day?”

“Shut up.”

Marianne took a deep breath and looked up to see if the room was stable. It was. It was also notably empty of any sparkling fairy princesses.

“Where did Dawn go?”

“There was some news and I sent her to talk to the messenger. I thought you would . . . you were looking a little . . . I thought you would rather not have her speculating any further about your identity for the time being.”

“Thanks. This identity crisis is knocking me off balance.”

“I noticed.”

“Shut up. You're horrible. You're the worse.”

“I hope you don't think that is a revelation for me.”

“I said shut up. You shut up, everybody shut up. I shut up. Bog . . . Bog is there any possible way I can get out of here? Right now? This minute? Have the tipsy glitter fairy slap some charm on me to get big again and just let me go home?”

“Not that I'm aware,” Bog replied, bewildered at Marianne's babbling and frantic pacing up and down the room. She couldn't stand still. She had to run. She had to run now.

Marianne kicked over a chair.

The chair knocked a piece off the wall. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling.

Bog stood there, twiddling his fingers uncertainly.

Marianne thought over the benefits of kicking more furniture.

“I hate this place,” She said, teeth clenched.

“Oh?” Bog said, obviously stung by the statement.”

“Not your stupid Dark Forest. I'm sure it's absolutely lovely underneath the cobwebs and rot. This stupid, absurd situation.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” Marianne scrabbled around for a change of subject. Anything to avoid talking, remembering. She settled on asking about the progress of diplomatic proceedings between fairies and goblins. The sooner that was settled the sooner Marianne could get everyone's full attention on solving the problem on making her big again.

“What was the news for Dawn? Her dad write back already?”

“Not as such.” Bog let out a tired sigh and massaged the back of his neck. His default scowl returned, dark as ever. Marianne was sort of glad that the shadows cast by his eyebrows hid how blue his eyes were. She was also sort of disappointed. Bog kind of had lovely eyes . . .

“An armed force of fairies and elves has crossed the border into the forest.”

“Oh. That stinks. What, they trying to rescue the captive princess? Didn't they get Dawn's note about how she has totally not been kidnapped?”

“Hard to say. The messenger hasn't returned.”

“Well . . . this isn't looking exactly terrific.”

“And the love potion is still unaccounted for. My scouts have lost track of the elf entirely. He's quite slippery, it seems. Plum needs to have that antidote at the ready before the elf or the preening fairy get here.”

Every new bit of news had Marianne's heart sinking lower. At this point it was somewhere in the pit of her stomach but she was sure it would get all the way down to her feet sooner or later.

“I guess I hope Sunny has the potion. The guy has learned his lesson.” Marianne said. But she imagined the pink bottle in Roland's hands and felt her heart slip down to her knees.

Bog just snorted.

“What's happening now, then? To war?”

“Not so long as I have their princess.” Bog's face pulled into a pleased smirk. It was ridiculously adorable how smug he got when he had the upper hand. It was like he was relishing a hard-earned triumph.

“Except you don't really,” Marianne pointed out.

“Technically, I do.”

“I thought the hostage thing was a joke.”

“She's not a hostage. Technically.”

“Don't get yourself twisted up in technicalities there, crunchy.”

“Don't call me--”

“Prickly?”

Bog's face twisted up in an even darker scowl. He even bared his teeth like he was working up a snarl.

It was also completely adorable how easy it was to ruffle Bog. He wasn't used to having people talk back. Except, Marianne supposed, by his mother.

“Look, if I have to I'll hold the princess here and only turn her over on the condition that the love potion is returned and they cease to trample all over my forest.”

“If that doesn't pan out?”

“I thrash the stuffing out of their tin armor and send them scurrying back home.”

“Straightforward. I like it.”

“Why does your approval fill me with unease?”

Marianne laughed. She hadn't expected to laugh so soon. For a towering pillar of spikes and prickles Bog was somehow reassuring to be around.

