#like yeah ill research tiny details for things that interest me sure but i just.

[watatsumiis]

i think if I have enough confidence to outright lie or have an incorrect detail in a longform fic with enough conviction and/or explanation to go with it. you guys should just not say anything and give me that ok? ok

[sharkrocket]

Shark… Burda but one of them is a mermaid… Mermaid AU…

OKAY me and my partner have been tossing around some ideas, and here are some of the thoughts we came up with (we are running on fairy tale logic)

Scenario where Artemy is merfolk and Daniil is a human:

Started thinking about a merfolk society that would hold the megalodon with the same reverence as the aurochs -> Shark Artemy

I know there's folklore and stories about how consuming the flesh of merfolk can either grant immortality, extend human longevity or have extraordinary healing abilities

Perhaps a certain researcher by the name of Daniil D. Dankovsky, whose goal is defeating death, is interested in these claims and goes to visit a remote fishing village that's rumored to have merfolk sightings

Do they really exist? Is it just stories? Some people claim to have seen them, some people think THOSE people have never seen a big fish before - Everyone has their own opinions about it

Has Simon eaten merfolk flesh? Is he the reason why Daniil knows about this?

A couple different things can happen at this point

One possibility: Artemy has the ability to walk on land and turn back to merfolk in contact with water but needs to return to the water after a certain amount of time before he becomes severely ill

(Maybe he's half merfolk, half human? Haven't established the details on how this would work but there's a couple of good scenarios here)

Would integrate into town society and mingle among the land people while taking note of which people posed a threat to the merfolk

He could simply warn the other merfolk of the danger, OR find the threat and eat him (thinking about this made me laugh, but it might not be the most practical or reasonable thing to do)

So when a stranger comes into town asking about merfolk and immortality, Artemy takes a VESTED interest

Introduces himself to this researcher and tries to get a feel for his intentions, and maybe fuck with him a little

"Oh yeah, I've seen merfolk before, real ugly creatures. They've got huge bug eyes, long limbs like a spider with pincers at the end and they only speak in a series of clicks and whistles interspersed in an interpretive dance" and Daniil is furiously writing all this down

But who is this handsome guy that was so adamant on introducing himself to Daniil? His skin glistens with water, his hair is dusted with flecks of dried salt, and he seems awfully knowledgeable about the sea.....

Maybe he follows Artemy around to see what his deal is, because there's something not quite right about him....

But for some reason, right when he's tails Artemy he turns a corner and the man disappears, save for a tiny ripple in the nearest body of water....

We haven't quite banged out the specifics of their relationship but there was a particularly good mental image of Daniil catching Artemy in half shark form face deep in a creature, eating its innards with blood dripping down his face and chest and Daniil just being very normal about it

This post is STUPIDLY long, more under the cut

Another possibility:

Artemy befriends this new stranger and they get closer, exchanging knowledge about their respective expertise

Eventually, after much discussion and trust built between the two, Artemy divulges details about himself, revealing he is a merfolk

Daniil's true objective isn't revealed until after Artemy has made himself known

Betrayal of some sort ensues, and trust between them is destroyed

Daniil has a difficult decision to make

Some of the potential outcomes for these scenarios:

Daniil becomes merfolk and joins Artemy to experience its wonders (not 100 percent sure how this would work, but I enjoy the possibility)

Daniil locks away Artemy and steals him away, while the ruling families ruin everything

Artemy offers flesh from his tail/fin out of love or spite and Daniil can choose to take it and leave, or stop him and tend to his injury

Daniil and Artemy fend off the ruling families, regain trust in each other and Daniil chooses to stay to continue his research

Scenario where Daniil is merfolk and Artemy is a human (sorry this one is much shorter, the details for this one were much harder to bang out 😔):

Eel Daniil.... Eelniil..... The snake imagery was too tempting, maybe one day we'll be more creative with this (oarfish was very funny to think about)

Most likely born as a merfolk in this scenario

Motivating factors: Perhaps he wants to explore the surface and the world of man and see what discoveries are to be had outside of the water (he no longer wants to dive below into the dark, he yearns to go up towards the light)

Perhaps some greater power in the sea wants Daniil dead and his best bet was to go somewhere where they couldn't follow....

Either way, his curiosity gets the better of him and he ends up getting captured (whether intentional or not)

He gets trapped in a tank either for display or waiting to be sold to the highest bidder

Artemy's work puts him in close contact with Daniil (the nature of the work is unclear, I had trouble thinking of something fitting)

In either case, the relationship between them starts off antagonistic, Artemy goes to feed Eelniil and he bites his hand and swims out of reach with a smug smirk on his face

Eventually, Daniil starts asking a lot of questions about life on land and Artemy has some questions of his own so they strike up a form of comradery

Maybe they realize they're both trapped and they start planning a way to break out and escape....

Just some loose musings we managed to come up with, hopefully you enjoyed these thinky thoughts

[wisteria-lodge]

snake primary (bird model) + lion secondary (bird model)

I’m feeling really lost when it comes to my secondary. I’m fairly sure I’m a Snake Primary with a strong Bird model. But My secondary is tripping me up and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve been severely depressed for about 6 years, dealing with PTSD for 12, and dealing with anxiety since middle school. I’m also getting evaluated for ADHD. I’m getting help so don’t worry. So, here we go.

You seem pretty okay. I’ll keep an eye out for possible burning though.

Bird: I do think I have a Bird model. I plan things, I research the heck out of things when I need to make a decision, I’m always asking for advice (like now…), etc. But a lot of that seems driven by anxiety and fear of messing up. I literally never asked for advice until middle school, which was when the anxiety started. 

We have us a Bird secondary model that you built as a coping mechanism.

I do love to learn languages and I like to watch videos on YouTube about historical fashion and stuff like that. I used to read constantly but I’m so burned out that lately I haven’t read much. If I have a new interest, I can never do things by halves. I also have a huge cookbook collection and a huge collection of quotes on Evernote. I love puzzles and figuring things out. But yeah sometimes I’ll just be like “let’s check every book about tea/socialism/the regency era out of the library.” Then I text my Double Badger friend who is super into tea about it and she responds, “Just enjoy drinking your tea, what are you doing??” Okay now I’ve confused myself and I’m wondering if I really am a Bird. Or maybe that’s all ADHD hyperfocusing. Probably? Ugh. Who am I??

So your Bird model is also something you use to play, that’s good. And you love being social too. People focused Bird? 

I don’t think I do the Bird Actor thing, though occasionally I’ll pretend to be a character for fun when I’m walking on the sidewalk or something. And I’m not a strategist? When I play chess or RPGs or write I just kind of try to go for it and figure it out along the way. 

You’ve got a bit of an improv-for-fun thing going on. Snake? Lion?

But that doesn’t always end up working so I do now plan out my longer pieces of writing to avoid plotholes and getting off track.

Coping mechanism Bird secondary model. 

I’m very conscious of how I frame things. Like if I sense incoming drama, I make sure to speak up first and frame things in my favor so that people will be on my side. It’s not automatic, though. Like as soon as I realize there’s going to be some sort of confrontation, I’m thinking to myself very quickly, “Okay. To get people on my side I need to talk to them before the other person does and frame things X way and make these facial expressions.” Usually this does not involve lying, just telling the truth in a way that favors me. 

This honestly sounds pretty Actor Bird. This sort of thing is a lot more… automatic, if you’re doing it though a Snake or a Badger secondary.

I was a terrible liar until high school when I made the effort to learn how to lie effectively

Here’s that Bird secondary again, picking up the slack. 

I do feel like I tend to reflect people a little, though? Like if people are talking about politics and make it clear they’re super conservative, I will just talk about the few things that I agree with. 

