#i still wouldn’t call it a warm colour. it’s ashy

[fingertipsmp3]

Is it just me who cannot figure out their colour season

[rotten-games]

City of Immortals RO List

Okay so here it is, the list of ROs like I promised. Both mc's have their own pool of love interests to choose from with little overlap.

Here you’ll get a description of the ROs and some information on how the mc or others might view them. Also some info on the mc’s.

Mc1

Born to be a soldier by design, they were afflicted with immortality and stopped aging entirely once they hit thirty. A side effect—or perhaps a feature—is the beast that all but lives inside them, taking control when they feel incredibly strong emotions, though most often when anger is present. Where once they held full control of it, of the transformation they go through, now they must wrestle with its control with each passing day.

You are what’s called a Hunter. Every settlement has them, but Eden has the most. Caroline controls all her hunters from Eden, though ‘Hunter’ may be a bit of an oversimplification of the job description. Yes, one of their main jobs is providing food and other resources for the settlement, but they’re also bounty hunters, keepers of the peace, and are also often recruited for odd jobs when they have no contracts to fill. Perhaps the most important rule in Hunting, is that you always work in pairs.

Caroline: She/her

The best way to describe Carol is ‘short’, with a pair of unblinking amber eyes and a wind-buffeted, naturally tanned complexion. Her russet curls, while  usually out of her face, never seem to stay tied back for long, a seemingly constant slew of curls sticking to her forehead. A jagged scar cuts across the knuckles on her right hand.

Caroline is unrelenting. She knows what her settlement needs and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it—to save the lives of those she must oversee she is willing to do anything. Within reason. Truthfully, Caroline never asked to be made the leader of Eden, the job just sort of fell into her lap one day and no one bothered to take it from her. You’ve worked for her for years by the start of chapter one, and if you’ve learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t do smalltalk. She’s been in a relationship with Lowrie for years now, and as far as you can tell, they’re very happy with one another.

Lowrie: non-binary, they/them pronouns

Impossibly tall and scrawny, Lowrie’s skin is constantly burned red by the sun, seemingly unable to tan no matter what they do. Their face is long, with ash-coloured, shoulder-length hair that would usually hide their grey eyes but is otherwise kept out of their face with a blue-patterned scarf.

Some have called Lowrie stuck up in the past for their less than talkative nature but that would be an oversimplification. In truth, they just aren’t fond of talking—which is probably why they get on with Harley so well—and more shy than anything else. One of Eden’s finest Hunters, they spend most of their time in the sweltering heat of Wasteland bringing bandits in and shooting any of the mangy beasts that stray too close to Eden. The rest of their time is spent managing the bar with Caroline and Harley, tending to keep to themself. You’ve worked with Lowrie in the past, and as far as you can tell there’s little love lost between the two of you. 

Carol + Lowrie poly:

Caroline and Lowrie are poly and in a committed relationship with one another. They will not leave one another for monogamy with mc, however, you don’t have to be in a throuple with them—though that’s definitely on the table—you can simply be with one, who is with both you and the other. Lowrie is also currently casually seeing Harley. Carol is not seeing anyone else.

Mordred: he/him.

With a seemingly constant fuzz along his jaw, and a never-ending supply of little scars littering his warm olive skin, his hair tends to cover everything but his yellow eyes and the deep bags underneath. His hair is typically tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, mostly obscuring his pierced, slightly pointed ears.

Mordred is a hot-headed, easily irritated young man who’s been by your side since day one. You dragged yourselves out of the crumbling ruins of Ledala together, you fought together, and now you work together as Hunters. Partner’s in crime doesn’t quite cover your relationship but it’s certainly close. In recent years, however, your relationship has strained—perhaps it’s due to past mistakes getting in the way, or past feelings, but either way at the start of the book he’s nowhere to be found.

At the start of the game you can determine just what your relationship is with him—it’s strained at this point but the reasons why are totally up to you. He can also potentially have been an old flame of MC2.

Ridley: Gender variable

Ridley is an energetic person with a pair of bright green eyes constantly sparkling with a glint of adventure. Despite their heavily-muscled frame, they seem to constantly be hiding behind their oversized glasses, a veil of their shaggy red hair, and a slouch that makes them out to be much smaller than they are.

Ridley is… an enigma. While technically a Hunter, they seem much more interested in the pursuits of science and research than holding off rabid beasts with nothing but a gun that’s falling apart and a rusty sword. Of course, they can hold their own well enough, but when they’re meant to be spending their time training or helping out—and indeed, even on their time off—they’re usually found traipsing around in the desert looking for… who knows what.

Doc: She/her

Doc is stocky and sharp-jawed, dark brown, almost black eyes always watching. Her dense curls are shoulder-length and appear twisted together and held back behind her head. The tip of her left ear appears to have been torn off somehow.

Not known for her bedside manner, Doc travels between settlements to tend to the sick, injured, and broken, and though none can particularly vouch for her interpersonal skills (though who can say anyone has particularly good ones, these days?), they can certainly do so for her medicinal accomplishments. Some think her a wandering ghost, aiding those who need help to make up for the sins of her past, others simply see her as a woman seeking to do her part for the good of Wasteland, regardless, if you get on her bad side she’s been known to be liberal with her gun. Or so the rumors say.

J. Allard: Gender variable

Allard is a nervous-looking, shifty individual with short but messy brown hair flecked with grey. Constantly fidgeting with the ring on their thumb, their stutter becomes more obvious the more nervous they are. Though their eyes hide behind a pair of darkened glasses, a pallid face a week out from its last wash they are, completely, honest. Trust me.

J. Allard is a totally normal priest. There is nothing strange about them, they simply want what is best for you and your companions.

Mc2

Dragged down into the depths of the earth on the day Ledala fell, you never knew of the city beneath the surface. Your sibling died that day, you’re sure of it, and a part of you died with them—the beast no longer responds to your call and you’re still left injured from whatever afflicted you and your comrades that day. The man who saved you set you to work for him—sorry, with him—and now you walk perpetually in the darkness of a city long since forgotten by the sun, with people named after the remnants of an old world you never knew existed. You were never meant to survive that night, and every day the world around you reminds you of that.

Arthur: he/him

Arthur doesn’t look quite there half the time. His skin is translucent, his pale blue eyes impossibly far away, platinum blond hair little more than wispy strands atop his head. Most of his body is otherwise covered completely by that old, brown coat of his. There’s light freckling across his nose.

Arthur saved you that night. A Private Investigator by trade, he brought you on to work together because you had no where else to go. Maybe because of it you should be closer than you are but there’s always been a distance between you he’s been unwilling to cross. Either way, despite working together—living together—he keeps to himself and you try to keep to yourself in turn. Still, you can’t help but notice the disdain he has for the City Council and their lackeys.

Perci: she/her

Perci is constantly smiling. Relaxed of posture, her straight hair once ashy brown is now dyed silver. It’s cut short at the sides and back, creating an undercut, most of her fringe tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of dark brown, monolid eyes. She seems allergic to sleeves, taking whatever chance she gets to show off her cybernetic arm and the colourful tattoos that adorn her flesh arm.

A friend of Arthur who sometimes helps with investigations. She’s friendlier than he is with you, even inviting you out on occasion, but rebellion is on her lips more and more nowadays, and she isn’t subtle about it. You haven’t seen her in quite a while—as far as you can tell she and Arthur aren’t on speaking terms anymore after that big fight they had a few months back. As far as you can tell, she’s moved on and you certainly wouldn’t blame her if she has Council dogs on her heels.

Saga: Saga is always the same gender as your mc is.

Saga’s hair is a deep blue in colour, their black roots just barely growing through. Half of their head is shaved, the other half left chest-length and braided over their shoulder. Though their entire body seems to interwoven with tech, what is perhaps most interesting about them is the angular tattoo that crawls down the right side of their face. This is probably why they come to you completely covered in muck and baggy clothing.

Saga shows up at your door with a different name and a job. You aren’t given why, only the how, only the what. They’re stubborn and flighty in equal measure, suspicious of everyone around them including yourself. Oh, they dress the part of a street rat well, but the cash they have just on hand is nothing to blink at and, underneath all that grime, their skin is perfectly unmarred by the ravages of time.

Deimos: he/him, gay

Whether or not Deimos’ strength is his own or from borrowed, military-grade tech is anyone’s guess, but no one’s ever bothered to ask. Though he’s tall, he isn’t necessarily as muscular as the fear he commands would suggest. His eyes glow orange, black hair trimmed but not maintained, and his grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. For whatever reason, he always wears warm clothes.

Deimos is a Council dog who’s been hounding Arthur for a few years now. You’ve never officially met him; somehow whenever he drops into the office you always manage to be out. Whether that’s coincidence or because Arthur sends you out on errands very conveniently at those times it’s not for you to say. Somehow, he never seems to do too much damage to your colleague.

Adrastea: Non-binary, they/them or she/her pronouns, only attracted to nb or female mc’s

Adrastea has been voted the city’s most attractive person many years in a row now. Everything about them is perfect; perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect cascading coils of iridescent hair, yet somehow despite their well-calculated appearance it’s like there’s a tiger waiting to pounce on any wary admirer who comes too close.

While not a member of the council they hold great sway simply by virtue of their age and the fact they’re so beloved by the populace. You’ve seen them on the holos, how they’re oh, so giving to the needy and even invite the commonfolk to their lavish parties all the important council members attend. It’s an act, it has to be; through their gorgeous smile and all those sheer dresses they seek nothing if not attention. A lot of their history is shrouded and deleted from public record, but you do know that they were once a head scientist that took part in the very same project that supposedly made you what you are today.

Dagda: gender variable

Dagda is the perfectly attractive face everyone sees on their screens every night. In a world of cybernetic bodies and unnaturally bright lights, they are the one person who almost looks... natural. With a perfectly cultivated appearance of salt and pepper hair, soulful brown eyes, and that winning smile, nothing about them is their own; everything they do exactly what everyone else tells them to do.

The mouthpiece of the Council, Dagda is seen to be charming and down to earth in the vids. They say Ledala is prospering more than it has in decades, that the crime rates are lowering thanks to the wonderful work they and their colleagues on the Council are doing. Of course, there always has been a certain emptiness behind their eyes. When the camera isn’t rolling, you wonder what they really think.

[euphoricpixi3]

Ghost Love | Yoongi x reader x Jimin//kind of yandere

The one where ghost Yoongi sees his lover move on 

Love is colourful, yet more as nature blooms than the neon lights of frenetic city streets.

Love is as colorful as spring.

Flowers come as golden as sunshine, as the snowy blanket melts away, you can see one, two, yet soon the most ethereal crowds of colors dancing in the wind.

The wind had lost its bite, it had become gentle and playful.

With blooming spring the hearts of lonely people comes to life as well. Even the most archaic smiles becomes real.

Everyone comes to greet spring as their old friend.

 There was just enough wind to make everything in the street to snap and flutter.

As you make your way down the street there’s some kind of void, no Yoongi walking by, no secret hands brushing together, no pinkies entwined and no the most pure blushes blooming on both of your cheeks.

Nothing, just you clutching your phone to the point your knuckles turn white.

It’s weird not having him around, it’s weird knowing he’ll never step through your house step, it’s weird knowing he’s somewhere there, while you somewhere here.

It hurts having him gone.

But times goes on and so need you, first thing to do, find a job, something that Yoongi never let you do. He didn’t like being away from you.

/one month later

When you stumble, half-dead with exhaustion, back into your old apartment at five in the morning you want nothing more than to fall asleep on the floor or bed or sofa, you don’t care, just sleep.

You’re nowhere near stable to notice the little things you do, like leave your hair on a ponytail when going to sleep //yoongi didn’t like that, he said it damaged your hair or like put on one of old yoongi shirts // he felt prideful when you wore it.

Instead you throw your shoes in one of the corners, wipe away your makeup and easily drift to sleep.

You don’t notice that your apartment doesn’t smell the same as it used to, just months back it was a mix between your sweet scent and coffee or Yoongi’s cologne.

Now it’s just complete scent of fruits and spring.

//

You don’t notice, but Yoongi does.

He remembers like it was yesterday when instead of being by your side he woke up weightless but not pure enough to be completely dead, he thought.

But he didn’t give it much thought once your figure rushed through the apartment door, eyes flashing with tears, the air somehow becoming stiff and dry.

Too hard to breath.

He couldn’t do anything but watch you suffer, curled up on a small sofa drowning in the dark.

Now he was the one suffering watching you move on. Why didn’t you wait longer? Why did you started coming home with tiny smiles stretched on your face.

He pretended he didn’t see the way sometimes you would hurt just as much as him, frozen in time with nothing but grief shouting how much of an asshole Yoongi was to leave you just like that after promising forever.

Nothing lasts.

Your grief too.

//

It’s breezy Friday afternoon as you sit in the corner of the café, staring at the scene before you.

“Sorry I’m late” Jimin rushes to apologize as he takes a seat in front of you.

When asked to describe Jimin you would think of the gentle heat in the brilliant rays of sunshine and the blossom that rained down, confetti-like in the in the breeze.

He was the relief you needed after Yoongi, who was the night falling over the molten orange with bands of pink sky, sometimes so beautiful and calming, sometimes  starless and moonless almost claustrophobic.

You met Jimin few days after you started working at one of the companies, he was the social butterfly running around with biggest smile on his face.

“Thank you for meeting me here” he smiled sheepishly running his fingers through his ashy hair, something he did often. “Especially after your boyfriend’s death” he mumbled into the crook of his elbow.

You blinked at Jimin’s concerned expression observing him, something you learned because of Yoongi, you had an automatic clock constructed in your brain, the timer would be no more than ten seconds, stirring up a throbbing.

Tick…tock…

Yoongi’s sweet as summer fruit or mad and stuck in some kind of zone.

But the clock stopped for once and all.

“It’s okay, we were both a beautiful dream and a catastrophic nightmare.” You answer truthfully.

//

Yoongi sees the time passing by the window, seasons change and most importantly you change, everything he had worked on, seemed to tumble down in broken pieces, each one hurting him more, the cuts so deep he thinks he will bleed out, but nothing ever comes up, no wounds, no blood.