“You'll have to get Dawn to agree. If she doesn't then we're busting out of this joint.”

“Huh! You and what army?”

“I'm a one-woman army.”

“. . . true.”

“And I'm not handicapped anymore.” Marianne bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, feigning a few boxing-style punches at Bog. “You're hoisted by your own petard, giving me the coat of wrinkles.”

“I do appear to have made an error in judgment.” Bog chuckled, grabbing her fist when it swung by his nose. He held onto her hand and looked down into her eyes, probably disconcerted by the manic sparkle that must have been glittering in them. She felt out of control, running, running, running. She couldn't stop. Couldn't give herself time to think.

“What’s wrong--?” Bog began.

“I haven't thank you for the wrinkle,” Marianne pulled her hand free and spun away, the wrinkle flaring out. She almost stumbled, but managed to turn it into a lurching sidestep, “Sharp outfit, no wings, I feel human again. Kinda.”

Bog made a motion to grab her shoulder. He stopped himself and rubbed his hands together instead. “What happened?”

His voice was soft and kind. His eyes were visible again, a breathtaking shade of blue, lighter than the ones that haunted her, but similar enough to make her physically recoil.

Bog took a sharp step back, hands held up as if he were demonstrating that they were empty and his claws were out of play. It took Marianne a moment to realize he thought he had frightened her.

“No, no!” Marianne hurried to say, “You're fine! You're good. You're great. You're fantastic. It's not you. It's me. I'm a mess. I'm in worse shape than your castle.”

“Pardon?”

“It can't have escaped your notice that it's falling apart.”

Bog's gray teeth bared again as they scraped back and forth.

“Okay, wow, I am on a roll with the offending. Sorry. Please refer to previous statement of me going a disaster and disregard my opinion accordingly. I swear, I am too sober for this. But this castle is falling apart and so am I.”

“If it's falling apart it's because you've been throwing furniture into the walls!”

“Hey, it was only one furniture.”

“May I inquire as to why you are throwing things—singular or plural—and why your falling apart seems to have . . . accelerated?”

“Nothing. No reason. I'm fine.”

“I thought you just said you were falling apart.”

“Did not.”

Bog growled.

“Oh, go tangle yourself in a fly trap.”

“I can't tell if you're upset or just mad.”

“Mad like angry? Or mad like crazy?”

“Either.”

“Shut up. Maybe I am mad! Mad as in angry! My wedding fell apart because my boyfriend is a cheating, opportunistic pixie, I got shrunk when I wanted to be drunk, a fairy princess insists I'm her long-lost sister and she might be--”

Marianne hiccuped. Her throat had seized tight and the volume of her voice dropped dramatically. Tears rushed up into her eyes and started to spill over when she finished her sentence.

“--she might be right.”

There was an awkward pause that Marianne filled with angry sniffles. Bog shuffled and fidgeted. She couldn't blame him. He'd had to deal with her erratic emotions quite enough already tonight.

“Do you . . . do you want to hit something?” Bog asked.

“What?”

“I find it helps.”

Marianne looked over at the overturned chair. She nodded.

Bog opened the door and motioned for her to pass through it with a bow and wave of his hand.

“Dork.” Marianne sniffed.

For the first time in days Marianne felt sure of her footing.

The weight of the wooden practice sword in her hand was perfectly balanced. Her feet slotted easily into to pattern her muscles had followed so many times before. Gracefulness of movement was not something Marianne counted among her virtues, but she knew she moved well with a sword in her hand. And it felt good.

The throne room was nearly empty save Bog, Marianne, and a couple of squat goblins sitting on the steps in front of the throne. Marianne was fairly sure that one of them, for whatever reason, was licking pebbles. The two goblins were the only audience to witness a fairy changeling and a goblin king square up to fight.

Marianne put herself through a few stances to get the feel of the floor through her new boots and how the wooden sword rested in her hand. It felt ten times better than a baseball bat.