That could point to Courtier Badger…

I don’t like arguing with people anymore because I’m scared they won’t like me or will be offended. This goes double after the last two elections when multiple people dropped me for disagreeing with them and other people said I made them uncomfortable for…having what I see as generic normal opinions. I’m also just not good at thinking up arguments on the fly at all because everything gets all jumbled in my head and I forget details so arguing makes me feel stupid. I tried to do debate one year in school… Oh man what a disaster. If I’m arguing in writing though and I can look stuff up? They better watch out.

Wait, whoa. You like arguing for fun? And the only reason you don’t is because things got more intense after the last election + arguing in real time is annoying since sometimes your memory doesn’t cooperate? Oh that’s Lion. Lion secondary or Lion secondary model.

At the core of it though, I don’t really lie unless it has a purpose (getting something I can’t get otherwise, trolling friends for a laugh, avoiding punishment) and isn’t a big deal.

“trolling friends for a laugh” sounds pretty darn Lion secondary. As does the implied getting-into-trouble that “avoiding punishment” would require.

Will I answer on a form that I’m x religion that I was raised as to get into a Facebook group I really want to be in? Yes. If someone straight up asked me what religion I am currently practicing? I would NEVER lie about that. The thought makes me feel physically ill. I also lost those family members because the thought of pretending I liked the loser of our recent election was disgusting. And if I truly hate someone because they deeply hurt me or a loved one, nothing can make me pretend to like them. The most I can do is be coldly polite in that situation and usually I can’t even manage that.

That’s Lion. I could see that go back to either a Lion primary or secondary, but if you’re happy with your Snake primary, I’m going to put down another point for Lion.

But like…would I lie about my address to get a library card for the much better county library system next to my tiny independent city? (My state is weirdly structured). No guilt at the thought of that and I’ve seriously considered it but they require proof of address.

You’re a little bit of a rule-breaker, aren’t you? And that’s a side of yourself you really like. That’s Lion. 

Basically if it will help me get something I need, I’ll feel better about lying, but otherwise I feel uncomfortable and usually I try to be at least “technically” truthful. Which sounds sort of Lion? Oh wow I thought I was going to be asking about Snake vs Badger but instead it’s Bird vs Lion. 

…ADHD Lion with fun and helpful Bird model? IDK. 

I think so :) 

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Requested: by @calumsmermaid​

For Hogwarts!SOS Prefect Hufflepuff!Reader gets paired up with Slytherin!Michael for a project (the troublemaker prompt thing) in Care of Magical Creatures, where they have to take care of a creature a la the muggle baby doll project but with a puffskein or some other single x rated creature according to Scamander's rating system 

Includes: strong language, references to discrinitaion and judgement based on schoolhouse 

A/N: Thank you for this really cute request, Lauren! I hope you enjoy it <3

***

As soon as your care of magical creatures professor places down the large basket of small furry creatures on the ground of the little paddock, you realise that today marks the start of the project you’ve been looking forward to all term.

“Throughout your time in this class since your third year, you’ve all demonstrated that you can take care of various magical creatures under my supervision.” The teacher explains, her friendly face lighting up in a fond smile as she surveys her students. “Now it’s time to find out how well you cope without my help…”

The rest of the professor’s sentence is lost as a mischievous giggle draws your attention to your least favourite classmates. 

“I bet I could throw one of those little fluff things right through that open window.” Luke Hemmings chuckles, pointing at one of the nearest greenhouses. The morning sunshine bounces off of his caramel coloured curls as he flashes his notoriously cheeky grin.

“Fuck off…” Michael Clifford scoffs, nudging his friend’s shoulder as he shakes his head in disbelief. “They’re puffskeins, you troll, and you definitely couldn’t do that!” His dyed blonde hair falls onto his face, obscuring his pretty green eyes for a moment.

Luke scowls, his bright blue eyes flashing with something like determination. “I’m the best chaser that the Slytherin quidditch team has ever had, I could definitely do it!”

Michael rolls his eyes, seemingly unconvinced by his friend’s argument. “Calum’s a better chaser than you.” He replies simply. It’s hard to tell whether he’s being serious or just trying to tease Luke. His handsome face remains almost expressionless save for a tiny mischievous glint in his emerald green eyes.

Regardless of whether the slightly older boy is joking around or not, Luke genuinely takes offence to the comment. His pale cheeks turn crimson as he launches into a rant about why he’s a better chaser than their friend Calum Hood. 

Your interest in their conversation couldn’t be much less, but their continued bickering distracts you from the professor’s explanation of the new project. “Excuse me!” You hiss, turning to face them fully. “Can you two keep it down please?” You ask, your tone clipped, fully conveying how annoyed you are by them.

Whilst Luke looks a little embarrassed at being called out by a prefect, Michael actually looks more pissed off than anything else. “I’m sorry…” He scowls, “I don’t remember asking for your input.”

Matching his tone you straighten your posture, ready to put the little idiot back in his place. “I’m not giving you my input, I’ll be taking five house points from Slytherin if you don’t shut up, though.”

Michael’s gaze flickers down to your gleaming Hufflepuff prefect’s badge, perched proudly on your pristine robes, before meeting your eye again. “Why do you think I’d even care? It’s not like slytherin ever win anything anyway…”

“That’s not true, Mikey!” Luke interjects, “We win more than Hufflepuff.” The tone he says your house name in makes you bristle, you hate anyone speaking ill of your house. That little spark of anger quickly develops into a raging flame when Michael laughs at his friend’s quip.

“Slytherin really are just a bunch of snooty purebloods that think they’re better than everyone else.” You sneer. “Well I’ve got news for you two, you’re definitely not…”

Michael’s face twists into a disgruntled expression but before he can reply to you, the teacher yells out your name. Your attention snaps to her as your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. “I’m sorry miss…” You mumble as the professor regards you with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“I expected better from a prefect.” She replies, “You’re supposed to set an example, not throw around judgements and accusations based on the house that someone has been placed in.”

You feel thoroughly humiliated, wishing that the ground would swallow you whole as you apologise once more. 

“Since you clearly need a reminder as to why Slytherin is a valid and important cornerstone of the school, I’m pairing you with Mr Clifford for this project.” The teacher explains, before turning her attention back to the rest of the class. “In a moment I’ll ask you all to come and collect a puffskein…”

Your attention dwindles as the reality of your punishment hits you. This project was meant to be the jewel in your care of magical creatures crown. You’d researched puffskeins so that you were entirely prepared for it and you’d really hoped to get paired up with someone who was equally as academically gifted as yourself. Instead, you find yourself lumbered with one of the laziest and most troublesome students you’ve ever had the misfortune of being in a class with.

“Way to go…” Michael whispers indignantly, “Now we’re stuck working together for an entire week!”

“No one’s more upset about that than me.” You huff, scooping up your satchel as you follow the rest of the class to line up next to the basket of puffskeins.

The expression on Michael’s face silently expresses his doubt in your statement. The fact that he, a no-good layabout is displeased at being paired with you, makes you angrier than you care to admit. “Well at least you have a chance at getting a decent grade for this project.”

Michaels vague displeasure in the situation as a whole, suddenly starts to solidify into annoyance directed purely at you. “Shows how much you know, ‘prefect’…” He snarls.

You’re not entirely sure what his statement means but you have no time to press him for an explanation. He turns his back on you to take the tiny creature that the professor hands to him. To your surprise, Michael is uncharacteristically gentle with the puffskein, cradling it almost fondly in his cupped hands as he carries it over to the edge of the paddock.

Following him, you find that you’re suddenly a little less irritated by the Slytherin boy. Perhaps that’s just the power of cute little magical animals.