Oh yeah, he’s dead.

He jolts when the doors opens with a click and a thunk, you tumbling in, a drunk giggling mess. Your dress rolled higher than it should be. An unfamiliar figure walks in behind you. He’s not tall making Yoongi think that you’re still in love with him, trying to replace him with his replica.

But as the loud giggles escapes the male’s lips he knows you’re moving on faster than he had planned because that man is nothing like him, his laugh is obnoxious, nothing like quiet Yoongi’s, his lips are plump, not LIKE HIS.

You’re changing.

Yet he sees that familiar smile you send towards the guy, it had been directed at him countless times and it rages him to see you use it for someone else.

Don’t you see it?

Don’t you hear it?

Don’t you feel it he’s still there?!

You first see before you hear it, the lightbulb of the lamp shatters and doors slam making you and Jimin stumble and stop everything.

Yoongi stands in front of you holding so much power in his hands he could make the whole house tumble down.

He feels powerful, the horror printed in yours and Jimin face only ignites the rage in him.

You sadly smile at Jimin, tears threatening to fall any second “You should go for now, I’ll call you later” you promise opening the door.

Jimin opens his mouth to say something, concern visible in his eyes, but the sudden ruffle of curtains tells him it’s better if he goes.

As soon as he leaves you don’t have the energy to reach the bed, you collapse on the cold ground with hot tears burning your cheeks.

Yoongi watches as his lover cries, the power already leaving his body.

He feels somewhat defeated and for the first time not sure what his next step should be.

Seeing you like that something changes in him, even if he had witnessed it so many times before.

“I wondered when you’d show up” you whisper looking towards him, yet not seeing anything. “I was sure you wouldn’t leave me just like that”.

With everything left in you, you sat up breathing in as your back touched the wall. Yoongi noticed the space you had left him.

He sat too.

“There were times when I believed in your promised forever” you paused glancing around the room. “But nothing lasts forever, Yoons.”

The nickname felt like thousands of daggers cutting through.

“When I lost you I realized it, nothing belongs to me and there is no point wasting my life waiting or looking after something that isn’t mine.”

//But you were mine, you will always be mine.

As if you heard it what he thought you smiled, warm and genuine.

//This feels like a goodbye.

“We live and we laugh, we make the same mistakes turning in our happiness for hurt, but would it be worth it if things weren’t like that? I loved you and I still do, but I have to say goodbye”

/It really is a goodbye. But it doesn’t feel suffocating, it’s a good, really good feeling he wants to cherish.

“It feels like I’m saying a goodbye to a part that I’ve lost of myself, but it’s okay, it feels nice, doesn’t it, Yoons?”

//It does.

“I feared that my last goodbye to you would be with anger words pouring out my mouth that later on I wished I had swallowed instead, but this feels so nice, like the calm that comes after Spring appears.”

//You always loved Spring.

“The truth is that you’re still in my soul, but if I won’t do this now both of us will be stuck until we turn to dust. Goodbye Yoons” you wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m lucky to had known someone to whom it’s hard to say goodbye to.”

//Goodbye.

Every end has a new beginning and the new beginning is the dawn of something special.

When the city awakes in the early morning, the apartment is empty.

Tag: @v-2bucky

[artificialqueens]

To have a home with you (Ninex) - Thorpe

AN: Hello again. Here’s my contribution to the Ninex movement, because it owns my whole heart. The idea of Orlando comes from Meggie’s “Things you say” series, so it’s basically canon. You can also read it on AO3, or come talk to me on my Tumblr. Enjoy!

▪︎

He deserves a break. Objectively, he does. He knows he does, and yet he can’t help the way it sounds like an excuse in his mind. 

He sits on his couch sipping iced tea and guiltily sweeps his eyes over the empty cardboard boxes taking up every flat surface in his apartment. With a sigh, he leans back and lets the plush material envelope him. It’s a good couch. It’s old, yes, and a bit worn out - sunny yellow corduroy more like ashy mustard by now, with some frayings on the edges and little holes where stitches gave up - but it’s a good couch nevertheless, delightfully comfy and his, and he’s going to miss it. He agreed it would be better if he left it, and after he saw a set of seven cushions - one for every colour of the rainbow and a blue, white and pink striped heart - and died a little at the image of them arranged on the new sky blue sofa they picked out, that decission seemed a lot less painful. But he’s still going to miss it.

A ding of his phone brings him back from the memory lane, all family meetings and friends’ visits that resulted in more than one wine stain coming back to him. Still blushing from remembering how the opposite side creaks louder since that one time Monét threw away the idea of moving to the bed right with his clothes, he reaches out to read the message. It’s a photo from Jamie - Mynx carrying take out bags in one hand and proudly posing with the supply of packing tape. The caption promises they’ll be at his door in 20. He sends them a heart emoji before clutching his phone to his chest. That he’s going to miss even more.

He’s moving out from the city he knows like the back of his hand and loves with his whole heart, moving out away from Ohio which is the only home he’s known, away from the people who have believed in him and supported him since the beginning. He knows it’s okay to be nostalgic, but there’s that little voice telling him he should be more excited.

He used to be - felt like he was walking on air ever since that night in yet another hotel room when Monét looked at him with his kind eyes and a warm smile, held his hand and asked, “Move in with me, miss Nina West, Andrew, just… please, I want to have a home with you”. Then he started reasoning, as if Nina needed any arguments to convince him, the future in which they don’t have to count hours spent together, because they have all the time, being more than enough to make up his mind. But he let him ramble, describe the house in Orlando he found online.

“Orlando? Why there?” Monét just smiled and leaned to kiss Nina’s temple, which was nice, but didn’t help his confusion.

“It’s just a half an hour away from Disney Land,” he said like it was obvious, “we’re not going to be home often anyway, but when we are - I want you the happiest.”

Nina could have tried to talk him off the idea of throwing away his life in Brooklyn because of his love for Walt Disney’s legacy, or he could have pulled him closer and started mumbling “yes”, “thank you” and “I love you” between quick pecks. It was long settled that he’d always go with the option that included his lips on his boyfriend’s skin. 

He mapped all the way from New York and Columbus to Orlando on the warm chest with kisses, which was probably terribly off, but he left a hickey directly over Monét’s heart, whispering, “home is where the heart is” with the cheesiest grin, what made his handsome man swoon, and that’s all that mattered. Until he came back to Columbus and faced the challenge of packing all his world into suitcases, boxes and bags.

Brooke Lynn called and softly suggested maybe he wasn’t ready. He rolled his eyes, because, no, that wasn’t the case. He knows his friend had good intentions, but Brooke is Brooke and there are things she just doesn’t understand. (Nina hopes one day she will.)

Monét facetimed him and told him it was fine if it was too much too soon. That he didn’t mind waiting. That it wouldn’t change anything between them (Nina knew all of that, but still couldn’t help the bouts of doubt if his happiness didn’t have a termination date set, so Monét promised to assure him even when he wouldn’t need that anymore).

He is ready, and it is a lot, but he wants everything with Monét. Everything and more. And he’s going to have it in their perfect little house with picket fence, chimney and a front porch, that he already loves.

His phone dings again and he doesn’t stop the lovesick grin that appears on his face. Speak of the devil.

I can return it if you hate it

He furrows his brows at the message, patiently waiting for his boyfriend to elaborate. He doesn’t, but sends a photo. Nina gasps.

I just saw it in the store and thought about you

Nina starts typing a reply, but decides againts it and calls instead.

“You bought me an armchair,” he states instead of greeting.

“Hello to you too.” He can hear Monét’s smiling. He can also hear Monét’s nervous. “Do you like it?”

“You bought me an armchair matching my couch.”

“I sure did,” he’s chuckling and, god, if it isn’t the most beautiful sound in the world. “But do you like it?”

“I do, I love it. I love you.” He’s grinning now, of course he is. “Does it mean I get to keep the couch?”

“No way, girl, that ain’t happening.” Nina pouts, but he’s still grinning, so he doesn’t look upset at all. He doesn’t feel upset at all. “But I know how you like that old thing and I thought you’d miss it, so I bought the armchair. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s-”

“It’s perfect,” Nina cuts in. “You’re perfect. Did I mention I love you?”

“Don’t know, must’ve not catch that.” He’s teasing, but his voice is coloured with a happy smile. “I love you too, Nina West.”

Before he manages to reply, or do something stupid, like melt to the puddle on the ground, there’s knocking on the door. 

“Sorry, I have to go. You know, I’m moving in with the most amazing man on Earth, I need to pack.” Monét laughs and agrees, says he knows something about that before hanging up with one last “I love you” and “Can’t wait to live with you”.

Nina can’t wait to live with him either.

[forestsstories]

Misfortune

There were a number of factors that contributed to the chain of events which led to a small kitten lying dead on a cold cement floor that evening in December. The first factor came into play before it was even born, in the form of a decision made by someone who would never even know of its existence. A decision made not out of desperation but merely convenience, to leave their male cat unaltered. It’s hard to say how many kittens were the result of this outdoor roaming tom, but this one certainly was.

“Stop! Mom Mittens got out!” The cry echoed through the home of the child, only six. The mother hesitated as she heard her child’s call. It was late, and she needed to get her daughter to bed. Mittens was an indoor cat, and only six months old she would probably come back in a couple hours. “That’s ok honey, she’ll be back soon. She probably just wants to explore.” An anxious knot formed in her stomach, but what could she do? Go out in the dark to hunt for the kitten that would probably make it back home before they did, and throw off the girls sleep schedule for her trouble? Not to mention worry her. “It’ll be ok, she’ll be back when you get up tomorrow, now go brush your teeth okay?” But it was not okay. About three blocks away a cat yowled, and our story begins.

“Mommy look how big Mittens is getting! Do you think she’ll have the kittens soon?” The frazzled mother released the breath she’d been holding “I don’t know honey. Probably.” The girl was definitely right, the poor creature’s stomach was huge with babies and she was almost a baby herself. She chewed her lip as she ran over the options for vet care in her mind. How did something like this even happen? It was hard to imagine a kitten becoming pregnant, and yet here was the proof. What if there was a complication? If she lost the litter, or one got stuck, the vet bills could easily cripple them. Then what if there were no complications? The cat was huge, how on earth was she going to deal with a litter of kittens? She sank to the couch to weigh their options as her small daughter sang songs to the expecting kitten. Who knew something she had adopted to make her daughter happy could cause such a huge mess?

The delivery thankfully went off without a hitch. The little girl squealed with delight when she came home to five perfect squirming little bundles of joy. Grey like their mother and letting out the tiny mewls only newborn kittens are capable of the mother breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps they could handle this after all. She smiled when she gazed at her daughters beaming face. They were only kittens, she would find them homes when the time came. Who could possibly not want kittens?

The answer, as it turned out, was a lot of people. The other women in her mommy group, her sister in law, even the nice lady on the corner with the bowls of cat food beneath her front porch. Everyone she asked either didn’t want a kitten or had too many cats already. Six weeks. Eight weeks. Twelve. The kittens were tumbling around the house now, getting into anything not kept under lock and key. Her daughter was of course delighted by the mayhem but it was when she was finally at her wits end that the mother booted up her computer. It was time to return to just one cat, before she strayed any further down the rabbit hole of learning why crazy cat ladies are crazy.

“Free to a good home.” Words phrased with the best of intentions that none the less resulted in every last kitten’s demise. Two kittens were crushed beneath the tires of a truck at their new farm home. One perished from exposure when its new owner dragged it to the park and forgot to bring it home with them. Lastly, this one’s other sibling died at this one’s very first step on its tragically short journey. A nice little old lady stroked the baby’s head, smiling warmly as she assured the mother she would take good care of both kittens. A sigh of relief escaped the mother as she watched the box with the last two kittens vanish into her car. She would have no idea what became of the kittens. Was it her fault? I wouldn’t say so. How was she to know? She was just doing what she thought was best. What then, of the person who decided to skirt the vet costs of neutering their male? Certainly not the best decision, but who among us hasn’t put off something simply because it was inconvenient? It’s very hard to place blame, but the first home our kitten found itself in is certainly where I would lay the most.

Both kittens tensed from the moment the woman removed the box from her car. They had been wildly confused when six other kittens were picked up from various homes and added to the back seat, but now they were certain something was very wrong. Her brother mewled pitifully and curled into her as the box was handed over to a gruff looking man who slipped a crisp bill into the old woman’s hand. “Six? Looks good. I want another six next week okay?” A dull dread crept down the kitten’s back and it’s hackles raised as the stench it had smelled from outside got stronger. Loud growls and the clatter of chains upon the floor filled the air as the box was dropped roughly to the ground. The kitten gazed through a hole in the side of the box and couldn’t understand what the gruff man was saying to his colleague but stared intensely at the creature they were both praising.

Thick muscles bulged beneath skin that seemed stretched too thin over them. Flecks of drool sparkled on its chin as it gazed stupidly up at its masters. A slick sweat glistened on its thin fur and it’s yellowed teeth caught the light. Fearful mews erupted all around the kitten and it scooted to the back as the man stormed to the box. She flinched as the ground shifted beneath her from the force of his boot crushing in one side of their enclosure, and yet suddenly she saw her chance! A crack in the top of the box opened from the force of his boot, only for an instant but that instant was all she needed. Wings seemed to erupt from her spine and carry her to safety as she soared from the prison which had contained them and a panicked mewl was the last sound she would ever hear from any of her littermates.

Shouts filled the surrounding air and she froze momentarily. The animal which had previously looked docile and gentle exploded into a snarling beast. Its chain strained against the link which was attached to the wall and one of the humans calmly spoke while the other dove for her. Her panic took the form of flight and not a moment too soon as the chain was released by the calm human, and in an instant the eighty five pounds of pure muscle that made up the snarling beast was barrelling toward her. Breath came in short gasps as she made for her only hope of salvation. Her tiny muscles burned from fatigue as he gained on her with every step. Hot breath made her fur sticky and wet and yellowed teeth clamped down mere inches from her tail tip as she flung herself recklessly through a window and landed gracefully on the other side.