“You look happy. And a wee bit bloodthirsty.” Bog remarked. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, shifting his hands into black on the wooden staff he had taken up instead of his scepter.

“I am going to destroy you, Bog King,” Marianne pointed her sword at him, “and take your gothpunk throne for myself.”

“Oh,” Bog casually spun his staff in the fingers of one hand. Marianne hated that he made it look so easy. “So that was your plan all along. Charm the king and depose him when his back was turned.”

“I've been found out. I totally want to take over a kingdom with no indoor plumbing or twinkies. Now that that's out in the open--” She took up a stance with the sword above her head, parallel with the floor, and her other hand out for balance, “--bring it.”

“I was anticipating something more along the lines of going through a few basic moves.”

“Okay, or that. If you want to be all reasonable and sane.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Says who?”

They went through the slow movements of a mock battle. Marianne had started off wanting to pummel something into a pulp, but the structured exercise leveled out her mood as she because too focused to let her thoughts stray to unwanted memories.

Like of crying. Of being a tiny child in her mother's arms but crying her lungs out. The arms that held her were strange. The wrong arms.

The blow Marianne struck was forceful enough to jolt her all the way up to her shoulders. Even her banished wings asserted their existence enough to give a ghostly flutter. Bog was taken aback, weapon still held up defensively.

Marianne lowered her sword. “Sorry.”

Bog tapped her exposed stomach with the end of his staff. “I suppose the intent of this exercise was to give you an opportunity hit things.”

Marianne knocked the staff aside. “Yeah, but not with, like, killing intent. Unless Roland was around.”

A few more blows were exchanged. Bog's wings flicked up and down with his movements and Marianne could tell he was trying his best not to lift himself off the floor. It made her wonder about the dynamics of a fight between two winged people. It would be a whole new ballgame.

“I went and rattled Plum's cage,” Bog said, parrying her swings with one hand behind his back, “She started to babble about riddles, but only until the princess looked as if she was going to cry. The antidote should be ready soon.”

“Great. You have my permission to dose me with it if any of that potion starts getting thrown around. Please?”

“Of course.”

Marianne held up a hand to signal a time out. The news unwound one of the tight muscles in her back and the release made her sag. She was going to be safe. No matter what, Roland couldn't charm her again. If he got so far as to force the love potion on her, she could count on Bog to administer the antidote.

The muscle in her back snapped tight again. Count on Bog to help her. Save her. How had she ended up in a situation where she needed other people to bail her out? Running away from everything had been an attempt to assert control over her crumbling life. She had lined everyone up in a neat row of jars and presided over them, their fates in her hands.

But, really, she had not been in control of anything since the day she met Roland and he had charmed his way past her defenses and wrapped a chain around her heart, trapping her. She was still trapped. Cut off from the people she had thought were her family. Shoved into a miniature world, shoved into a life that was supposed to be hers. And she hadn't been able to do anything to stop it.

Standing on the edge of the field, crying because she couldn't find the way back home. Wedged into a world where she didn't belong. Ripped out of it and forced into a space that no longer fit.

Marianne struck a series of blows so sudden and forceful that Bog could only say, “Whoa!” while he hurried to block and dodge. She charged. He defended. She blocked. He dodged. The foundation of his fighting style appeared to be strictly defensive. Marianne redoubled her attack, trying to make him fight back. Take her seriously. She was a threat. She was dangerous.

She backed him up the steps to the throne. Bog's wings were rattling, a dry noise. The wrinkle brushed around her legs with the whisper of fresh flower petals. She wished it was the crackle of splintering wood. Shattering glass. Of wood crumpling metal armor. She was not soft. She was not a buttercup or any other flower. She was--

“Tough girl,” Bog leaned back so far to avoid her slashing sword that he could have won a limbo contest. It beat Marianne how someone who wore armor 24/7 could be that flexible. “I thought this was just practice!”