“Now…” The professor begins once the last puffskein has been handed to an eager student. “In your pairs, I want you to care for your animal until this time next week. You’ll be graded on how well you feed, groom, train and generally care for your puffskein.” The teacher stares directly at you and Michael as she continues her explanation of the project. “A large portion of your grade will also be determined by how well you work as a team. I expect you to organise a stable routine so that you don’t unsettle your creature. As this is a practical assessment, you will not be provided with any equipment that you may need for this project. You’re each expected to source and maintain whatever items you feel you may require. As always I commend practicality as well as imagination, so keep that in mind if you want to earn a top grade.”

As much as you’d like to take in every last detail of the project to ensure a good grade, you can’t help but be a little distracted by Michael. He looks so soft, bathed in the speckled morning sunshine filtering through the leaves of the plush trees lining the paddock. His expression is almost loving as he smiles down at the little fluffball in his hands. The puffskein seems just as fond as Michael as it hums contentedly.

“By the end of this lesson I want you to have all named your temporary pet, this in itself, is an important task as a name says a lot about a creature…” The professor rambles on, bringing your attention away from Michael. “I also want to see a brief outline of your care plan for your puffskein before you leave, does anyone have any questions?”

When no one raises their hand, the professor gives a final nod, “Very well, I’ll speak to each of you as I make my way around the class.”

Michael carefully lowers the puffskein to the ground before sitting cross legged on the grass. The tiny yellow creature bounces into his lap before you’ve even settled down next to him. 

“I think he likes you…” You mutter, hoping to break the tension between you and the Slytherin. If you’re going to have to work together you need to be at least civil with each other.

The blonde boy meets your gaze, his green eyes still soft. “Yeah, I think he’s a better judge of character than you.”

A few minutes ago a sentence like that would have annoyed the hell out of you. Michael’s tone wasn’t as confrontational anymore, though, and he seemed content as he returned his attention to the tiny furball in his lap. “We’ll see about that.” You giggle, surprising yourself at the lack of malice in your own voice. “Do you have any ideas on what you’d like to name him?” 

Michael looks kind of surprised as you reach over to tickle the top of the puffskein’s head gently. “You’d let me name him?” He asks.

“Well I think we should decide together, but I’d like to hear your suggestions first.” You confirm, “Especially since he seems to have already chosen you as his favourite.”

A tiny laugh escapes Michael when he scoops up the tiny creature and holds him out to you, “Maybe he’ll warm to you if you apologise for being mean to his daddy.”

As much as you’d like to argue that you were never mean, you succumb to the somewhat charming glint in Michael’s eye. “Fine…” You concede, gently taking the puffskein into your own hands. “I’m sorry for saying those horrible things about you and Slytherin. I was just angry, but that’s no excuse.”

The puffskein hums as it settles into your hold, seemingly as content with you as he was with Michael. 

“There’s a series of muggle computer game called Final Fantasy.” The Slytherin explains, shuffling a little closer to you so that he could stroke the puffskein with his fingertips. “The main Character in one of them is called Cloud. He’s one of my favourites and the colour of this lil guy reminds me of his hair.”

Despite being unfamiliar with most of the muggle world yourself, you’re shocked that Michael has any knowledge of it all. Slytherins are still notorious for being from the strictest pureblood families.

“We’re not all distant relations of the Malfoys and stuff y’know.” Michael mumbles, evidently detecting a little of your surprise. “Slytherin is a lot more accepting of halfbloods and muggleborns than it used to be.”

Silently berating yourself for your blatant judgement, you tentatively place your hand on Michael’s upper arm. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“I know.” Michael smiles, albeit a little reluctantly as he stares down at your fingers that are still curled around his bicep. “Slytherins have a bad reputation, but we’re working on changing it.” 

You fail to stiffel the giggle that bursts from you. “Really? You and Hemmings, the most mischievous boys in our class are trying to help Slytherin get a better reputation?”

There’s a note of amusement in Michael’s tone when he replies. “You don’t have to be a complete nerd to be a good person, prefect. Just because we don’t always pay attention in class, it doesn’t mean that we’re anything like the dickheads that gave our house a bad name in the past.”

Your guilt at possessing such critical thoughts based on someone’s house alone begins to twist your insides and you drop your gaze to the little puffskein that had now bounced back into Michael’s lap. “I’m sorry I judged you.” You mutter quietly. “I can tell you’re not a bad person.”

A moment of slightly strained silence stretches between the two of you, during which your puffskein continues to hum lowly.

“That’s nice of you to say.” Michael replies finally. “Not many people care enough to apologise or admit when they��re wrong about us.”

You shrug, smiling as widely as the discomfort in your stomach will allow. “Well I’m not like most people, Clifford.”

“I’ve noticed.” Michael responds, his cheeks turning a pretty colour as he meets your gaze. 

After another moment of silence you decide to break the tension by refocusing on the task at hand. “I like the name Cloud, I think it suits our little guy.”

Michael smiles brightly, your approval apparently meaning a lot to him. During the extended eye contact the two of you share, you can’t help but wonder whether the fondness in Michael’s eyes is purely for the tiny creature you’re discussing, or if it’s possibly partly there for you as well.

Tag list: @clffrd​ @byxthexway​ @afuckingunicornn​ @painkillerash​  @moonchildsblack​ @calumbbyyy​ @h0tsos​ @valentinelrh​ @sexgodashton​ @megz1985​ @myfalsedevotion​ @aulxna​ @honeyedlashton​ @tea4sykes​ @ghostofmashton​ @fairyintheglass​ @cashworthy​ @cashtonasfuck​ @opheliaaurora23​ @5sosnsfw​ @theagenderwhocriedwolf​ @myloverboyash​ @easiercake​ @irwinkitten​

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part two)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but I don’t have the same exact health conditions she does. I’ve done lots of research, but I apologize if I get anything wrong!

Warnings: tiny bit of language

Word count: 1,200

Against Kellie’s better judgment, she said yes to lunch. She was in Toronto for dance, and nothing else; that was all she could physically handle. More than she could handle, actually, especially with the side effects from her new meds. But when Shawn had texted her, she’d answered Sure, tell me when (after several minutes, not right away; she did have some dignity left).

So that was how, the very next day, she found herself waiting outside a little café for Shawn to arrive. She’d gotten into town on Tuesday to give her body plenty of time to recover, if need be, before her dance competition; now it was Thursday, and the opening rounds of the competition started that night. She’d be dancing once tomorrow, a contemporary piece to a James Arthur song, and then hopefully two or even three times on Saturday depending on how she did—her main piece was her lyrical dance to In My Blood.

And that was what she should be focusing on, she thought anxiously as she tapped her foot on the sidewalk, not lunch with a celebrity she’d randomly met the day before (what even was her life?). But then she saw Shawn walking toward her and all coherent thoughts fled.

“Hey,” he said, raising a hand and flashing her that megawatt grin. He was wearing his signature skinny black jeans and a button-down shirt with the top few buttons gaping open, and anyone with eyes could see he looked really fucking good.

 “Hi,” she said back, smiling.

 “Sorry I’m a little late. I had trouble finding a parking spot.” He swept a few stray curls off of his forehead with one hand and gestured at the door. “Hungry?”

 The waiter seated them at the back of the restaurant and they made small talk about the food as they pored over the menu, Kellie looking at the ingredient lists a little more carefully than Shawn. After they’d ordered and taken sips of their water and flattened their napkins in their laps, the conversation dwindled and things started to feel a little stiff.

 “So what have you been doing lately?” Kellie asked awkwardly, and immediately felt like an idiot for asking it. What have you been doing lately? Who said that to a stranger? A strange boy? A strange celebrity?

 But Shawn didn’t seem to pick up on the awkwardness that Kellie felt was glaringly obvious.