Her escape, though daring, left her with little idea of where to go next. She put as much distance as her legs would allow between herself and those yellowing teeth. Dusk was licking at the edges of buildings and casting an orange glow upon the scenery when she finally took stock of her surroundings. It was a posh place she’d found herself in, colourful flowers lined every path. Tall homes with perfectly manicured lawns stood proudly and the light of the setting sun reflected off the glittering cars which lined every driveway. A garden bed nearby looked particularly inviting, the dirt soft and fluffy from recent activity. An ashy and somewhat sour smell filled her nostrils as she sank her paws into the soil. The salty scent of the earth made her stomach growl uncomfortably as she relieved herself. She would desperately wish she had moved on mere moments later when an angry shriek reverberated around her.

The woman’s hands were a blur as she waved them erratically, a high pitched squeal directed at the animal that had befouled her precious garden. It is difficult to blame her if you have ever found an animal urinating on your hard work you may relate. The kitten’s breath was heavy by the time she had once again successfully outrun the current threat and her mouth felt like sandpaper. She dipped her muzzle into a small pool of stagnant water which would have been an unsightly eyesore in the last neighbourhood and had just gotten her first mouthful when an enticingly meaty aroma caught her attention. Her stomach growled again. Dinner was served.

She followed the scent to a small bowl which had been placed carefully inside of a steel box. Memories of tumbling playfully with her littermates in boxes warmed her heart as she crawled in, but this box was of course not like those ones. A loud clang erupted behind her and she whirled around. A door had closed, sealing both the box and her fate. She reached her tiny legs through the bars in a feeble attempt to escape but before an hour had passed resigned herself to her prison. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was still hungry and she inhaled the small bowl of meaty paste. It tasted sweet and salty and she relaxed a bit, curling on the cold pavement and waiting for morning.

Morning came with a jolt, her eyes sprang open as the ground shifted beneath her. A human lifted the cage which was her new home into the air and before she could brace for the impact the cage was thrust roughly into a much less shimmery vehicle than the ones that had lines the other driveways. Her heart beat like a bongo drum as the combination of new sensations overwhelmed her. A cry escaped her in the form of a tiny yowl, which continued until the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. The next few minutes passed in a blur as she struggled to understand precisely what was happening.

Before she could fathom any of it the human had gone, taking their clanging metal box with them. The ground beneath her paws was cold and hard. The air was rank with a sour chemical scent, and another human stood watching her. Trembling slightly she took a few steps to explore her new surroundings, recoiling immediately when she felt a human hand brush the tip of her tail. Two humans mumbled something between themselves before leaving her in the empty sterile room.

The weeks that followed things began to look up, the humans in this place seemed to be kind, much like the people that owned her mother. It was not long before a rumbling purr shook her in pleasure when she felt their fingertips stroking her fur. It was mere days later that she began to meet other humans. Some were small with grubby fingers, and some were taller with piercing gazes. It was one of the small ones which ended up offering her a home, for which she was grateful.

Her nose twitched as the box in which she had been stuffed was opened and she found herself once more inside a house. The air here lacked the stale scents of the place she had been taught to be hospitable and instead were welcoming and warm. It was a wonderful place to spend a few days, sadly that is all she would be allowed to spend there as before the sun had set on the third she felt a chubby fist close upon her tail and a jolt of pain shot through her spine as it tugged. I would like to think you have never felt spinal pain but if you have you will immediately understand the kittens reaction, which involved a flash of claws and a crying child. This of course meant that our kitten found herself once more outside in the cold, and this time it was much colder indeed.

A chill wind ruffled her fur, causing it to stand on end as she watched a mouse rifling through trash. She had been several days on the street now and was beginning to become accustomed to it. Her hunting was not what it could be and she had been subsisting mostly on scraps dug from the large refuse cans the humans liked to use, but she was determined to try. Her focus was steely and her muscles taught as she waited for the mouse to come more into the open. Her attention was so strongly focused on the task at hand she didn’t see or smell the other cat until she was on top of her.

Teeth sank into her shoulder before she had an inclination of what was happening and she kicked off with her back feet. Her shoulder throbbed and a deep growl emanated from her throat to ward off this predator. The mouse of course had vanished and anger surged through her at the lost meal, propelling her forward and her teeth also met flesh while her claws tore frantically at the other cats fur. Her tail lashed back and forth as she felt a slice through the tender skin of her ear. A cry escaped her and she struggled to return fire. A yell from a nearby window shook both cats and they sprang apart as a large boot was suddenly between them. The adrenaline broken the kitten suddenly desperately wanted to flee, and managed to put several blocks between herself and her aggressor. The damage however was done, and a few short days later an empty stomach was the least of her concerns.

She had a hard time holding herself up when she found herself back on the hard examination table at the shelter where she’d been adopted. A kindly stranger had found her staggering and dropped her off there, she hadn’t even seen their face but started purring the moment they lifted her into their arms. Their touch had been gentle and they had spoken with a coo while they carried her. Her ear felt warm and she dug her claws into the strangers shirt wishing desperately they were here to take her home. But she was back here again, and while the people around her were kind, their voices sounded worried. She lay her head down, closed her eyes so she could no longer see the crust around them and waited.

A soft hand stroked her and she heard that same soothing tone to the person’s voice as she opened her eyes to gaze into their face. Their eyes were not red with tears, but were not untroubled either. “Shh…. It’s alright.” She didn’t understand the words, but they brought some comfort anyway. Her chest heaved and rattled with infection and she hardly flinched as a needle pinched its way into her vein. Moments later her eyes felt heavy and she allowed them once more the drift closed, not knowing that they would never again open. The last thing that reached her before she fell into the soothing abyss were two words that in that moment she actually did understand. “I’m sorry…”

Our kitten was one of many cats that lost their lives that evening, for various reasons. Whether they were too feral, or ill, or simply too old each one likely had a story similar to this one. In the end the world did not mourn for the loss of one small kitten, but it was a loss none the less, and no less tragic for the fact that the poor creature never experienced what it was to be truly, deeply, loved.

[littlesupernaturalwords]

Run And Don’t Look Back Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Running from her past she finally settles down in a new town. But as it turns out, helping the wrong person will throw her even deeper in the life than she had ever been before.

Word count: 3 234

Warnings: Angst, self-inflicted injury, MOC!Dean, madness, panic, hearing voices, plotting, mentions of torture and imprisonment, self-doubt, mention of death.

A/N: My writer’s block regarding this series is finally gone. Yey! I actually thought about discontinuing the series, but thanks to @moodyruth and her lovely words of encouragement, chapter fourteen is finally up! This is kind of what the series has been pointing towards from the beginning and now the real fun will start. I’ll try to write the next chapter as soon as possible, but my finals are on their way, so I’ll see how it goes. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Ringing filled Jane's ears.

She didn't see Dean being thrown to the ground by the purple light that'd shot out of her chest, hurling the chairs and books around the Library, and neither did she notice her back hitting the cold, stone floor. She was blinded, her eyes unseeing, but shot wide open, with her pupils smaller than pinheads.

The ringing brought her a memory - a part of her past long lost and forgotten. Jane blinked to regain her sight, to distract herself from the force of the vision trying to pull her under the surface, but the piercing sound in her ears only got louder, forcing her to shut her eyes and grit her teeth in a desperate attempt at soothing the pain shooting through her head and chest. Her body still lay on the cold floor of the Bunker's Library, but in her mind, she couldn't feel any of these sensations. A sudden feeling of weightlessness took over and, for the first time in many days, the endless exhaustion and fear were gone, replaced by the familiarity of her visions.

The room where she stood was dark and cold. Jane could feel goosebumps breaking out on her arms and legs, as shivers ran down her spine, but even then the dim light filling the room seemed warm; warmer than it'd been anyway. She remembered that room all too well; a chair in the middle of the room, a table with torture instruments and the only source of light the lamps behind the old, broken windows - it was the warehouse where Crowley’d tortured her. Jane subconsciously shifted her weight to her left leg and cautiously searched the room, taking shaky breaths. She could see her small body strapped in the chair, covered in sweat and already dried or drying blood, her hair sticking to the feverish skin on her face, neck and shoulders and her head resting limply on her chest, but otherwise, the room seemed deserted.

Jane took a wary step forward, her eyes frantically scanning the dark corners, where light didn't reach; those were the places she would choose to hide in. Only a few feet from the chair her body was chained to, she finally allowed herself to fix her gaze on herself — the one in the chair — and really took in the fresh injuries; Jane could see the screw twisted deep into her right knee, making her clench her jaw at the sight, her body bloody and beaten, her skin blossoming with dark bruises and covered in deep cuts. Her already pale skin turned into an ashy shade, lips cracked and slightly parted to take in shallow breaths. She looked so small and fragile. Anger filled all of Jane's mind as she clenched her hands into fists, uncaring of her nails digging into her skin.

The heavy sound of  a door slamming shut made Jane spin around to face the newcomer, even though she already knew who it was - there was nobody else but him who'd come into the room while she'd been tortured. Crowley eyed her body in the chair with narrowed eyes, taking a calculated step forward. Jane fought to keep herself from shaking. She knew what she was seeing was just a vision, but the sight of the King of Hell — of her bloody torturer — made her insides twist.

He wasn't even two steps away from where she stood when he spoke up. “Your saviours are on their way,” Crowley said to her unconscious body in his deep, raspy voice. “The Winchesters,” he spat as though their name burned his tongue, but his lips curled up into a barely there smile. Not for the first time, Jane wondered what Sam and Dean's relationship with the demon was, but didn't let herself get lost in the thought - she couldn't let her guard down, not even during a vision. Not with Crowley. “I thought we'd have more time, but... let's not dwell on the past,” he continued casually, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He came to a stop just mere inches from her bound form. “I know what you are. I know where you came from and what you can do. And I know you will see this - one day.” Crowley cupped her cheeks with his hands and brought her head up. Jane saw the deep cuts on her neck, unconsciously running her fingers over the same place, but found nothing other than unmarked tissue - not a single scar flawed her skin during the visions.

Crowley lowered his voice, and Jane could swear she felt his breath fanning over her cheeks. “I just need you to let me in.”

A shiver made her eyes shot open with a gasp. She was back in the Library, lying with her back pressed into the stone floor. There was no blend of colours, no slow awakening from the vision; one moment she was with Crowley, weeks in the past, and the next she was back in the Bunker, dragged back into her aching body.

Jane slowly lifted her head, moving her hands under herself to support her weight, and saw Dean lying on the floor several feet away from her. The whole room was a mess — books and papers scattered in every direction possible, chairs thrown around and left with their legs in the air, lamps shattered with the glass littered about —, but that wasn't what made her stop in her tracks. No. It was the darkness inside of her screaming at her to let it out again, to allow herself get lost in the power. Jane panicaly shook her head. She couldn't let it out; she couldn't and wouldn't let it take over her. Tightness returned to her chest, pressing at it and making it hard to breathe - hard to resist.

Loud footsteps came from the hall, but stopped at the door. "What the hell happened?" Sam asked, gun grasped firmly in his large hands.

Jane pressed a hand into her chest, the pressure opening old scabs and letting blood pour free from the wounds, while supporting her weight with her other arm. She tried working enough saliva to answer — to tell them not to come close —, but couldn't with her throat so tight and mouth so dry; a barely audible gasp left her lips instead.

“Sam, get away from her!” Dean howled while picking himself up from the floor. His clothes were wrinkled, hair ruffled and standing in odd directions, but that wasn’t what caught Jane’s attention - it was the blood that ran from his split lip and down his chin, and the way he was stiffly standing up.

I did that, she realised with horror.

Yes, something dark replied, and you will do it again.

Jane frantically shook her head. No, this was an accident! She hadn’t known what was happening to her, but next time she would be ready and stop it; she wouldn’t let herself hurt the people she cared about - the people who’d saved her.

Was it? the voice asked. Did you really not know what was happening?

“No,” Jane whispered in desperation. She hadn’t known. She still didn’t know.

“Dean, what the hell happened?” Sam all but barked at his brother with wide eyes examining the destroyed room, gun in hand.

The elder Winchester grasped the gun he’d hidden underneath one of the tables months ago, all while his gaze didn’t leave the young girl half-sitting half-lying on the ground. “I don’t know. One second she’s having a nightmare and then something just shot out of her,” he replied with his nostrils flaring - there was no mistaking his fury for anything else. Dean shifted his grasp on the weapon while desperately trying to ignore the burning that overcame his right forearm.

The Mark was calling for blood. And Dean wasn’t certain he was strong enough to resist.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘shot out of her’?”

No, the voice whispered.

“Exactly what I’m saying,” Dean snapped impatiently. “It was this- this purple light or something.” Realisation made his eyes go wide at the same moment Sam made the connection. They shared a silent look and clasped their guns tighter. Bloodlust made Dean’d pupils shoot wide and his heart beat faster.

No? Jane didn’t understand.

Dean took a cautious step around a fallen chair, barely able to sidestep a pile of shards of glass, his eyes set on Jane; she wasn’t moving, wasn’t even looking their way as though she hadn’t heard them talking. The Mark of Cain made his whole body buzz with barely restrained energy.

Sam moved closer as well, but Dean frantically shook his head - he would handle this.

You do know what is happening, the voice said.

“Jane?” Sam tried to gain her attention, but she was only pressing a hand on her sternum, her eyes wide but unfocused.

You’ve known for a while now, haven’t you? the voice continued.

“Jane,” Dean said firmer, coming closer, but pointing his gun at the young hunter; he didn’t want to use it, but the Mark demanded blood and Dean was barely able to restrain himself from giving in.

The visions, the darkness, the pain - it meant something. But she didn’t know…

“Oh God,” a choked whisper left her lips as she panicaly shook her head. No, that couldn’t be right - it couldn’t!

“Hey!” Dean shouted and this time, Jane turned her head at his voice - and stared down the gun barrel. She inhaled sharply. “What the hell just happened?” the elder brother demanded. Jane twisted around, searching for Sam, only to find him standing in the doorway with his gun down, but still at the ready.