“What? The mighty Bog King afraid of a challenge?”

“Hardly. I just wonder if you can keep up!”

Marianne's reply was a sharp shout. She brought her sword down hard enough that had they been using real weapons sparks would have flown. She was wildly mixing one-handed fencing techniques with two-handed sword moves. And she was making it work. No rules. No points. No holding back. Everything that had been simmering inside her bubbled up and boiled over until her arms screamed and her throat was raw.

No matter how many blows struck true nothing could get rid of those blue eyes of a woman that was buried at the very foundation of Marianne's memories. Blue eyes that were so loving that Marianne hurt. She didn't want the shreds of memory. They were edged with broken teeth and they tore her skin when she fought them.

Bog fought back.

Really, actually fought back.

Marianne was grateful for that. It put a smile on her face, the fact that someone was taking her seriously. Acknowledging that she was not only capable, but dangerous. His lopsided smile showed her that he was enjoying this fight.

Somewhere in the exchange of blows Marianne's anger began to flow out of her, caught in the current of competition. She started to show off. She jumped over the staff that tried to sweep her feet out from under her. She added flourishes, she spun. Bog imitated her footwork and stance and she laughed at it.

It might have taken a complete collapse of her lungs to stop Marianne if the wooden sword had not struck the side of the throne instead of Bog, wrenching the wooden blade out of its hilt. Bog pressed forward to take advantage of the opening. Marianne took a leap back, her wings fizzing with the need to lift her in the air. The staff splintered when it hit the patch of floor Marianne had just vacated.

Gasping for breath, the two of them stared at each other.

“Tie?”

“Tie.”

Bog dropped onto his throne, flicking his wings out of the way. Marianne sat on the arm. The sword's hilt was still in her hand.

“Feel better?” Bog asked, giving his broken staff an absent examination.

“Emotionally? Kind of. Physically? I feel like I have made something not unlike a mistake.”

Bog grumbled something unintelligible that might have meant something like, “Same.”

They wheezed for awhile.

“I remembered something.”

“Hm?”

Marianne fought to make her dry throat swallow so she could go on. “I remembered something about here. I think. I think it was my--” Her throat closed up. She couldn't say it. She couldn't say 'mother'.

There was a soft rasp. Bog had placed his hand on the arm of the throne, next to where her own hand was resting. The sight of those long black claws was comforting. It was hard not to put her hand on top of his.

“Dawn's right.” The words sent a wave of nausea up her throat and she had to swallow hard to push it back but still let the words out. “I think I'm the princess.”

The scarf of memory was wrapped around her throat, tight enough to choke her.

“I'm sorry.” Bog said, in that gentle way of his that he was so reluctant to show. “I know it isn't what you wanted.”

He put her hand on hers after a few false starts, expecting her to draw back.

She moved her hand so she could grab his fingers and squeeze them hard. She kept squeezing as she slid off the arm of the throne and turned to face him, enjoying the novelty of looking down into his eyes. She smoothed her hand over the armor on the back of his hand, following the pattern with her thumb.

Bog looked terrified.

“You've been great,” She told him, bending over his hand. There was some new feeling that warmed her chest and she clung to it, ignoring the mass of other emotions seething inside her. While everything else that day had been weighing her down, this feeling buoyed her up. Made her feel light. It was a nice feeling.

Also terrifying.

She wasn't sure what it was. It was like jumping without knowing how far it was to the ground. It was thrilling and frightening, leaving her in a moment of weightlessness, neither falling nor flying. The ground would rise up sooner later to slam into her unprepared feet, but right now . . . the feeling filled her up, leaving almost no room for breath. It spilled out of her, she couldn't stop it. She didn't really try. She just looked into blue eyes that were still new to her and unfairly gorgeous.

Even as she did it Marianne knew it was something not unlike a mistake. That did absolutely nothing to stop her from bending over and placing a kiss on the back of Bog's shaking hand.