 “Honestly, not much,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, I’ve been doing a lot of things—working on an album and doing photoshoots and sponsorships and stuff. But it feels like I’m not doing anything cause I’m not on tour or playing festivals this summer. You know?”

 “Yeah,” Kellie said, relaxing a little. “In high school I was a super competitive dancer; I was part of a lyrical dance team and we were on this T.V. show, it’s kind of like America’s Got Talent but just for dance, and we won. So we started traveling all the time—performing around the U.S. and Canada and Europe. But now, I just get up in my hometown every day and go to work, and then I sleep and then I work again. And that’s about it.”

 He laughed. “Yeah. You get it. And I’m still being productive and doing what I love, it’s just—”

 “Not the same,” Kellie said, and smiled back at him. Did she ever understand, she thought ruefully—more than he could know—how it wasn’t the same.

 The conversation ran smoothly from there; Shawn talked about his new music video and Kellie talked about her dance background. They found common ground over the ways they took care of their bodies for tour (Shawn) and dance (Kellie). Both of them liked yoga, it turned out, and were interested in holistic health in general (although Kellie didn’t bring up the reason she’d first gotten interested in the field). And once Kellie had started Shawn on that line of conversation, he didn’t shut up for several minutes.

 “So basically,” she said finally, leaning one elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand, “you’re a hippie.”

 His mouth actually fell open.

 “What?”

 “Yeah,” she said. “It’s obvious. You avoid gluten, you meditate, you do yoga, you’re interested in holistic medicine… should I go on?”

 Shawn laughed out loud, his smile reaching ear to ear. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, but he didn’t refute her claims.

 “Also, you’re a Hufflepuff,” she said firmly, crossing her arms and sitting back in the chair.

 That one he did refute.

 “Excuse you!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “I am not a Hufflepuff. Not at all. I’m totally a Gryffindor.”

 “No you’re not,” Kellie scoffed, but he brushed her off, emphatically shaking his head.

 “You’re wrong,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Sorry.”

 They were both still laughing when the waiter brought the check, and Kellie looked up in surprise; she hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed. She reached into her purse, but Shawn had already handed the waiter his card before her fingers had even closed around her wallet.

 “I got it,” he said easily.

 “Are you sure?” (Which was a stupid question, because he was a millionaire, after all.)

 “Yeah, of course.”

 “Thanks,” Kellie said, sinking back into her chair. Must be nice to be rich and not to have thousands of dollars of medical bills hanging over your head, she thought grimly.

 “I had a really nice time,” Shawn said a few minutes later when they were outside the restaurant, shoving his hands in his pockets. His stance was relaxed, his face open.

 “I—I did too,” Kellie said, a little breathless. She silently willed him to return to safer ground. The music video. Business. The industry. Something a little more professional than the way he was currently looking at her.

 “So…” he said next, glancing down and scuffing the toe of his pointy boot on the pavement. “I’ll have my team send you details? About the music video?”

 Kellie was tempted to tease him again, something like but what if I’m still secretly an ax murderer or don’t you think they should see me dance first, but she didn’t. His wide hazel eyes were looking at her a little too closely and the fluttery feeling in her stomach was one she liked a little too much—because this was something she couldn’t have. Not now, not ever. This needed to end.

 “Yes,” she said with finality. “That sounds great. Thank you. And thanks for lunch.”

 “Sure,” Shawn said, but she didn’t miss the brief flash of confusion in his eyes as she turned and purposefully started down the sidewalk.

 As Kellie walked away into the Toronto sunlight, feeling the beginnings of a migraine pushing at the back of her head, she cursed herself for doing anything except what she’d come here for. It was time to focus on winning Saturday’s competition, because it just might be her big break—and God knows some kind of break was what she needed.

Taglist: @rosiemercy @learning-howto-be-myselfx3

[yoon-kooks]

Blossom🌸

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Stripper!AU, College!AU, Fluff

Summary: You infiltrate your local strip club to gather research and inspiration for your next painting and end up bringing home a stripper who also happens to be your cute neighbor.

Warnings: stripping, mentions of sex 

Word Count: 3.3k 

⤐ Story 1 in the Blossom!Universe; Read Blossom-pt.2 on my masterlist!

A/N: i know what yall are thinking!!! this is a stripper!au without smut??? but theres a good chance ill be writing more drabbles in this universe so look out for those!🌸

“Cute.” Your studio arts professor hands you back your print sample of a swimming platypus.

“…Is it not good?” You examine the print again to see where you went wrong. If anything, you thought this painting had turned out a lot better than the one of a goblin shark.

“Y/N, it’s amazing. It really is,” she tries to reassure you with a chuckle, but you know there’s something wrong with it. “It’s just… you’ve practically drawn the entire animal kingdom this semester.”

“…and?”

“Don’t you think you should try painting something else…? Like, I don’t know… a human?”

“But I’m more comfortable with animals.”

“That’s what I mean! You should try stepping out of your comfort zone? Plus, your portfolio will look better with more of a variety!”

“And how do you suppose I all of a sudden get inspiration for painting a human subject? I need something before the exhibition tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, try going to a strip club or something?” Your professor thinks she’s funny. “Just be creative!”

-

You lay on the floor of your dorm, desperately searching for inspiration. With animals and nature, it’s so easy for you to just sit down and paint whatever comes to mind. But with humans? You don’t even know where to start, and it certainly doesn’t help your concentration when a puppy is barking on the other side of the wall like it’s begging for you to draw it.

And in addition to the barking, you’re also being harassed by the constant replaying of your professor’s advice. Sure, you’d like to paint something that your professor and peers will approve of, but that becomes awfully difficult when what they want is not what you want. You just wish you could paint another animal and be done. But now even that’s impossible when all you can think about is trying to make everyone else satisfied.

“Shit.” You drag yourself off the floor, thrown on a fuzzy sweater, and walk out of your dorm with a sketchbook and pencil.

To your surprise, sneaking into a strip club undetected is a lot easier than one would think. And once you’re in, you squeeze your way through the crowd, inspecting the flashy lights, the booming stereos, and the big stage until you spot a table for one in a secluded corner. Perfect. No one will bother you there.

When the main show starts, the first thing you do is flip open your sketchbook with your pencil ready to draw. The second thing you do, however, is yawn. You aren’t sure what people enjoy about strangers prancing around naked on stage, but it could just be an acquired taste. Although the strippers are attractive and they have beautiful bodies, you’re just not interested nor inspired. Maybe it’s your artist block acting up, but it seems you’ve wasted your time.

Before you can get up to leave the club, you’re alarmed by a sudden eruption of screams. Giving it one last chance, you glance up and see the spotlight on an incredibly handsome boy in all white, running his fingers through his dark hair. Still fully clothed, he dances, moves, spins on stage, and somehow it’s so different from the previous acts. So much that you forget where you are until he flips his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it aside as he continues to dance.

The way he graces the stage is elegant and almost angelic. You flip your sketchbook back open and wait for the demon to show itself. He makes his way down the catwalk to engage more with the crowd, and money’s already being thrown before his body’s even exposed. Once he loses his tank, however, the cheering gets twice as loud and the stage is showered with crumpled bills. But you don’t have time to worry about that.

For the first time that night, your pencil starts gliding across the page in your sketchbook. You roughly sketch out his body, his motions, his movements, his smirks. You’re too busy drawing to notice when he catches a glimpse of you as he kicks his pants off to reveal a very healthy ass, or when he teases several customers with his rolls and thrusts.

With several pages filled with new sketches, you hear the collective aww from the crowd, assuming that means the handsome boy is done for the night. The only one in the crowd who isn’t sad is you, because you finally collected all the research material you need to be inspired. And before you leave, you decide to flesh out the details of what you witnessed, in case the vivid images and inspiration escape you before returning home.