Jane shook her head in denial as tears welled in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

“Answer me!” Dean howled, gripping the gun tighter. His patience was running thin. Jane jumped at the loud noise and turned to face him again, but couldn’t find the strength to say a word. How could she voice that her whole world was wrong, that everything she’d ever known about herself — and the sense of security she’d had because of it — has been ripped apart? How could she say that her fear of becoming one of the things she hunted has come true? She tried finding another explanation, a way to explain the it all - the visions, the feelings she’d always had, Crowley’s fascination of her, the darkness she’d felt ever since he’d done something to her… the purple light. Her shoulder slouched.

She’d seen a light like that before.

And she’d been the one to kill the monster with a shot to the head.

A witch.

She was… she was a natural witch.

Yes, the voice purred. Finally. Finally, you see.

Jane would be happier if she didn’t.

Dean was ready to shout again, but Sam spoke first: “Jane,” he said gently, taking a step closer and crouching to be on the same eye-level as the crying girl. He wasn’t even sure she herself knew tears were glistening on her pale cheeks, but couldn’t afford to comfort her now - not before they had all the information. “Jane,” he repeated and this time, she raised her head somewhat - he considered it a success. “Do you know what happened? Do you, um, do you have anything to tell us?”

Jane shrugged. What was she supposed to say to that? What was she supposed to do?

Give in, the dark voice inside her head lured her. Let it out.

“No,” she whispered, covering her ears with her hands and shaking her head. “No, I c- can’t.” She couldn’t let it out again. Not ever. But the darkness inside her swirled and smiled; a shiver ran down her spine and all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers. Jane tensed, but was determined not to let the darkness out - the magic. Her magic.  It whispered and sang in her veins, a cheerful song she didn’t recognise, but knew was older than mankind. Had it always been there? Had it always waited to be awakened and let out?

“What do you mean you can’t?” Sam asked in confusion. He looked up at his brother, but Dean shook his head slightly - he didn’t know either, but they needed answers and they needed them now, before anything else happened. But the young woman — a child in their eyes, really — didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to hear him with how tightly she was covering her ears.

Jane shuddered and again shook her head, drawing her knees close to her chest even with the brace she still had fixing her shattered knee. The stabbing pain that shot through her only helped her keep her grasp on reality for a little longer.  “Please,” she choked out miserably. Was this how Kevin’d felt when he became a Prophet? Was this how a person became mad?

Sam put down his gun, not caring about the disapproving look Dean shot him, and drew nearer. Gently taking her hands in his, he slowly uncovered her ears and moved her arms down. Jane hesitantly lifted her teary eyes to his.

“Oh, Sam, I’m-” Her face twisted into an awful grimace. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean? What for?” Sam asked in response, still holding her hands to ground her - they couldn’t afford to let her lose focus again.

Another shudder came through her body and Jane quickly shut her eyes to gain at least a little control over her body. The darkness — the magic — begged to be let out, just this once. It’d finally tasted freedom, after all these years. It’d always been there, silent but waiting and it wouldn’t stop at anything now that it’d got a slight taste of the world. Jane didn’t know how she knew, but she did - Crowley had done something to her, but the magic was her own. It would be as natural as breathing to become one of the monsters that howled at night with nothing but bloodlust filling their whole world; killing, slaughtering, enjoying the sight of blood flowing from lifeless bodies scattered on the filthy ground.

Let it out, the magic whispered. Just a little bit to let you rest. Just a smidge.

But Jane knew that once she gave in she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from using it again, from becoming something she’d always hated with undying passion; both of her parents were dead because of the supernatural - because of the monsters they’d been hunting. There was no way she was giving in, as tempting as the prospect of power was.

Let it out. The words were being said by a single voice, but at the same time, it sounded as though a whole choir was tempting her. Echoes filled her ears and the words kept repeating over and over, until they ran together into an inaudible hum.

No.

Another shudder, a stronger one, made her clasp Sam’s hands uncomfortably tight. The magic surged through her veins, conquering blood cell after blood cell, until her whole body was filled with the dark energy to the brink.

Let it out.

No!

Her eyes flew open with a sharp intake of breath. And then everything happened at once.

Sam let go of her hands at the same moment Dean grabbed the collar of her T-shirt and pulled her away from his younger brother. Jane cried out in pain, her fingers frantically trying to peel the shirt from the damaged skin on her neck, but uncomfortable pressure in her head made her close her eyes against it once more, and she couldn’t grasp the fabric in her shaking hands.

The pressure stayed there for several seconds before dissolving into a dull ache in the back of her mind.

Dean finally let go of her and moved around her to stand next to his brother. The gun in his hands shook violently with the restraint it took him not to give into the bloodlust that still clouded his mind - not to shoot the girl who was at his mercy when he had nearly none left.

They hadn’t been sure about their theory, but the damage has been done - there was no doubt anymore.

Not when Jane’s eyes’d shone bright purple, not a moment ago.

Sitting on his throne and nursing a glass of ancient whiskey in hand, the King of Hell smiled; the surge of energy — of her magic — had been so powerful it reached even the most distant corners of Hell.

Finally, Crowley thought, finally she gave in. It’d taken longer than he wanted, even with his unannounced ‘visit’ nearly two weeks earlier, and he even contemplated doing it again to quicken the process, but couldn’t with the advanced warding the Winchesters’d used right after he’d left the terrified young hunter. The girl was strong and her power unbridled and unfocused, but the demon knew that with training, the little Woman of Letters would be unstoppable - at least if the British organisation didn’t get their hands on her first; they’d already contacted him soon after he’d regained his freedom from the brothers, in search of the girl, but Crowley hadn’t known anything about her back then. He hadn’t known anything about her even when his demons’d insisted she’d been the last person Gavin’d been seen with. And even until she’d given up her name, the King of Hell knew next to nothing about her - only that she’d killed three of his demons and was wanted by the Brits. Had they given him her real name… but no, there was no point in thinking like that.

Crowley took a sip of his whiskey and watched the few demons in the Throne Room; they’d been working until a moment ago when Jane’s magic filled the air.

“My King-,” a female demon began, but Crowley raised his hand to silence her. The demon lowered her head and went back to work. The other demons followed a few seconds later.

The King of Hell bit worried his lower lip. Such power wouldn’t escape notice of others - witch covens, other fractions of demons, angels… They would use her for their own means if they ever captured her and Crowley knew what that meant - he had to get her first.

Sitting on the balcony of the Pullman Paris Hotel, a woman tilted her head and took in the beauty of the Eiffel Tower. The initial shock of the feeling she’d had finally passed and now, she let her red lips twist into a satisfied smile.

Another witch’d awakened.

The woman finished her coffee and stood up.

It was time to get going.

[writing-royza]

Two Hundred and Ninety-Four - From Yesterday, 3.0

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and happy loooooooong weekeeeeeeeeeend! I know I’ve been all sweetness and light the last few days… but now it’s time to dim the lights and go dark. Buckle up, friendos.

I do not own FMA.

Two Hundred and Ninety-Four - From Yesterday, 3.0

“Can I trust you with my father’s research?”

Roy’s already sinking stomach dropped with a suddenness to somewhere around the heels of his shoes, dropped in time with the whisper of her blouse falling from her shoulders. He stared, disbelieving, feeling cemented to the spot and that he must be hallucinating… and knowing that this was all too real.

How many times had he cast a surreptitious look at the modestly dressed young woman, teenage hormones wanting to know why she tried so hard to hide the curves of a body that beautiful. As far as he could tell, she had no outward flaw, no shocking defect, nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of….

But, oh… she did.

Dirty little secret, his mind thought, unbidden, and he squashed those words with sudden embarrassment. He forced himself to take a step forward, just one, and it felt as though he were wading through chest high mud.

“…All this time… you had it? You had his research?”

He saw her head nod, though his eyes were fixed on the lines of red ink that covered her back. “It was the only way he could think of that would allow him to write the formulas and still keep them from falling into the wrong hands,” she said quietly. “I would have to decided to show them, and he trusted my judgement on who they should be shown to.”

Her head turned, her brown eyes watching the floorboards even though she spoke to him. “Aside from him and myself, you’re the only other person who has seen them.” She turned slightly to see him better, arms folded across her bare chest in as much modesty as she could maintain.

Her eyes, before so calm but still troubled by the events of recent days, found his. Roy’s stomach, before trying to climb back up to its proper place, froze in wary dread. He had the distinct feeling that those whisky-brown eyes could turn either pleasantly warm or frigidly cold depending on how he responded.

“I would hope, Mr. Mustang, you wouldn’t give me cause to regret showing you.”

He tried to swallow, but found his mouth too dry to manage much more than an approximation of the action. It took him another second to find his voice. “Miss Hawkeye, I can assure you… I’ll try my damndest.”

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

Both of them glanced around as they reached his tent, making sure no one was paying attention before they entered. With all the celebrating going on, no one noticed two more people among the crowd. Small bonfires burned, dotted around the encampment, each with fifteen to twenty soldiers in varying stages of inebriation gathered around. Uproarious singing and shouting hung on the warm night air, sparks flying skyward as the Amestrians celebrated or got head starts on drinking to forget.

The tent’s interior was dim from the light of a single lamp beside the field cot, and squared away, ready to be stowed and packed onto a transport at a moment’s notice. A narrow space was open in the middle, just big enough for the two of them to stand.

“Hold on a second.” Raising the lid on the locker at the foot of the cot, Roy slid a hand down the side and felt about for a moment before pulling out a silver pocket flask. He shook it lightly, listening, then nodded in satisfaction and held it out to her. “If we’re going to do this, you should at least take a sip of this. Call it battlefield anaesthetic.”

He could see her fingers tremble slightly as she took it, brown eyes unreadable as she studied the shiny metal. “I thought the common term was ‘liquid courage,’” she murmured, unscrewing the cap.

Roy tried a smile, but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Nervousness knotted in his stomach, making him feel like he might be sick. “I’ve seen guys half as brave as you call it that… but you’ve got enough of your own that you don’t need it for that.” Her eyes watched him as she took a careful sip. “I guess I’m kind of hoping it’ll… that it’ll help dull the pain.”

She lowered the flask, gasping only slightly at the burn going down her throat. When she spoke, her voice was huskier than it had been a moment before. “Sir, you and I both know I’d need to drink about five of these for that to happen. And I don’t think we have that kind of time before either my nerve fails, yours does… or both.”

She screwed the cap back on, her eyes still fast on his. “I asked you, almost three years ago, if you would cause me to regret sharing my father’s research with you. You said you would try, and I’m sure you did, but everything I’ve seen since I got here has given me nothing but regret.” She pressed the flask firmly back into his hand. “This is your chance to make up for disappointing me.”

He wondered, vaguely, if she could actually see the cracks forming on his heart. Also vaguely came a memory of Chris Mustang, arms folded and frowning at some childhood transgression, and then the dreaded words. I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed.

Roy gave brief consideration to draining whatever remained in the flask, but dropped it back into the foot locker and kicked it closed. “As I told you then,” he said quietly, “I’ll try my damndest.”

They settled to the grit in the open space in the centre, Riza facing away from him like she had been when he found her burying some nameless Ishvalan child. She slowly, self-consciously, shucked the tan overcoat, the uniform jacket, and the short-sleeved shirt underneath, setting it all to one side. She looked back, and nodded.

Roy was sure, for a moment, it was the lamplight reflecting in her eyes, only making them look like they were burning… until he realized the lamp was in front of her. It couldn’t reflect in those hard, determined ‘do-it-now’ eyes unless it sat behind him. His stomach clenched, and he was preparing to nod affirmation before something lit in her expression.

“Hold on.”

In another minute, she had taken off her belt. Facing away from him still, he saw her put the leather between her teeth, and the cracks in his heart began to split a little farther. Her ‘Okay’ was muffled somewhat, but Roy forced himself to lift his hand, not giving her or himself much more time to think.

The first bolt of fiery lightning hit her a few inches to the right of exact centre. The worst part was the sound she made, or rather, the complete lack of it. Aside from a hissing exhale around the belt, she didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t even whimper. Her shoulders drew up tensely, and Roy saw sweat begin to appear on the back of her neck. His stomach rolled, but he gritted his teeth against the nausea, chose his target, and snapped again.

This time, the bolt struck her high on the right shoulder. Riza’s right arm almost buckled, toppling her to the sand, but at the last second, she locked her elbow and stayed upright. Another hissing breath out, and sweat began to trickle down her back; Roy winced, praying it wouldn’t touch either of the still-smoking rents in her skin. Bad enough that they burned, but to to get salt in —

No. Focus.

The third bolt was the worst, because it was less of a bolt and edging toward a ball. He had planned it this way, and watched it splash against her left shoulder blade, knowing that this time, she was going to scream and finish the task of breaking his heart. He tensed, bracing himself….

All she did was arch her back, lithe and catlike, and Roy had a brief glimpse of just how deep her teeth were sunk into the leather belt. She came out of the convulsion, paused, then drew her right fist up and slammed it down into the sand in a physical expression of impotent fury and pain.

Roy watched, feeling entirely helpless and drained as she sat still, shaking, with sweat still rolling down her back… and then she slowly drew the belt from her mouth and let herself sink forward to press her forehead to the sand.

Stomach still roiling, Roy forced himself to move up next to her, picking up the belt to toss it aside… and getting far too good a look at the marks in the leather. Marks through which he could see glimpses of sand and lamplight.

She bit clear through it…. Nearly tore a chunk out of the damn thing, he thought absently, then hurriedly twisted aside and vomited into a bare patch of sand near where the side of the tent met the ground.

He felt her hand on his back after the second heave. There wasn’t much to come up; he spit and wiped his mouth before looking back to her. Riza’s eyes were alarmingly half-closed and glazed over, her skin ashy pale and mouth parted as she sucked in careful breaths.

“Did you… get it… all?”

For a brief second, he thought she was talking about his stomach contents, then realized what she meant. Roy shook his head, feeling dazed. “No… if I did that…. Riza, I’d kill you for sure.” The haze disappeared from her vision, and hot spots of colour bloomed on her cheeks. She was preparing to tell him off for not following her wishes no matter the cost. He continued. “But the parts I destroyed… they’re essential for anyone to understand the process. Without those, the information is useless.”

The fire faded from her look, and he shifted, carefully drawing her into his arms. Catching hold of her tan jacket, he pulled it over her like a blanket. Riza hissed again as one of the burns brushed against his leg in passing; he felt the residual heat from the skin. “You’ve seen it all,” he said softly, “but you never understood it. The only person alive who knows every bit of your father’s research is me… and after everything I’ve done, I’m not telling anybody. The world doesn’t need another Flame Alchemist.” He laughed humourlessly. “They probably don’t even need this one.”

She drew one hand from under the jacket, lifting it to rest against the back of his head. She pulled gently, forcing him down to her level. Dry lips pressed to his cheek. “The world… maybe not,” she murmured, sounding as dazed as he felt. “But I think I need you.”

When she allowed him to draw back, she was smiling faintly… and there was a spark of that fire burning far down behind her eyes. If Roy hadn’t just thrown up, he felt he could have kissed her.

“Fresh start, Flame Alchemist,” Riza said softly, her hand still in his hair. “Make me proud. Try your damndest.”

[quell-tea-salon]

Yumeiro Cast Dream Show 2017 event report!

In my short time in Japan I’ve attended quite a few concerts and seiyuu events, and this concert is honestly one of the best that I’ve experienced. I know this blog is mostly for QUELL, but I don’t have anywhere else to share this from... Feel free to scroll past if this isn’t for you.

I’ll also be rambling a lot about Hatanaka Tasuku and Hayashi Yuu ;w;

I recall regretting applying for tickets at some point, because having to travel from Kyoto to Tokyo (or rather, Chiba, since the venue was Makuhari Messe) just for the concert was a huge pain, and very expensive. Boy, am I glad I did though. To begin with, getting tickets to ANY popular event is a tough process. You have to enter a draw to have a shot at getting a ticket, and if you miss out on that, you’ll have to buy the tickets when they go on sale later, and they usually sell out in under ten seconds. I’m not kidding. I’ve experienced this pain. On multiple occasions. Anyway, the first draw was opened to players only (the URL link was a banner in the game’s home screen), which is a really nice gesture. I managed to get a ticket in this draw :)

I arrived at the venue about 30 minutes before the show and bypassed the merchandise corner, as the queue looked scary and I didn’t have much time. Jumped in the queue to take a photograph of the standees (pictured above; and yes, there was a queue for this too), which took about 15 minutes, and then rushed over to join a queue for one of the bathrooms (all of them had long queues /pukes blood). I started chatting with a lady in a cute dress in line behind me and found out that we both have Kaito as our fav (plus Subaru for me). She was happy to find another Kaito fan and whipped out a couple of beautifully packaged small prints from her bag and handed them to me *_* Turns out she’s an artists and draws a lot of Kaito!! I was so surprised but flattered and felt bad about not having anything on hand to give her in return... I just gave her the kiwi bird badge from my backpack that I picked up while traveling in New Zealand, sweats...

Minutes till starting time and we were still caught in the queue, though getting very close to the bathroom. We debated giving up and leaving to find our seats so we wouldn’t miss the opening act, but decided to stay since having to leave halfway through the show for the bathroom would be worse. A few minutes later we heard screams coming from the arena and thought that the show had started, but the girl behind us assured us that they were just playing some promotional videos on the big screen and that nothing was happening on stage. We passed the message on to the group of girls in front of us as we heard them fretting about the same thing. Community spirit!

I parted ways with my new friend after leaving the bathroom and went to find my seat; inside the arena the lights had already been dimmed and clearly something was about to start. I was still stumbling around in the dark when all seven members of Yumeiro Company burst onto stage to the tune of CALL HEAVEN!! and by the time I found my spot they were probably halfway through the song;;;;

My seat was on the third floor, but quite close to the left side of the stage, so in a way it was a good spot as I could just barely make out the faces of the performers standing on my side of the stage. Their formation, from right to left: Subaru, Kaito, Sousei, Kyouya, Hinata, Iori, and Jin. I was still shaky from scrambling to find my seat and honestly don’t remember much, but I know that they were all dressed sharply in formal suits, and that the chorus had a dance routine that was fun and cheerful, fitting of a musical show. As we all know, the cast of YumeCast has a lot of strong singers, so I could relax and appreciate the vocals. I managed to find my pen light too and was ready to finally join the party :3

After the opening act I thought they would break for an introductory talk, but they launched straight into the next song. Everyone except Kyoya left the stage as the intro for Kyoya’s solo, Kimi ni Chikatta Monogatari started playing, and we all scrambled to change our pen lights to pink. Tbh I think Ohsaka Ryota’s one of the less experienced singers in the group, but I was pleasantly surprised by his solid performance. He definitely leveled up a lot since the start of YumeCast, and each of his graceful, princely gestures was very much Kyoya.

Hinata jumped onto stage next to perform Glass no Shoes ha Niawanai (I should mention that these solos were game-sized length and played back to back like a medley). We all melted at how cute he was, and he even slipped in a few lines directed at “oneesan! ;)” *Audience screams and dies* Uemura Yuuto’s usually a good singer but he went off-pitch a few times, probably due to nerves...

Iori was next with Tsumetai Yozora wo Terasu no ha. This is the third time I’ve seen Hanae Natsuki live, and you can tell he’s a seasoned performer by how comfortable he is on stage, and how his vocals are always clear and steady. His lines as Iori made a lot of people in the audience scream, but honestly whenever I see Hanae his joker character is all I register and I couldn’t really appreciate Iori LOL.

Kaito appeared on stage, rocking along to PASSION LASER BEAM, and this is where I died. Hayashi Yuu is phenomenal to watch live, he’s arguably one of the best singers of the group and is amazing at working the crowd, which isn’t surprising considering he’s the vocalist of Screen Mode. Hayashu brought a living, breathing Kaito onto stage in all his haughty glory T_____T It’s my dream to one day catch Screen Mode live as well...

Jin’s Kokoro no (ry was up next. I have to admit that I’m not a fan of Jin’s singing, I think it forces Ono Yuuki to fake a lower register which stifles his singing and it sounds unnatural, which is a shame when Onoyuu has such a lovely smooth voice. Onoyuu kept his fooling around to a minimum at this point, but he couldn’t stop his sunny trademark grin ww

SUBARU! WITH BACKDANCERS!!! Performing You & Me... de, Wave!!! If I had to pick a fav moment in the show, this would be it. Hatanaka Tasuku is SUCH a skilled singer, there’s so much energy in his voice, and his solo even included an intense dance routine which was amazing to watch. This is my fav solo charasong from YumeCast and Subaru completely smashed it... I’m buying the DVD later so I can watch it again ;____; I was so blown-away by the performance that I didn’t even notice what he was wearing >< I also noticed that one of the security staff near my block, who, up till then, was doing a good job of checking on the audience, couldn’t help but look at the stage once Subaru started singing. He watched up till the 2nd chorus lol before turning back to his job.

[OOT: This is my second time meeting Tasuku and each time I see him I feel like a proud mother watching her son grow by leaps and bounds >< The first time I met him was at the 5th fan meeting for Nariyuki Night, hosted by Tasuku and Yonaga Tsubasa. It was a small, cosy event of maybe 200 people, and it blew my mind that we got to see them at such a close distance. The coolest part was that they implemented a bunch of interactive activities to get the audience involved, one of which was a game where they had to guess an item based on clues shown on screen and borrow it from the audience.... Which meant that they had to run up and down the aisles of the seats, and at one point Yonaga grabbed a girl’s hand and escorted her down to the stage *_* Tasuku came by my seat and stopped to think about clues, so I literally had him standing next to me for like half a minute ahjghadllkjad. Also they were dressed in school uniform as one of the many suggestions for the “summer theme”; Yonaga in a beige vest, short sleeves, and colourful hairclips in his hair (he really looked like Nagisa from Free!), and Tasuku with a loose red tie and long shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Cute af. Prior to that I’d only seen Tasuku on livestreams and heard him on radio, and I’m glad to report that he’s every bit as earnest and clumsy in person as he is on air, like an awkward oversized puppy still learning how to walk but excited for someone to throw him a ball ;w;]

The last solo was Sousei’s Dare mo ga Ashi(ry. I was looking forward to this as I’ve been a fan of Toyonaga Toshiyuki since his Tenimyu days, and I love his singing voice. He wasn’t as smooth as in the recorded version, but still a delight to hear live.

Without giving us time to catch our breath, the show moved on to the next song. Hinata appeared on stage in a dark suit and a cape, accompanied by dancers dressed in ghoulish outfits. It was Mysterious Mission! This was a super fun song with a cute zombie dance, and at one point Hinata was hoisted up onto the shoulders of the backdancers in a sort of ALL HAIL YOUR CUTE MONSTER LORD routine. An oh, all the songs from this point on were performed in full :3

Next, Subaru and Jin appeared in santa outfits for Holy Melody Night. This is probably one of my least favourite songs in YumeCast, imo it’s the wrong key for both singers and doesn’t really showcase their voices. They were both so cute on stage though! Running from one end of the stage to the other and waving at us with huge smiles. The concert hall was enveloped in a warm, sparkly atmosphere ;w;

Next was the moment I had been waiting for - Kaito’s Kamigami no Senen (still not sure about the reading for the last 2 kanji tbh). I was hoping that this song would be included in the set list T_______T Kaito caused a stir when he appeared on the stage at the back of the arena, which I wasn’t even aware of. Dressed in graceful white robes and enveloped in mist, he was so beautiful to watch, I forgot to breathe... This song is a Big Deal for me because it’s an unseen side of both Kaito and Hayashu; before Kamigami neither have ever performed with such delicate vocals afaik. Even Screen Mode’s ballads have a completely different feel. When the song ended, the audience quietly broke into applause, instead of the cheering or screaming that happened with other songs...

Kyoya appeared back on the main stage with Sand Mirage, dressed in an Arabian Nights-esque costume and matching dancers. I’m very fond of this song, it’s so catchy and seems to fit Kyoya’s vocal range the most! And it definitely showed off his singing skills. Beautiful vibrato on the notes at the end of the chorus ;3;

Sousei and Iori gracefully descended upon the second stage in butler outfits. The yandere Tapestry song! They started off with a short skit, probably lines from the musical, and when Hanae fumbled one of his lines Tosshi teased him about it ww This is one of my favourite duets but sadly the vocals were rather shaky, with both singing off-key at many instances. A+ for the skit, the bedroom lines directed at “ojousama”, and Sousei’s psychotic laugh at the end.

I should love Final Approach since it features my two favs Subaru and Kaito, but unfortunately it’s one of the most boring songs for me... It didn’t stop me from appreciating the singing though. And the beautiful harmonies in the chorus. And the two boys in pilot outfits. And the high-five halfway through the song!! This was also the moment I understood the reason why some people bring two or more pen lights as I couldn’t decide whose colour to use...

Jin and Kyoya rose up from platforms under the stage in shinsengumi robes for Hi ha Noboru(ry. The katanas holstered on their hips were drawn for a fight scene vs the back dancers! The stage was bathed in violet and blue to match the moody atmosphere.

Then Iori and Kaito hopped onto stage and we all bobbed along to Sekai ha Koi to SWEETS! AND! KISS! *waves pen light frantically* This is such a cute song and both Iori and Kaito were super cute, throwing saccharine lines at the audience and getting everyone to join in the fun ;w; Iirc both of them even threw us some flying kisses....

Next, Stronger Than Medicine with Hina and Sousei. In white doctor’s coats and supported by a big group of dancers, Hina played the experienced head doctor while Sousei tagged along like a clueless junior lol. Parts of the dance were very cute and funny for comedic effect, and though for the most part it wasn’t an intense dance routine Tosshi still managed to show off his dancer background >< I kinda wished that we got to see him dance in a more high-tempo song, but Sousei gets all the ballads...

Around this time I noticed that a group of staff were busy setting up some sort of elevated platform-trolley thing at the end of the corridor between the 2nd and 3rd floor; I’d seen something similar happen at the Yuri on Stage event and my heartbeat jumped as I guessed what would happen next...

When the lights turned back on, the rest of the crew had joined Hina and Sousei on stage, and everyone was in their blue and white sailor outifts for Sunshine World Tour! This was the FIRST break in the show, can you believe it? The cast FINALLY introduced themselves (still in-character), and then Sousei announced that the show was about to come to and end, which came as a surprise because it honestly didn’t feel like the show started that long ago, even though we had actually sat through a LOT of songs. The audience began to whine “Ehhhhhhh?” Then the music for Sunshine World Tour started and the cast split into 2 groups, making the audience scream when they headed into the crowd, climbed up the stairs to the 3rd floor, and boarded one of the two trolleys on either end of the corridor. The audience went crazy when they realised what was happening! On the trolley that started from my end of the hall were Kyoya, Jin-san, and Hina, singing and waving enthusiastically at the audience as they traveled around the U-shaped concert hall. I couldn’t believe my eyes when they passed right in front of me... From my seat in the 2nd row they were SO CLOSE, and even at eye level! I honestly could’ve hi-fived them if I stretched out my arm. When the 2nd trolley came by I had my pen light set to orange and hoped Kaito would wave at me, but he was busy engaging the upper floors. Iori met my eyes though and gave me the sweetest smile ;w; They were meant to sing Sunshine World Tour, but very little singing was done as everyone was busy greeting and waving at the audience wwwwwwww It was a real treat for everyone on the 2nd and 3rd floors...

After the trolleys reached the opposite ends of the hall, the cast made their way back to the main stage and we were asked to sing along to the the chorus for a while as lyrics popped up on the screen :D After the song ended, the cast said their thanks and waved goodbye before disappearing backstage. The lights dimmed again and the audience began to chant “Encore~! Encore~!”