“Would you like a drink or a dance, Baby?” A stripper with pastel mint hair eyes you up and down, leaning against the table with his head cocked to the side. You’re shocked he even bothered approaching you when you didn’t tip at all. Unless that’s what he’s after.

“Uhh, no thanks, I was actually just on my way out,” you throw your sketchbook and pencil into your bag and get up to leave.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Sweetheart. Did you not enjoy your stay? Maybe I could change that.” The stripper continues to pester you, and you wonder if the smallest tip will help you escape.

“This one’s with me, Sugar.” An unknown voice appears behind you as the stripper named Sugar shrugs and walks over to another customer waving their money around.

With a sigh of relief, you turn around, only to have your heart racing again in an instant. It’s the handsome boy you had sketched. Only instead of wearing an all-white costume, he’s now engulfed in an oversized black hoodie. You assume he’s off duty, so you aren’t sure why he’s approaching you like the other stripper had.

“Are you the freeloader everyone’s talking about?” he asks you.

“I suppose I am…” You look around and realize you’re probably the only broke college kid at the club, hence the only one who can’t afford to throw money around for lap dances.

“Can you at least show me your sketches?”

“What.”

“I saw you drawing something in your sketchbook during my performance earlier,” he does a cute little drawing gesture with his hand. “If you aren’t going to tip anything, the least you can do is show me what you drew.”

You suppose he’s right. Besides, you really do appreciate it when people take interest in your art, so you hand him your sacred sketchbook and watch as his expression changes from curious to awe.

“Are you an art student?” he asks while flipping through the quick sketches of his body.

“Yeah, I was just gathering research for a painting I need to do for tomorrow’s exhibition.”

“Oh? And I’m your muse?” He hands you back your sketchbook and catches a glimpse of your name written in the corner of the cover. “Y/N?”

You nod, getting your pencil ready to jot something down.” And may I ask what my muse’s name is?”

“It’s Jimin, part-time stripper, full-time dance student.”

“Wait, you’re a student, too?” You know you shouldn’t be surprised because the boy does look around your age, but still. You didn’t realize strippers had time for school obligations on top of work. “Which school?”

“Seoul Institute of the Arts.” No. That can’t be. There’s no way this handsome stripper goes to the same school as you. “Why do you look so shocked…?”

“I go there, too…” You shrink your body as if that’ll help you hide. You’re suddenly feeling super shy. “But you don’t happen to live in the dorms, do you…?”

“I do… Do you…?”

You nod.

-

“So what you’re trying to say is, we’re neighbors?” Jimin says as he stands outside his dorm, room 324, and you stand outside of yours, 325.

“I guess-” You’re cut off by a cute bark. “That’s your puppy making all the noise then?”

“Uh, yeah… I got her a week ago after saving up enough from work,” he opens the door and a tiny white fluff ball stretches its body in the door way before trotting over to greet you. You squat down to say hi to the little puppy who gives you her paw. “But anyway, the whole stripper thing needs to stay between you and me, yeah?”

Of course you have no intentions of letting people know you infiltrated a strip club anyway, so that means you also can’t be telling them your neighbor is a secret stripper. But Jimin doesn’t know that, and you’re going to use that to your advantage. “Okay, yeah, I won’t tell anyone… as long as you agree to be my model for the rest of the night.” You open your door and gesture for him to come in.

Jimin scoops up the feisty puppy and tucks it comfortably under his arm. “I thought I already was your model?”

“All you have to do is pose for me for a few hours,” you say, leading the stripper into your dorm-turned studio.

“Naked?”

“Shirtless is fine.” Anything more than that would be far too much for your eyes. You pretend not to peek as he promptly removes his hoodie and t-shirt to reveal a picture-perfect torso and something you didn’t catch as the club. You tilt your head to get a better look at the word inked to his ribs. Blossom. “Is that the name a stripper girl you’re in love with?”

“For your information, Blossom is the name of that little one over there,” he points over to where his puppy is trying to dig a hole into your pillow before brushing his fingers over his tattoo. “But, it’s also just a reminder to myself.”

You nod, “Ooh, fascinating…” Once all of your art supplies are set up on your cluttered desk, you glance up at the clock on the wall. Midnight already. “I’ll keep that in mind for my painting.”

The boy has a lot of good poses, some suggestive, others charming. One second he’ll be licking his lips with his hands at his belt, and the next he’s laying on your bed while running his fingers through his hair. Oh, and he also has this really cute smile when he’s watching you be so immersed in your art.

Once you decide on a pose to paint (the one on his back with the fingers running through his hair!), you hop off your chair and walk over to the half-naked boy on your bed. He blinks up at you with either innocent eyes or inviting eyes—you aren’t really good at telling the difference. You don’t know what he was expecting, but his face looks awfully surprised when you extend your phone for him to take.

“Can you take a pic of yourself in That™ position?” You do the fingers-running-through-hair thing.

“You don’t want to take the picture yourself?”

You shake your head.

“You don’t want to get on top of me and see with your own eyes?”

You shake your head again. He chuckles as he sits up, doing the fingers-running-through-hair thing a couple of times. Must be a habit. You didn’t notice the fifty other times he did the hair thing, but this time you’re made aware of his cherry blossom cologne, its alluring scent trying to pull you closer. But you know to keep a distance.

“You’re no fun to flirt with, you know that?” It almost looks like he pouts before finally taking your phone and tossing himself back against your mattress.

“I’m a lot flirtier when I don’t have a project due in less than ten hours.”

“Really?”

“No.” Your answer makes him frown, but he takes the selfies you asked for anyway.

You watch your bed sheets wrinkle with every sensual movement of the boy’s body as he finds the best angle for your research photos. Not only does he adjust the positioning of his head and arm, but also his squirmy lower half with his waist where his underwear is peeking out and his legs unable to keep still. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was frustrated, needy, and a tad bit horny.

As you wait for him to finish, you start mapping out your painting with a rough outline. You lightly sketch Jimin down to his waist and surround him with-

“Done~” the boy yawns, handing you back your phone. Eager, you swipe through the 37 photos taken by Park Jimin, all of which have an overwhelming amount of sex appeal. You don’t know how you’re going to narrow it down, though you suppose the one he set as your lockscreen is the best in his humble opinion. And it has a perfect view of his tattoo.

You feel Jimin’s eyes on you as you painting. The sensation of being observed is oddly comforting rather than pressuring, and maybe it’s because you know it’s not with judging eyes. From your bed, he follows your paintbrush’s every stroke against the canvas as you fill it in with a splash of color, bringing your subject into bloom.

“What made you choose me specifically to be your model?” the boy asks as you’re defining his abs.

You pause your painting for a moment to think about his question. “I don’t usually use people as subjects for my art, but my professor suggested that I step out of my comfort zone.”

“So you went to a strip club and surrounded yourself with naked people?”

“Exactly,” you nod and continue, “I took a chance, went to a strip club for the first and last time in my life, and met a boy. And out of all the humans in the world, he was the first to lend me inspiration.”

“I can’t believe you found inspiration in someone who sells their body for money,” Jimin chuckles but his words bother you.

“I know I’m literally painting your abs right now, but believe me when I say I took more inspiration from you than just from your body.”

“Well I’m glad,” he says, rubbing his toned belly. You’re still not convinced.

“Do you not like being a stripper?”

“I don’t hate it, and the performer in me really does enjoy being on stage. Plus, it pays for my puppy,” Jimin sighs because he knows you’re not going to let it go until you get a proper answer. “But there’s always this feeling of being trapped in a bud of expectation and insecurity. As long as I’m a stripper, my body will always outshine my dancing. And yet, I can’t bring myself to quit, in fear of not being a good enough dancer for anything else.”