We were probably in the dark for about 5 minutes before the cast came back onto stage, dressed in Dream Show 2017 t-shirts. The cast could finally introduce themselves lol. “We can finally speak! As ourselves!!” “It is okay? Can I really start talking? OKAY I’M DOING IT :DDD” Onoyu let loose and chaos descended upon the stage wwwwww There was no outline for this talk segment so they pretty much did whatever they wanted www

What I can recall, in dot points:

Thanked us for all the love and support which allowed YumeCast to reach it’s 2nd anniversary

Ohsaka was super nervous as it’s his first concert, and Tosshi said that he kept muttering “I’m so nervous” up till the moment before their first appearance on stage, yet once he stepped onto stage he slipped right into character and looked so calm and confident

Tosshi and Onoyu admitted that they sing with their faces (their facial expressions are “noisy”)

Tosshi praised Ohsaka for bringing the rowdy team together like a real Kyoya, and Ohsaka lamented the fact that nobody listens to him while the rest of the team surrounded him and danced and hooted like gorillas www

Tosshi thanked the crew and staff for all their hard work behind the scenes, from dance choreography to costumes. Staff were always on standby backstage, ready to help them change into their next outfits, and as he watched the staff work frantically to keep the show running he truly felt like he was part of a real life Yumeiro Company troupe.

Up till the last rehearsal, Hayashu got one of the hand gestures for CALL HEAVEN!! wrong (he made a fox shape instead of a “W” for “welcome”)

Tasuku and Yuuto put in a lot of practice for their dances. Yuuto practiced his zombie shuffle even while out walking in public and got stared at. “My favourite part of the dance is when they lift me up! :D”

Hanae said it was unfair that Hinata could capture everyone’s hearts just with his “Onee~san♥”, so someone suggested everyone do their own version of “oneesan“ and put them to a vote.

Tasuku was up first... and promptly tripped over his first line, in typical Tasuku fashion wwwww I love him, he’s so clumsy and uncoordinated ;3; They gave him a second chance and this time he said something along the lines of “Thank you for your support this past two years!” and ended on a very cute and energetic “oneesan!!!!” Ughhh PUPPYYYYY

Kaito’s embarrassed tsundere “O.. onee...san...”

Sousei’s calm, somewhat sly “Oneesan :)”

The audience cracked up at Kyoya’s “Oneesan, jiken desu.” (Oneesan, there’s been an accident.) I had to look this up but it’s apparently a famous line from an old TV drama called HOTEL, lol

Kyoya’s take 2. A heartfelt message to all the scriptwriters in the audience, followed by the sweetest “...oneesan”.

Hanae did a skit where Iori was surprised but ecstatic about receiving a present from the MC in the form of a limited edition shoebill merch. “Thank you, oneesan!!”

Zun-san..... was Zun-san. “How about we spend the night together? My one and only oneesan♥”

Finally, the last boss. Hinata started to speak in that saccharine-sweet voice, “Boku,” and already half of the audience were screaming from that first word... “I’ll keep on working hard, so keep your eyes on me, okay? Oneesan♥“ *dying whale sounds from audience*

“Why did we even have this competition, we already knew who the winner would be.”

“You had them at “Boku”...”

Tosshi pointed out that they shouldn’t leave out the handful of guys in the audience, so everyone banded together and yelled “Thank you, oniisan!” and the guys responded with “Yeaaaaaaah!!!” haha

Farewell messages, final thoughts, and thank you’s

Ohsaka admitted that in his first year of playing Kyoya he had regrets about accepting the role, but after some time he found ways to connect with Kyoya and he’s very happy to be part of YumeCast. (I had a feeling that he wasn’t enjoying himself when I watched him on YumeCast livestream... turns out my hunch was correct :0 I’m glad that he’s found his place now!)

Next they showed a video announcing upcoming projects (live action musicals, new CD’s, drama CD’s) and the release of the DVD/BD of Dream Show 2017. Everyone else perched on the staircase to watch the video but Tasuku made himself small and sat on the floor with his knees folded primly. Smol puppy....

Lastly, the crew performed NEVER END STORIES as confetti cannons shot glitter over the arena. Then the dancers joined the cast on stage for the final farewell. Everyone took their turn bowing and saying thanks. Kyoya was last to leave the stage, and he lingered for a few moments to thank the audience. Sousei, who was near Kyoya, came up to him and said “Kyoya, let’s go :)” and Kyoya nodded before retreating from the stage. *Audience dies again*

After the show, I remember feeling so happy and satisfied. Of course, every event I’ve attended has been fun, but none of them made me feel as loved and appreciated as YumeCast Dream Show 2017. They knew what we wanted, and they delivered. I rate it 10/10 for being jam-packed with content (honestly, nobody expected them to perform this many songs), and it was very impressive that every song had its own set of costumes and choreography. It really felt like watching a musical show. The concert felt like it ended too soon because everything moved so quickly, but it had actually run for just over 2 hours. I do wish that they had given the cast more talk time, but i guess that was sacrificed to make space for more songs. I can live with that.

I’ve been playing YumeCast for almost a year now and have considered quitting several times since the gameplay gets pretty repetitive after a while (plus new games coming into my life), but after this concert I have fallen in love all over again and will continue to support YumeCast ;3; Honestly, just from watching the monthly livestreams you can tell how hard they try to keep us happy.

[alexiablackbriar13]

Birds of a Feather [teaser]

As many of my followers may know, I have been working on a little something new recently (not that I’m neglecting any of my WIP fics, which there are many of).

When I approached @thatmasquedgirl with this idea, for a oneshot set in one of her Arrow AU ‘verses, the Flying High ‘Verse (which incidentally was inspired by one of my own ‘verses, weird how things come around), I was so excited I could barely form words. Wonderful wifey as she is, she allowed me to go ahead with writing this and I’m so grateful to her, as she has supported me the entire way throughout, acting as a cheerleader and a beta. There were some hiccups along the way, including me freaking out over how the fic I planned to be 5k words ended up being way over 20k, but things smoothed out, and the road to the finish line is clear.

The fic is semi-completed, but with Masque’s permission, I’m posting a teaser now so that people know that there’s a good reason why DNTMBTM and puppy!fic updates have been sporadic (and late) of date.

In case any of you need a reminder: Here is Crash Landing, which this fic is set a few weeks/months after.

“Reckless. Irresponsible. Impulsive. Ignorant, mindless -”

“Are you done?”

Felicity turns and shoots Oliver a scornful look due to his exasperated tone, pausing in her pacing across the Foundry. She warned him that this would happen. It’s barely a month after she found him injured, bleeding and flightless and Oliver has healed, but not completely. He still finds it difficult to fly and move around too quickly. So, when he insisted on heading out into the city that night to perform Hood duties, Felicity told him it was too soon. And it had been. Oliver arrived back, ashy grey feathers ruffled and wings bristling, with blood dripping from a bullet wound in his side. A brush, he calls it. The bullet has clipped him, but it hasn’t hit any major blood vessels. He persists in informing Diggle and Felicity that he’s fine, but the IT girl can tell he isn’t.

Concern marrs her brow as she slowly moves back towards the winged vigilante, observing him quietly as Oliver is patched up by Diggle. He’s squirming in his seat, scowling as he’s fussed over. The massive wings are twitching behind his back, and Felicity sweeps her gaze over them, admiring for a brief moment how the white coverts at the top of the wings, near the wrists, darkens down into a grey gradient, before the tips are coloured a stark midnight black. The vigilante grumbling causes her to raise her eyes up to his face again, and she frowns.

Oliver looks tired. He’s been looking tired for days now, and she’s just been thinking it’s the fact that he’s back training again, preparing to get back onto the streets. But no, she can tell now that this is a deeper exhaustion, something that has been plaguing him for a while. She’s been watching him closely over the last few days, and it’s easy now to see that something is, in fact, wrong with Oliver. Maybe he’s ill. Maybe he’s just overworked. But whatever it is, she doesn’t like the way that it causes black bags under his eyes, his shoulders to slump and feathers to droop. It isn’t healthy, and just seeing it all presented in front of her now is causing a lump of anxiety to form in her throat, forcing her to swallow.

“I told you it was stupid,” she whispers, flicking her finger into his bare arm, and drawing back when he gives a slight flinch, throwing her a wary glance.

Sighing, he fixes his intense blue gaze onto the floor, kicking his legs back and forth as he shifts uncomfortably on the gurney. “And I admit, you were right,” Oliver grumbles. His massive wings are still bristling slightly, white feathers gleaming, highlighted in the sharp light of a medical lamp. Diggle has to sidestep them to avoid getting hit by the occasional sporadic flap he gives. “But I don’t regret going out there. I took down three criminal one-percenters tonight that have been embezzling funds from charities supporting the Glades. It was worth it.” Softening his voice, he adds tenderly in that tone he reserves for her, and only her, “You understand that, don’t you?”

Okay, he has a point there. Oliver’s work truly is creating a positive change in Starling City, and Felicity has to give him his dues, because she knows that he is significantly altering thousands of people’s lives for the better. But she can’t help but worry about him. Before she can say anything else, however, Diggle steps around to the other side so he’s in front of the winged crusader, getting in between Oliver and Felicity so they have to break eye contact.

“It needs a few stitches,” Diggle says, somewhat apologetically. He reaches for the first aid kit and begins threading a needle with one hand like a professional, whilst his other keeps a piece of gauze firmly placed on the wound. Felicity flits forwards and taps his hand, giving him a small smile to say she can take over for him. She flushes as soon as she presses the bandage into Oliver’s side and the vigilante jumps, gaze flitting down to aim very ardent, cobalt eyes at her. “I can’t give you any local because of your metabolism, and the fact that your air sacs are still healing.”

“Do it without,” Oliver shrugs.

“Are you sure? This is going to hurt.”

“Do it without,” he repeats, and when a troubled expression crosses Felicity’s face, he leans in and murmurs softly, “Felicity, it’s fine. It’s just a few stitches.” Mirth sparkles in his eyes as he finishes teasingly, “You can hold my hand if you like.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but still allows a smile to quirk at her lips in amusement, reaching out to squeeze lightly on his shoulder before pulling away, letting Diggle tend to the wound. Oliver has opened up to her and Diggle in ways Felicity never thought he would over the last few weeks. Although Oliver still remains the gruff, suspicious, hesitant individual that had confronted her in that parking lot when he first crashed into her, Felicity can now see what an absolute wonder he is at heart.

He likes to touch affectionately, probably because he was severely touch starved in the past, but Felicity certainly isn’t complaining; thrill flashes through her whenever Oliver brushes his wings up against her side in a kind-hearted motion, or whenever he carefully settles his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumb gently into her neck to relieve the tension there. He still speaks harshly, sometimes turning cold and stony towards them if he is pushed too far, or doesn’t like what they are discussing, but Oliver’s true voice that he’s began using with both Felicity and Diggle is low and warm, like melted dark chocolate or a big cat’s rumbling purr. So when he teases her to hold his hand - she does. But not for too long, otherwise he’ll get uncomfortable, and Felicity respects his boundaries.

The blonde doesn’t notice that Diggle is stitching the wound and Oliver’s gritting his teeth with his eyes closed until a single, lithe, feathery finger inches around her open palm to curl around her hand. It makes her jump with a squeak, and then Felicity’s eyes flash down to look at what that finger is and it’s Oliver’s wing. There’s a tiny, white feathery thing wrapped around her fingers, and it’s Oliver’s wing holding her hand. She’s so astonished for a moment that she freezes, not moving, but before she can yank her hand back in shock, that feathered finger tightens and Oliver releases a deep pained sound.

He’s tensed, breathing heavily, and his left wing twitching anxiously. It’s his right wing that has extended out and wrapped around Felicity’s hand, and the realisation strikes her directly in the chest, making her exhale with a whoosh. Oliver is in pain, but he doesn’t know how to ask for comfort. He’s reaching out for her to soothe him instinctively.

Sweeping back towards him, Felicity keeps a firm hold of Oliver’s feathered finger whilst her free hand snakes over his shoulder to gently trace circles in the space between where the two wings are attached. At first, he straightens, snapping upright with a low gasp, and Felicity winces, afraid that he’s going to pull away - but then Oliver’s eyes flutter shut and he relaxes, leaning into her touch. Diggle’s just finishing up the stitches, watching them both with such an impassive expression that Felicity knows that he definitely has an opinion on this, and it makes her blush, biting her lip as she decides to instead fixate her gaze on that feathered finger hooked around her hand.

“It’s an alula.”

She glances up, taking in Oliver’s scrunched up face and closed eyes. How he knows what she’s going to ask before she even opens her mouth to speak still amazes her. “An alula?” she repeats, twisting her hand within the ‘alula’s grip so she can gently run her fingers down the light grey, white-ish feathers there. “What is it? Like a wing finger?”

“Exactly,” Oliver nods, managing a tight smile. “A wing thumb, actually. All birds have them. One on each wing. Our wings are essentially feathered arms, you know.”

The talking seems to be distracting him from the pain, so Felicity quickly draws him into conversation, saying disbelievingly, “I can’t believe that I never knew that birds have thumbs.”

“You wouldn’t know if you’ve never looked. I flare them out when I fly, they help coordinate with my tertials so I can steer properly without a tail. Birds can’t usually use their alulas to hold onto things, but - well...” A somewhat smug look passes over him, and he preens, left wing half flaring and very nearly smacking an annoyed Dig in the face. “I’m not a bird.”

“That’s genius.” She rubs the pad of her finger down the thick white feathers that line the finger, but goes completely still, breath catching in her throat, when one of the feathers comes loose and falls into her palm. Oh god. Is this meant to happen? Has she just accidentally pulled one of Oliver’s feathers out without even realising it? He just said he needs them for steering - has she just crippled him?! “Uh… Oliver?”

“Hmm?” He raises his head to survey her, and then when he sees the feather in her palm, he goes rigid. He stares down at the feather, a whole mixture of emotions flickering over his face. The fact that he goes motionless must startle Diggle as well, because his partner pauses in his wiping the wound with antiseptic, blinking. Felicity peers back at Oliver with wide eyes as he struggles to find words.