You can only nod because you don’t know how to offer support. The boy sounds a lot less confident now than how you remember him dancing on stage. But you get it. Taking that first step out of your comfort zone is as scary as that painting you did of the goblin shark. But that’s the only way you’ll ever blossom.

After several hours of endless painting and the occasional puppy whining in her sleep, you rise like a zombie from your desk to show your muse the final product of your blood, sweat, and tears. But of course he’s already fast asleep on your bed with his puppy at ass o’clock.

Not wanting to disturb the two cuties, you carefully pull the covers over them, make a nice bed for yourself on the carpet with three spare blankets, and turn out the lights.

When you wake up, however, you smell cherry blossoms and feel something warm pressed up against your back. Thankfully, what you find when you roll over on the bed is not a sleeping Jimin, but instead a puppy licking her butt. As soon as she realizes her privacy’s been violated, she wags her tail and does some morning stretches.

You flip the covers and bed sheets over in search of a half-naked boy, but he’s not there. Instead, you see him all bundled up in his black hoodie and the three blankets you’d been using on the floor. Somehow the two of you mysteriously swapped places. You can only assume he woke up in the middle of the night and tucked you into bed. Because coincidences like that don’t just happen.

Relieved from everything, you take time to play with the puppy on your bed for a bit before you have to get ready and leave for the exhibition. The little one explores the dark depths beneath your bed sheet, her cold wet nose sniffing everything including your exposed legs, until her fluffy head finally pops back out with a tiny bark.

You’re startled by half-asleep mumbles and rustling blankets. Jimin sits up as his hood falls down to reveal a wicked bedhead. He tousles his hair around and you can’t decide whether it looks messy or really fucking hot—like he just had a quickie. “Did you finish your painting?” He blinks at you.

“Oh right.” You stop yourself from any sort of fantasizing and hop off the bed to grab the colorful canvas from your desk. Once it’s in the hands of the boy at the center of the painting, you plop down next to him on the blankets and wait for his response.

Before saying a word, Jimin’s eyes examine every inch of the canvas. From the pastel palette, to the boy’s fingers-running-through-hair pose, to the pink bed of flowers beneath him and petals around him, to the bold tattoo on his ribs.

“Are you calling me a flower boy?” He’s unable to hold back a smile creeping up.

“You’re the one with the tattoo,” you say, softly poking the boy’s ribs through his hoodie. “So you tell me.”

He shakes his head, “I still have a long way to go before I, you know, blossom…” You find it adorable how he cringes and shrinks his body at his own word. “But until then, I’ve found another flower to inspire me.” He’s totally talking about you.

“You mean your puppy?” you tease him, picking up the curious white pupper and tapping her wet nose against the boy’s cheek. He plants a soft kiss on her little head before taking her into his lap where she quickly curls up in a ball.

“Yeah her,” Jimin continues to stroke his baby’s fur as her eyelids grow heavier. It isn’t long before the precious bean is fast asleep, and your heart melts a little.

“I was pleasantly surprised to wake up back in my bed with her all cozied up next to me,” you reach over to pet the puppy even though it’s right at the boy’s crotch. “You didn’t have to do that, you know… But I appreciate it, Jimin.”

“No problem, Little One,” he gives you a cute duck face. “I’d want to make sure I have your permission before we sleep together anyway.”

You suppose that’s his way of asking for sex, but you really can’t take a hint. So you ignore him. “Do you want to come to the exhibition with me?”

A little disappointed that you ignored his invitation, Jimin sulks and grabs his duffle bag as he walks towards the bathroom, “Fine, but let me change into clean clothes first.”

“You’re fine with stripping down at a crowded club, but not in front of me?” you ask, not because you want to see it again, but because it’s ironic.

After pausing mid-step, he spins around and stands right before you, his beautiful dark eyes meeting yours. And rather than running his fingers through his own hair for the fiftieth time, he runs them through yours for the first. “Maybe I’m not a stripper when I’m with you.”

“Then what are you? A vampire?” you look up at him with a teasing grin.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” The boy shakes his head and does a cute little eye roll to pretend like he’s annoyed as he walks off to the bathroom. And when he comes back in a very casual boyfriend look, the two of you head over to the exhibition on campus with the painting tucked under your arm.

[plumoh]

[HQ!!] Then again

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 1348

Summary:  Atsumu is the better alchemist, after all. / FMA AU.

Note: AO3 link. Slightly more based on 2003 than on mangahood!

Chapter 1: Then again

You know you've always been the most childish, or that's what people keep saying; you speak the loudest, you complain, you pull pranks on your brother, in short you're the little brother, despite being born before Osamu. Technically, you are the older brother, but many people dismiss the mention since you guys are twins, it doesn't matter who got out of your mother's womb first, you're identical anyway. Yeah. Yeah, identical, identical hair, identical face, right down to the right dimple when you both smile, identical legs that run just as fast, identical hands that draw symbols and circles to perform the best alchemy.

You both love alchemy, you started studying together and still do, but at one point it turned into a competition—who could transmute the fastest, who could add the most details, who could learn a trick the easiest. Osamu has always been the more level-headed, but you pride yourself in being the focused one when it comes down to alchemy. You can, and you quote Tobio, 'absorb anything like a sponge', whereas it requires a little bit longer for Osamu to grasp the concept you understood twenty minutes ago. You can't help but be smug and gloat about it, because hey, you're not identical anymore! You're clearly the superior alchemist, you know more than Osamu and you read more than him, nobody can tell you it's not impressive.

“That's good for you, 'Tsumu,” 'Samu has the gall to say with the most neutral expression he's ever worn.

“Come on, don't tell me you're not jealous!” Because there is no way 'Samu isn't feeling the teeny bit frustrated. You've fought for the last piece of cake, you've fought for the top bunk, you've fought to get first into the bath, there's no way the topic of alchemy will be disregarded that way.

“Well, I'm a bit envious, that's true.” 'Samu shrugs and takes a bite of his pudding (hey, when did Mom buy puddings? You wanted one too!). “But I'm not as passionate about alchemy as you, you know? Like, understanding and creating stuff is nice, I guess, but I'm not going to smother you with a pillow because you're better than me.”

You stay silent. This...is not what you expected. Osamu looks perfectly calm, staring at you with his sleepy eyes, like he just announced it was only four o'clock and that you could eat snacks. It's unnerving. It doesn't satisfy you.

“Wait, so you're willing to smother me with a pillow for other reasons?” you point out, gasping and widening your eyes. 'Samu rolls his eyes.

“If you come down and try to wake me up again for one of your stupid jokes, I won't hesitate.”

“That's fratricide, 'Samu!”

Osamu shrugs again and decides his pudding is more interesting. To this day, you don't know if he deliberately dropped the subject because he sensed something was off.

***

You are twelve when you come up with a formula for human transmutation. Mom died two years ago; you feel you should have studied harder, should have dug deeper into Dad's books, because two years are way too long to come up with one single formula you're not sure will work. Osamu helped a bit, though you didn't tell him what you were researching; you spouted some lies about healing alchemy and preventing other people from dying because of illnesses, and Osamu might or might not have bought it, but in the end you managed to achieve what you intended to do.

On a sunny morning at the Kageyama's dining table, you whisper to your brother, “I know how to bring Mom back.”

'Samu doesn't move. He doesn't drop his fork, nor does he tear his gaze away from his plate.

“That's what you've been researching,” he flatly says.

“Yes.”

He slowly, slowly turns his head towards you. “Human transmutation is impossible.”

“You don't know until you try,” you argue with a frown. “The world is huge, there's at least someone who succeeded.”

“And why haven't we heard from them? If they succeeded in something impossible, then I'm sure every alchemist would know.”

You grit your teeth. No, you can't hesitate now, after looking and looking and finally found the last shard of hope.

“Maybe they didn't want people to know, with notoriety and all,” you suggest.

'Samu finally puts down his fork in his plate and lets out a heavy sigh, staring at you with worry, anticipation, confusion? That's too many emotions, 'Samu.

“I don't know, 'Tsumu. I can't think of an exchange equivalent enough for Mom's body and soul.”

“I have everything figured out, don't worry, okay?”

You offer him a grin, one you always used to show whenever you thought of a good prank to pull on Tobio, and somehow it's enough for 'Samu to give back a tiny smile that makes his dimple appear.

“I kinda figured out you wanted to bring Mom back. I'm not one hundred percent sure about this, but I trust you, 'Tsumu. And you're better than me at alchemy, after all.”

Hell yeah you are. You know you are. That's why you took it upon yourself to find a way to recover the happy family you've lost.

Tobio comes back from the kitchen, and frowns that adorable frown when he sees you're still not finished with breakfast.

“We're gonna be late for school,” he mumbles. “What were you talking about?”

“Your little head won't understand it, Tobio-kun!” you cheerfully reply.

“Alchemy again?”

“It's not as if you don't spend your days inhaling some sort of oil or dust in that workshop of yours!”

“Well, we're not so different then!”

“'Tsumu, stop teasing Tobio and eat your food, he's right,” 'Samu butts in.

“Yeah, yeah, school.”

Who needs school when you have the most awesome plan in existence?

***

No. No. No, no, no, no.

No no no no no no no—

This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what was supposed to happen. No. Gods, blood. There's blood everywhere, splashed on the ground, on the walls, on your clothes, on your face and—

Red, flaring pain shooting from your leg that drags the paint over the whole room as you crawl, cheeks tear-stained and throat strong enough to let out rapid, choked breaths. You can't think, you can't process what's happening, yet your brain is full, full, full, on the verge of taking control of your body to keep moving, to do something.

You're dying.

“'Samu...”

Osamu is nowhere to be found, and only a pile of clothes lies where he stood. You choke on the smell of blood and the bile you just threw up, eyes stinging and ears ringing, head swimming in a fog you can't clear out.

This isn't what you wanted.

“'Samu...”

You crawl, nails digging in the concrete of the basement, elbows scraping on every tiny rubble. The gaping hole left by your missing leg grounds you in this reality, and then you lift your head and empty eyes stare back at you. Your mind is reeling; you saw things, black tendrils reaching for you, eyes watching with hunger, and they all come together to snap in your brain and that's when everything becomes lucid.

The armor drops on the ground as you punch it. The helmet comes off. Biting your lip in pain, in regret, in hope, you dip your finger in your blood and trace an array inside the armor, on your arms, on your chest, on your forehead, the symbols and the form springing up as if you've always known them. You believe the shaking of your hands is due to adrenaline (not fear, not fear).

“Bring Osamu back. Give me my brother back!”

You slam your hands on the array. Bright blue light envelops you, taking you to a white, blinding place.

The black Gate is sneering at you.

You scowl back. You demand your brother's soul—you stand proud, unwavering, just as It takes your toll.

It's okay. You will fix this. You're the better alchemist, after all.

.

.

.

.

Osamu wakes up with knowledge he didn't ask for.

[dragon-moms]

Entry 159 - Gloria

Today we made a decision.

The morning started without much excitement. Baroness was still studying the chamber, so Ivana, Flare, and I tried to collect what scraps we could from the Wizard’s Guild we’d found to help her decypher things. Merry and Myrmidon were taking care of Philly, who was still exhausted from opening the door, they said. Maybe they were being a little too protective, but I didn’t have anything more useful for them to do, either.

“You think this stuff might help with your ritual?” I asked Ivana as I looked through charred parchment for something readable.

“Since it’s not made for a White, I bet it’s going to make perfect sense to an expert,” she said. “I’m just not an expert.”

“This seems readable!” Flare said, waving a book above his head. “And I know some of this stuff! This is all human magic!”

“Let me see that,” Ivana said, taking the book from him and looking through it. “And don’t shake these things around, they’re fucking old and fragile.”

“You know human magic?” I asked him.

“Nope!” he said. “But you’re around this stuff enough, you recognize it, right? It looks a lot different than dragon runes and stuff.”

“Yeah, these diagrams are distinct,” Ivana said. “Half of a lot of the pages are destroyed, but even from that I can tell this is a different sort of magic without being much of a wizard.”

“A dragon-sized text discussing human magic is going to be a huge find,” I said. “Nobody has really felt to delve too deeply into those tiny books of magic we got from the war, besides Philly, for obvious reasons. Too many issues with it.”

“Something we can sell, then,” Ivana said, and then her eyes caught mine. “Or, I don’t know, put to good use, anyway.”

We kept looking.

“Hey, do you think we’ll all get to go home after this?” Flare asked. “Like, once we finish with the prophecy and stuff?”

“You can go home any time,” Ivana said. “Don’t you live with the humans?”

“Oh, well, I was… but maybe that’s not so good? I mean, there’s lots of good people! But maybe the Queen isn’t so good?” Flare said. “I’ve been trying to figure that out… so I figure I’d just live with Mommy for awhile until I did!”

“You can stay in your old chamber as long as you need, terror, if we can ever go back,” I said. “I worry about getting our hopes up too much, though.”

“Won’t the Queen, uh, your Queen, won’t she understand, though? After we fix the problem?”

“Maybe… I hope so,” I said. Reliquary would understand. She would help. The Queen, I was less sure if she could help, even if she understood why we did all this.

In the end, we found several pieces of book that seemed to be about White magic, but it was just that: pieces. There was no real connection between any of it. We weren’t sure if it would be immediately useful. Maybe some researchers years from now could make sense of it.

“We might as well show Baroness,” I said. “Maybe it’ll mean something to her.”

“Yeah, let’s head back. I can work on the Diary or whatever,” Ivana said.

But when we got back, we were met with a chamber full of concerned dragons.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I believe I have discovered the nature of the enchantment,” Baroness said.

“It is much too dangerous for us to use, I am afraid,” Myrmidon said.

“No it’s not!” Philly said. “We have to do this!”

Merry just looked ill.

“Is it that bad?” Flare asked.

“It is… interesting…” Baroness said. “And all the problems have yet to be solved.”

“Why the fuck are we talking around it, then?” Ivana asked. I glanced at Merry, but she looked too worried to even register the curse word. “Let’s solve the problems. Start with what it does.”

“I believe it creates White dragons,” Baroness said. “Or more specifically, White dragon eggs.” She began to go through her notes to show us.

“We trust you,” I said, “and we wouldn’t be able to follow an explanation of how you figured that out anyway.”

“We read a sign!” Flare said. I gave Flare a look. “What? That’s how we figured it out!”

“...yes,” Baroness said. “And I have spent this morning confirming the sign. It seems accurate, from what I can tell.”

“So, what, we make a White egg, then?” Ivana asked. “That would make a White dragon rise, I guess, when it hatches.”

“That is the current theory,” Baroness said. She picked up one of her note pages and pointed to some magical jargon I could not understand. “However, it does not simply make a White dragon from nowhere. It requires a focus.”

“So we need to search for this focus, then?” I asked.

“It’s a person,” Philly said.

Ivana, Flare, and I looked at her in disbelief.

“Yes, I believe that is correct,” Baroness said.

“It’s why we saw those visions of that Blue training to be the Queen. She was going to become a White dragon,” Philly said.

“It seems plausible, Philly, but we are not sure,” Myrmidon said. “Even my mother has reservations about her findings. She does not completely understand the enchantment.”