“Your feather fell out,” Felicity says, although she internally berates herself because yes, that is rather obvious. She’s holding the feather in her hand, it’s very obviously not attached to his wing.

Oliver stares at it for a moment, and then he moves so quickly that Felicity has to blink several times, and Diggle has to draw back to avoid accidentally stabbing him with the needle. Felicity’s heart aches and her legs feel numb as she watches Oliver desperately rake his hand through the feathers on his right wing. His blank expression as several of his peppered grey primary coverts fall out chills her to the bone, but nothing is more alarming than the tiny, frightened, “Oh,” he emits, swallowing.

“Oliver?” Diggle asks, taking a cautious step backwards just in case the winged vigilante reacts violently, because he looks shaken to the core.

“They’re - they’re falling out?” Oliver finally questions, his voice strained.

Oh god, this is bad. His reaction is bad. She HAS just crippled him. Trembling, Felicity whispers, “Oliver, I - I am SO sorry, I didn’t -”

“Hey, Felicity, no, this -” His hand darts out to grasp her wrist, and his tone’s steady as he shakes his head, firmly reassuring her, “This wasn’t you. You didn’t do this. It’s alright. Feathers - feathers fall out sometimes.”

“So it’s - it’s alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Seeing the way that his left wing shakes, Felicity swallows. It isn’t fine.

“It’s not a big deal if feathers fall out?” Diggle questions hesitantly.

“No, it’s - not a big deal. It’s no deal. It’s fine.” Except the dread in his expression as Oliver plucks the alula feather from Felicity’s hand tells her that this is a very, very big deal. The several primary covert feathers that came loose with his fingers have drifted down, and remain scattered, like tiny pieces of ashy down littering the ground. Oliver refuses to meet their worried gazes as he stands on wobbly legs, wings flaring and tucking to steady him, hand tightly clenched around the alula feather. “Thank you both for your help tonight, but really, I’m okay. You can both go home.”

Felicity crosses her arms over her chest, hand flicking up briefly to straighten her glasses on her nose as she observes the winged vigilante calculatingly. Her heart is doing a merry jig due to her anxiety about Oliver’s reaction. He’s not acting as if he’s okay; he’s reacting as if this fallen feather is leading to the whole wing falling off. He’s shivering like a leaf, obviously shaken, but she isn’t going to press him, not when he’s in such a vulnerable and emotional state. Instead, she gently reaches out to caress the top of his wing wrist for a second, smiling sadly when he stiffens at her touch, before motioning to Diggle that they should leave. Diggle raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question her, offering Oliver a gruff farewell before grabbing his coat and clunking up the stairs out of sight.

“Change your bandages in four hours,” Felicity reminds him softly, withdrawing and picking up her coat and bag. Oliver nods, eyes lowered as he shuffles awkwardly, wings spreading to half span in such a way that she can tell that he’s feeling guilty at kicking them out. “Please try and sleep tonight, Oliver.”

“I will,” he answers.

She smiles again, and then heads for the stairs. Before she can reach the security door, however, Oliver calls her name quietly, causing her to whip around with a hopeful expression. It’s ridiculous, but she’s silently hoping that he’s going to ask her to stay. His wings are ruffled and a mess, and although he has only let her touch his wings once or twice, she will help him groom them if he asks.

“You don’t need to worry,” Oliver says quietly. “I promise you, I’m fine.”

“Goodnight, Oliver,” she responds.

Tags: @geniewithwifi @writewithurheart @bushlaboo @muslimsmoak @melsanfo @imusuallyobsessed @latinasmoak @nodecaff4me @myhauntedblacksoul @almondblossomme @callistawolf @thatmasquedgirl @queensoverwatch @pleasantfanandstudent  @valin-dana @fallingmeleth @skcolicity @lunarsilverwolfstar @tdgal1 @olicityandsteroline @michealajulius @cris101071 @ohmyemilybett @blushorchid  @selena-diaries @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @the-silverforked-sky @jaspertown @n4r4nch4 @nvwhovian @miriam1779 @sunshine0977 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Okay so because I am the worst girlfriend, I did write @sassy-laffy something for Valentine’s Day but only completed it Today!! Yay me! Anyway, she loved it and thought I should post it, so if fluffy and kinda smutty lesbian poly ships are your thing, please, be my guest!

Please to enjoy some Theo Jr/Angie Hamilton/ Virginie de Lafayette in what we call the Happy Summer Lesbian AU

Angie Hamilton lay back on the grass, right in the middle of the meadow just out of sight of the Lafayette mansion, and she closed her eyes.

 She did that sometimes, when everything around her got too loud, too fast, too much. She’d squeeze her eyes shut and try and block everything else out until the cold feeling in her fingertips and the hammering in her chest went away. Until she was ready to face the world again or to break down completely. Angie lived with the fear that one day she wouldn’t have the strength to open her eyes again.

 But this time was different.

 This time she was closing her eyes so she could focus on the feeling on the sun on her eyelids, the way it fell across her tawny skin and warmed her right through down to her bones, to all the parts inside her that always felt like they were in shadow. It felt like she was surrounded by warm water, like time was slowing and thickening around her and she was just lying safe in the sunlight.

 She closed her eyes so she could better hear the birds. The soft lyrical twittering off in the distance that sounded so…bright. And alive. Like there was real conversation in it, a back and forth. It made her smile to imagine what those birds might be saying, it reminded her of the games she and Pip and AJ and sometimes even Pops would play, filling in funny subtitles for the birds that sat on their fire escape as they sat and ate the breadcrumbs Mama left out for them. Them eating their breakfast, just like Angie would be eating hers. It was nice to find this little piece of home, so far away.

 She closed her eyes so she could feel and hear the slight breeze moving around her, whispering nonchalantly to itself as it moved through the leaves of the trees at the edge of the meadow. So, she could shiver happily as it toyed with the hem of the sweatshirt she was wearing. The sweatshirt that must belong to Virginia, it was bigger on her than one of Theo’s would be. And it smelled of the smoky, ashy perfume that Angie was starting to get to know from having Ginnie’s always hot, ebony skin pressed against her, her face in her shoulder as the other, incredibly beautiful girl did wondrous things between her legs, things Angie had never though she could feel. Like giving up control of her own body but in a good way, giving it over to Ginnie and Theo with perfect confidence that they would take care of it, that they would do things that sent waves of pleasure crashing over her and do it all with love in their eyes. And through it all that scent, the scent of beauty and confidence and sophistication that was Virginie de Lafayette all over. Yes, Angie was getting to know that smell very well and having it so close to her was…comforting. It made her smile. Lying in the grass, wearing nothing but the shroud of sunlight and the wonderfully soft sweatshirt and a pair of lace panties, Angie closed her eyes and smiled.

 She closed her eyes so she could focus on the grass underneath her, so she could sweep her hands across it. It was so long, Ginnie had confessed that her family hardly used this area, it had just been allowed to grow wild. So, there were wildflowers scattered all through it, bursts of purple and red and yellow in amongst the grass that was so big it came right up over Angie’s head as she lay there. It looked like something out of a painting, but then everything did in this place, out here in the French countryside where the enormous sprawling house had sagged here amongst the hills for centuries and the little town just down the road was straight from the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast. It was like another world entirely, one that was so full of sensation that Angie could close her eyes and experience just as much as if she had her eyes wide open. A world where Angie could have two beautiful girls, her friends, Theo and Ginnie, where she could love them freely and without hesitation or fear. Where there was just enough of an almost alcoholic haze in the air that maybe…maybe they loved her back.

 All that was still there when Angie closed her eyes. But there were other things, much closer things that she sought out in the peace and clung to harder and faster than anything else. The gentle touch of Theo’s fingers brushing against her own as she sprawled out to her left and read one of the dusty old tomes from the bookshelves scattered around the mansion, a thick chronicle with leaf thin pages and in tiny French text that only Theodosia Burr would ever even attempt. The sound of her soft humming as she absorbed the story eagerly. The tickle of her bouncy cloud of hair as some curls of it brushed Angie’s forehead.

 The gentle, amusing sound of Ginnie’s soft snores as she napped in the sun; Ginnie took every opportunity to sleep. The silken feel of her midnight skin as her leg pressed against Angie’s, stroking gently. The smell of the mango sorbet they’d been indulging in after hours and hours of making love in what felt like a million different ways, the scent of that on her breath as Ginnie’s head rested her Angie’s own. The wonderful texture of her braids, the braids that Angie itched to touch every single time she saw them, the overwhelming compulsion to touch them and admire the way they were dyed an intoxicating spectrum of colours, some pastel pink, some a soft eggshell blue, some lilac; a wave of the softest and most lovely colours running down Ginnie’s back.

 Angie closed her eyes and felt all of this and more, every little reminder that her girls were here with her, that this summer stretched on endlessly into the future, that they could lie here in this meadow for the rest of their lives, until the wildflowers grew around them and made them part of the painting. The reminders that she was happy. Angie Hamilton was happy.

 “Earth to Angie,” Ginnie’s smooth, thickly accented voice was suddenly in her ear. God, it was like is honey had a sound, “Angie Hamilton, are you with us?”

 “Sorry,” Angie’s eyes flew open with no fear because she knew what she saw would be nothing but beautiful, “I was daydreaming.”

 “Little charmer,” Theo grinned, looking up from her book to comb her fingers through Angie’s raven bob of hair, “You looked like you were miles away, there.” 

 Angie went pink, “I’m right here.” And she was, she was right here.

 “Perfect,” Ginnie beamed, leaning in and kissing the side of Angie’s head sweetly.

 But her lips didn’t leave her skin, in fact the kiss deepened, like Ginnie was tasting her skin and enjoying it. Angie murmured delightedly, a soft moan of pleasure and that was all the signal Ginnie needed, she turned and rolled and suddenly Angie was pinned under her weight and her lips were…everywhere. Her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her neck… She was so hot, her lips nearly burned but it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Ginnie was always so warm, like the sun itself burned within her.

 “Oh god, Ginnie…” Angie breathed, submitting willingly like it was the most natural thing in the world, making herself vulnerable readily.

 Ginnie laughed as she nuzzled at the skin under Angie’s chin, “You’re so soft, ma Cherie. Like rose petals…”

As Angie moaned her arousal, Theo’s musical laughter rang out as she rolled off her back and moved over to them, taking the younger girl’s head in her lap and subtly massaging the sides of her head, keeping her grounded, letting her know she was safe.

 “You okay for another round, sweet girl?” Theo whispered lovingly, “I think Ginnie wants another taste of you.”

 Ginnie mumbled her agreement though she didn’t take her lips from Angie’s skin, she couldn’t bear to. Instead she travelled down her body, signalling her willingness.

 “Please,” Angie gasped, her body feeling weak as Ginnie knelt between her legs, as she pushed the sweatshirt right the way up her body, exposing all of Angie to the sun. There was a moment of hesitation in her, a moment of who she was before, the scared and broken girl. But Ginnie’s touch and the sun melted all of that away in an instant.

 Theo took this opportunity with a delighted giggle, her hands slipping right the way down to Angie’s chest, to cup her full breasts eagerly. As Ginnie rubbed the insides of Angie’s thighs, bending down between them and lapping lightly at the soft, pink flesh there when she pushed her panties to one side, Theo ran a thumb across her nipples, waking them up with just that slight touch. Angie gasped, stiffening. Both of the other girls gave twin smiles of delight and excitement before going to work without wasting a moment, wanting to hear and see their sweet girl fall apart so they could piece her back together again.

 Ginnie was a wonder with her mouth, sucking and nipping lightly, alternating between sweetness and sharpness, disarming and ruinous before sliding her tongue right inside, to the ridge of flesh within that was the core of her. Theo became rougher too, squeezing and using her nails just a little, working Angie’s chest to complement Ginnie’s actions. The two of them made such a good team and before long Angie was shrieking, her cries and strangled gasps of delight echoing around the meadow, adding a new sound to the music of that warm summer day. The two girls didn’t tease, didn’t hold back, they were generous and loving and giving, wanting nothing more than to make Angie happy. And they succeeded.

 When Angie finally came, after nearly ten minutes of nothing but sustained pleasure, squirting and then releasing in a hot, hard rush over Ginnie’s mouth, it was like the crescendo of a symphony. She fell, she fell hard but then Theo’s touch became soft, Ginnie’s tongue became gentle, cleaning her with appreciative moans. And Angie was safe. She had her girls and she was safe.

 “I l-love you,” she gasped, her chest pounding, “I love you b-both so m-much.”

 “And we love you, Cherie,” Ginnie purred, wiping her dripping chin with the back of her hand, “So much.”

 “Our beautiful, wonderful girl,” Theo sighed, bending down to kiss her lips, lingering there.

 As Ginnie came up to enjoy the embrace too, as all three girls tangled their bodies together until there was no distinction between them, Angie closed her eyes again.

 But this time, again, she wasn’t afraid. Because if she never opened her eyes again, if this was where she stayed, then she was perfectly happy with that.

[vdbstore-blog]

New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

New Post has been published on http://vintagedesignerhandbagsonline.com/beauty-queen-how-pat-mcgrath-revolutionised-makeup-fashion/

Beauty queen: how Pat McGrath revolutionised makeup | Fashion

In 20 years of interviewing actors, musicians, designers and artists, my audience with Pat McGrath has been the most difficult. Not because she’s chilly or aloof (she’s tactile, warm, prone to outbursts of laughter and the lavish use of “darling”), but because not a minute goes by without a passerby interrupting to tell her how much they admire her, and to my frustration, she spends much of our precious allotted time indulging them.

“You look beautiful, darling,” she purrs to one beauty blogger, as worried publicists look on impatiently. “Let me get someone from my team to do your makeup! It’ll be gorgeous on you,” she says to another. She stops again to pose for a photograph with actor Olivia Palermo (who seems under no illusion that she might be the main attraction here), then again to reel off some social media content and to check an assistant has her trainers. By then our “intimate chat”, in a bustling Parisian penthouse, is rather up against it, because McGrath is due to get on a motorbike to the Ritz, where an unnamed celebrity is waiting to be made up for the red carpet.

She promises a follow-up within days, and so begins almost a fortnight of postponements, briefing calls, time-zone complications and several profuse apologies as beauty’s biggest hitter paints, dusts and blends her way across dozens of faces and two continents. Truly, I have interviewed more accessible Oscar winners.

‘I just love cosmetics’ … Pat McGrath. Photograph: Ben Hassett

The reason I’ve been granted this extremely rare face time with the world’s most influential makeup artist is that she’s just launched her eponymous makeup line, Pat McGrath Labs, in Europe. The brand has already smashed the US, where McGrath lives in two New York West Village apartments, one above the other, though she is barely ever in either. She’s mostly on the road, working on magazine covers for the likes of Vogue, Harpers and W, the faces of celebrities such as Rihanna and Kim Kardashian, on advertising campaigns for Versace, Prada, Louis Vuitton and Gucci, and designing the makeup looks for around 80 major fashion shows per year (she is widely acknowledged as the most prolific catwalk makeup artist of all time). She travels from one fashion capital to another with dozens of makeup cases and a huge team of between 25 and 90 devoted artists to carry them all. “The most we’ve ever taken is 87 trunks,” she tells me. “I’ve collected everything for about 25 years. I’d go into a department store now and buy everything. It’s who I am. I just love cosmetics.”

McGrath qualifies this by telling me that she has filled 4,000 square feet of storage with products and says “You couldn’t get anyone more makeup addicted than me”, perhaps because she knows her passion for face paint isn’t immediately apparent. Much like the most celebrated fashion experts wear only black (she does, too – today she’s in a long black skirt, matching shirt and her signature wide black headband), the world’s top makeup artist doesn’t appear to be wearing the stuff herself. “I wear very natural makeup but it’s made up out of five foundations to make that perfect skin and my lipstick might be three different lipsticks mixed together, so it’s a kind of obsession in a different way,” she laughs.

If beauty is McGrath’s addiction, her single mother was her pusher. McGrath was raised in Northampton by Jean, whose love of God was matched only by an extraordinary fascination with everything fashion and beauty. From as early as McGrath can remember, working class, Jamaican-born, Jehovah’s Witness Jean was schooling her in advanced aesthetic awareness. “My mother was obsessed with makeup,” she says. “She would stand in front of the TV and we’d have to guess what she’d done differently with her eyes. I’d think: ‘Get out of the way!’ But she wouldn’t move until I’d told her.” Together they would analyse the makeup looks of Old Hollywood film stars, identifying which had inspired fashion designers that season.

Jean encouraged McGrath to be creative with makeup, mixing pigments from scratch to get exactly the right colour, adding heat to the skin with her fingertips to give it a healthier glow and soften the look of foundation. She explains: “She always put on a full face of makeup then got in the bath to get that dewy finish. It was next level, but this is where I got my makeup tips from – at seven years old!” Together, Jean (a talented dressmaker) and McGrath would go and look at Vogue patterns, then off to the market, where all the fabric buyers sold their remnants, before deciding which makeup would best go with the clothes.

A model with makeup by McGrath at Christian Dior show, 2008. Photograph: Penske Media/REX/Shutterstock

Whether they could find makeup to suit their skin colour was another matter entirely. To say women of colour were under-served by beauty brands in 70s and 80s Britain is a woeful understatement. “There was no makeup for women of colour,” she reminds me. “NOTHING. That’s what my mother’s search was all about. When we were out shopping we were always looking for a product that, probably by accident rather than design, worked for us. Where there was no ashiness, no ‘white cast’ [an effect commonly caused by talc in caucasian-skewed makeup], probably from some makeup line that had either discontinued it or gone bust.”

She concedes that this may be why she initially became known for colourful and avant-garde makeup, rather than for the “nude” shades that were so popular in the late 80s. Back then the dominant makeup look was matte and flat textured, created with products that had insufficient pigment for darker skins, which gave skin a sculpted but almost lifelike quality. Then, as sometimes even today, the word “nude” was commonly used as a euphemism for tones present in caucasian skin.

The teenage McGrath was drawn to looks that were a little leftfield, and got her big break “while stalking Spandau Ballet outside Radio 1”, wearing new romantic garb and bold lipstick on her eyes, cheeks and lips. She was spotted by presenter Janice Long, who pointed at McGrath’s face and asked: “Will you do that on me?” She recalls: “I didn’t even know that was a job. She said it was, so I went home that night knowing what I was going to do with my life.” She later moved to London and through the club scene, got her break doing makeup for Soul II Soul, who appeared frequently in the credible fashion press. Soon she was working for the Face and i-D, where 18-year-old stylist Edward Enninful had just been made the industry’s youngest ever fashion director. The two became close. Her bold makeup translated well into his striking photo shoots and stood out during the 1990s grunge era, when makeup was often downplayed to the point of non-existence.

It proved to be just one of many hugely creative and influential collaborations in McGrath’s career (she has been the go-to makeup artist for designer Miuccia Prada and photographer Steven Meisel for years), but is the longest and perhaps the most personal one. Both Enninful and McGrath describe the other as their “best friend”, and a few days after we meet, it’s announced that she is to be beauty editor-at-large at British Vogue, where he took the helm last week (the first man, and first person of colour, to do so). This explains why she remains so tight-lipped when I ask what she thinks he might change at Vogue, only assuring me that he will do great things. “Of course he’ll do amazingly!” she almost bellows. “He’s lovely. I remember when I first met him, when he had just started working at i-D, and he was so shy. He’s so quiet when he speaks, but now he says: ‘I’ve become loud because I’m with you’,” she laughs, before adding, more seriously: “I’m so proud of him, it’s amazing to see.”

McGrath with Edward Enninful, 2009. Photograph: Patrick McMullan/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

The appointment of Enninful, a British Ghanaian, is seen by many as a sign that mainstream fashion media – where black cover stars and senior staff members are still exceptional – is finally becoming more inclusive. McGrath is cautiously optimistic. “I think you always want things to get better and that’s been my view ever since I’ve been in this industry. So it’s great to see there’s more diversity, but it could always get better.”

She concedes that her side of the industry is as culpable. “It’s the same with the beauty companies because there is a whole planet out there. How can you not address the whole world – what are you thinking?” She is determined that no one should have to do what she and her mother (who died in 1992, as her daughter’s career was taking off) had to, and mix their own colours to match. For Pat McGrath Labs, she explains: “I was working all the time with pigments to make sure they work on all skin tones, particularly to make sure dark skin doesn’t become ashy, pigments that are so rich they work on everybody. Because a lot of the time when you buy a normal shadow, it doesn’t always work on every skin tone – it’s chalky or too light – so that’s my main aim, to bring makeup for all skin tones to the fore.”

She’s interested in diversity in colour, but also in shape, size, gender classification, and for her own brand, has made a point of using models of different types. “It’s about pushing boundaries. I believe absolutely, the world wants something different, people want back their individuality.” Despite working with mainstream stars such as Cara Delevingne, Bella Hadid and longtime friend and collaborator, Naomi Campbell, McGrath’s public approbation has made stars of African-American writer, model and “plus-size” body-positive pioneer Paloma Elsesser; Jason Dardo, the American drag queen and burlesque dancer (otherwise known as Violet Chachki), and gender fluid model, former RuPaul drag race contestant and makeup artist Kurtis Dam-Mikkelsen – all of whom she discovered while browsing Instagram.

Beauty is quite technical, quite nerdy now. So it’s my time, because I am that woman

All of them stretch the beauty industry’s notoriously narrow perimeters. She’s proud of all her young collaborators. “I remember when I first saw Paloma on Instagram. I reached out to her and she became one of our muses and now that she’s working for so many brands, it’s so inspiring. I’m just so happy that all of my girls, and my boys as well, are doing so well. I’m watching what’s happened with Miss Fame (alter-ego of Dam-Mikkelsen) getting a contract (with L’Oreal) – these genius young people who started out with me and now they’re fronting beauty campaigns, or getting tons of editorial work, and it’s amazing to see how well they’re all doing, it’s brilliant”.Social media was a turning point for McGrath. It’s fair to say Instagram and YouTube have done for makeup artistry what MySpace did for music, giving young beauty talent a global showcase, as well daily access to, and inspiration from, the world’s biggest established artists. Thanks to the photo-sharing app (on which she currently has 1.4 million followers, a number matched only by fellow British artist Charlotte Tilbury), McGrath’s appeal has expanded way beyond the once insular world of high fashion. Does she mind that nowadays, seemingly everyone on Instagram wants to be a makeup artist? “No, I think it’s amazing”. She follows upcoming artists obsessively, reposting their images, even asking them to join her team. “They encourage me, I encourage them. A lot of my team met through social media. We had a contest called Backstage with Pat McGrath, which had 30,000 entrants and we chose 40 people to come and experience what’s it’s like on the road when we’re doing shows, and they just loved it. I met some brilliant people.”

Pat McGrath Labs taps into what beauty conglomerates are only just realising: the power of the online beauty geek. These makeup obsessives – men, women, young, old, black or white – reside in the sparkliest corner of the internet and revere beauty as high art. These are the fans who wait at their computers for a big product launch to “drop” at 6am, and who can, in all likelihood, namecheck studio system makeup artists, forgotten 1930s burlesque stars and the exact shade of Marilyn Monroe’s hair colorant (Dirty Pillow Slip, since you ask).

Christian Dior 2007. Photograph: Penske Media/REX/Shutterstock

Everything about McGrath’s launch was geared towards this community of anoraks, and capitalises on the internet’s ability to take what would constitute an unworkable niche in local territories, and make it a hugely successful global concern. McGrath’s first, and for several months, only product, was Gold 001 – a single, dry, metallic pigment that liquified with a special mixing solution. Launched on limited, numbered release and advertised only through McGrath’s social media accounts, it sold out in six minutes. “I was so overwhelmed,” she says. “I had only planned to do it as a one-off for fun, for the makeup addicted fans. Suddenly I was getting phone calls from around the world.”

Now, four times a year, another new professional-grade product – a holographic eye gloss, almost neon blue shadow, a balm stick and nude pigment for achieving McGrath’s signature “hyper-real skin” (formerly achieved by layering several different consumer products), is launched to similar frenzy. Each is encased in simple plastic factory packaging (“No weights, no metals,” she says, “the jewel is the product itself”) to keep down the already high price (from £55 in the UK, $40 in the US). Neither seems to put buyers off – in fact, many apparently never open their sequin-stuffed ziplock bags to fish out the product itself, preferring to keep their precious collector’s item pristine.

In this Instagram age, says McGrath, the number of beauty obsessives is vast. “People don’t want to be bored any more. They really do want to try new things. I know from talking to my girlfriends who aren’t even in the industry, the way women speak about makeup is no longer: “Ooh, look at this lovely mascara.” They talk to me as though I’m in a lab, using a thousand words to describe it. It is actually quite technical, and I do believe people love what they see at the fashion shows and editorial, and want to try it. It’s now a nerdy approach. And so it’s my time, because I am that woman. Now, ‘the makeup obsessed’ is everybody. An air stewardess recently told me her eight-year-old daughter watches complex how-tos on YouTube.”

Many of McGrath’s most outlandish catwalk looks have quickly become crossover hits. Dense, glittery eyelids with thick black brows for John Galliano, opaque gold lips at Prada, chunky, stick-on face jewels for Givenchy, metallic highlighter everywhere from Dior to Versace – all were copied by high street brands, and adopted widely.

But while the beauty industry was happy to copy McGrath’s looks (or even engage her as a consultant – she has helped to create products for Giorgio Armani, Max Factor, Dolce & Gabbana and Cover Girl Cosmetics), most weren’t confident in selling the real thing. “I spoke to makeup executives about my own line for the past 15 years and they’d say: ‘You know, nobody knows you, nobody really wants the kind of stuff you do in shows in real life.’ And then I joined social media and all I’d hear from thousands and thousands of people was that they did.”

She has no time for industry snobbery over social media beauty trends, such as contouring and dark, painted-on eyebrows. “Just the fact that people love makeup is wonderful. If you want to be out there in a thick, black brow, then go there, girl! But at the same time, people love it when they’re shown exactly how to do it well. Not everyone’s going to do things perfectly but the fact that people are trying, and are excited by cosmetics, always means something to me.” She’s all for clearing the smoke and mirrors of the fashion world. “When I remember how much joy the fashion industry brought to me, how I’d watch the 50 seconds of catwalk footage, twice a year at the end of News at Ten, and get goosebumps, well, it was life-changing. Imagine as a young kid now getting to see everything they’re seeing? It must be so inspiring.”

Christian Dior, 2011/2012. Photograph: Michel Dufour/WireImage

Nowadays, she finds inspiration by obsessively studying films, art history and photography. She insists she enjoys the pressure of having to come up with 80 or more entirely new concepts annually for the shows. “I love to be challenged. I can spend a good hour or two (in makeup trials) trying to make some concept a reality. But that’s what I enjoy the most, I love it.”

Isn’t it exhausting? “I always lose my voice by the end of show season,” she says, “but this is something I’m obsessed with, something I’ve always wanted to do. It brings me joy. When you’re at shows, there’s a nervous energy. You want to make everything that you do perfect because can you imagine seeing the clothing I get to see on a daily basis? It’s exquisite, so the last thing you want to do is have the makeup let that whole collection down. It’s pressure, but I love it”.

Back in Hotel Shangri-La, McGrath is now more than an hour late for her celebrity appointment and as she promises me another chat, we are interrupted yet again, by a young woman wearing red lipstick newly daubed in dense, sparkly glitter from Pat McGrath Labs. Her mouth looks like Dorothy’s ruby slippers, her eyes are almost tearful with happiness at meeting her idol. McGrath grabs her warmly by the shoulders and squeezes. “Oh my God, look at that lip! Isn’t it gorgeous? Wait till you go in daylight, it’ll be amazing!”

Pat McGrath Labs is available now, exclusively at Net-a-Porter.

Source link