Philly glared at them a little.

“So… what. We need someone to volunteer?” Ivana said.

“We already have someone who has volunteered,” Philly said.

“We cannot put you at risk,” Myrmidon said.

“I’m a dragon-in-training! What do you think I’ve been training for!” Philly yelled.

“Even if we treat what we have seen as proof of what it does, we do not have proof that it works on ones such as yourself,” Myrmidon said.

“Baroness already said there was a spot sized for a human in the focal point!” Philly said.

“Woah, let’s hold on here,” I said, stepping forward. “Let’s calm down and think about this.”

Everyone fell quiet, unsure what to say.

“An egg is an egg, right?” Flare said, breaking the silence. “Would the egg be the same person when it hatched?”

“I am unable to tell,” Baroness said.

“What happens if you fuck it up?” Ivana asked. “Is the person at the center just gone?”

“I am unable to tell that as well,” Baroness said.

“If we really let Philly do this, doesn’t it require her energy to cast?” I asked. “Like the door?”

“That… is a problem to solve with that plan, yes,” Baroness said.

“There is substantial risk involved,” Myrmidon said. “This is why we cannot continue with this plan, unfortunately.”

“Myrmidon, I’m doing this,” Philly said.

“You are not,” they said.

“Mom, tell them I’m going to do this!” she said.

“I am speaking for your mother because she is having trouble doing so herself,” Myrmidon said. “She is terrified at what you are suggesting and does not want to lose her daughter, and neither do I.”

“I tell you it’d be okay if you wanted to be my other mom, and this is how you repay me,” Philly said, obviously furious.

“I would be a very poor mother indeed if I let you endanger yourself like this,” Myrmidon said.

“You are a mother?” Baroness asked. “I was not informed.”

“It was not… the details of the situation are clearly still being worked out, my lady,” Myrmidon said.

“Clearly,” Philly said.

“Again, let’s calm it down,” I said, giving Myrmidon and Philly strong looks. They both seemed frustrated. Merry, in the middle of this, since Philly was on her shoulder, still looked like she was about to be sick, and was saying nothing. “Philly, they’re just trying to protect you because they care about you,” I said. “Myrmidon, see it from her perspective.”

“I know,” Philly said. “I know it’s dangerous. But me even being here, being with Merry in the first place… my whole life is dangerous. Why should it matter now?”

“I do understand,” Myrmidon said. “I just…” They looked to Merry. “I would like you to have a better life than that danger, Philly, and I know your mother agrees.”

“I don’t have to be a human anymore!” Philly said. “It’s… at first, when Mom first found me, I wasn’t sure, but I know I am now. That’s all I’ve wanted, since I finally had my own life here, with you all. I just want to be a dragon! This is my chance!”

“I trust my mother to run the spell with the utmost caution and care. But what comes out may not be you,” Myrmidon said. “And you are important. You, Philly, are important. Your mother does not want some random new dragon.”

“We don’t know that’s how it works, though,” Philly said. “And… and…” She was having trouble forming words.

“Get it out,” I said. “This is important. Everything on the table.”

“And I’m… not going to… I’m not going to live that long…” she said, quietly. “So if I… if the White that’s made isn’t me, maybe that’s okay… because that dragon can hopefully stay with you both for way longer than I can… if that dragon can make Mom happy, be a better kid than I am, and pay you all back for what you’ve done for me, then…”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Merry said. At some point, she had started crying. “You don’t owe us anything… you know that…”

“I… I mean, I feel like I do…” Philly said.

Merry gave her a little hug. Then she took a big breath. And then she forced a smile onto her face, even though she was still crying. “We’re going to do it.”

“Merry,” Myrmidon said.

“I promised her I would figure this out, this dragon-in-training thing,” Merry said. “So we’re going to do it. But, like, we’ll do it right, we’ll be careful. But we’re going to do it. Okay?” She looked to Philly. “And… and everything is going to work out alright. I have to believe that. I have been believing that. So…”

“So. Let’s start figuring out how to do it, then,” I said. “Baroness, I know this is your chamber, but grab your stuff and let’s give them some space and talk logistics.”

“I understand,” Baroness said, and started collecting her notes.

I eventually managed to get everyone pushed outside.

“Killing a kid takes guts,” Ivana said.

“We’re not killing anyone,” I said.

“Might as well be, using untested magic on her,” Ivana said.

“Surely it’ll be fine,” Flare said. “It’s probably just what’s supposed to happen and stuff!”

“You don’t fucking know that, Flare,” Ivana said.

“No… but it feels right... doesn’t it feel right?” he asked.

“It doesn’t,” I said. “I don’t like it. It’s really risky. But it’s between them in there.” I motioned to the door of the chamber. “From the very beginning, both Merry and Philly promised me one day Philly would be a dragon. It was a completely ridiculous idea. But faced with evidence it might not be? Can’t blame them for wanting to try.”

“Sure you’re not just saying that because it might give you a chance to go home?” Ivana asked. It took me a moment to register it wasn’t in her usual sniping, trying to hurt me way.

“Guess I can’t really completely be. But I didn’t commit treason to protect Philly just to let her die for nothing,” I said. “If I was going to sacrifice her, there were way better moments to do it.” I turned to Baroness. “Baroness, we found some scraps of books on White magic. Think they might help?”

“Perhaps,” Baroness said. We handed her the scraps. She looked at them for a moment. “Perhaps,” she said again. “The more pressing concern is how to power the ritual without Philly, however. She will be unable to cast it if she is the focus of the spell, and I have concerns about her having enough energy if she was to cast it. She has shown in previous trials to get exhausted much faster than a normal dragon.”

“Okay. What do you need?” I asked. “How can we work on that?”

“I require the assistance of the Paladin, Flare,” she said. “I… believe he may be capable.”

“Nifty!” Flare said, grinning. “I’m in.”

“I will need to perform some experiments…” Baroness said.

“I’m great at those, probably!” he said.

“Miss Nobody, how about we keep searching for information about this chamber,” I said. “This is too big for it not to be written down somewhere.”

“I guess, but we haven’t found fucking anything so far,” she said.

“I don’t have any better ideas,” I said.

“Yeah, agreed,” she said, sighing. “Maybe we should just destroy the library in the castle. Maybe parts of the books that survive could help.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But there’s still lots of territory to search first.”

We left Flare and Baroness, and flew off.

“Fucking weird idea, though,” Ivana said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just like… being a human and then not being a human,” she said.

“It’s not that weird,” I said. “I mean, you decided to be Miss Nobody instead of whoever you were.”

“That’s totally fucking different,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “But I’ve learned you just have to let people be who they are. Become who they are. And if you can help them, hey, might as well.”

I could feel Ivana studying me. “Sounds like you have experience with that.”

“I guess so. Bumbled through something like it. But like you said, this is completely different, so maybe it doesn’t apply. All I know is, last time, I ultimately decided, hey, who the fuck am I to decide what will make him happy, you know? Only he can do that. All I can do is help him along. Surely you can see how serious and real what Philly is feeling is. She’s not a kid that has tantrums, and that was a lot of anger and emotion in there. We’d fail, trying to change those feelings. All we can do is help her along.”

“Fucking hate it when you do that,” Ivana said.

“Do what?”

“Fucking… talk like you know shit and somehow make sense,” she said.

“Just means I’m old,” I said.

Ivana just made an annoyed noise.

We searched, but didn’t come up with much of anything but more corpses. In the end, we headed back for dinner.

The chamber was tense. Everyone was worried, it was obvious. But Merry still smiled as she filled my bowl.

“We’ll do this,” she said, more to herself than me, I felt. “You’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will,” I said.

I’m going to do everything I can to make that true.