#saw new official art and just added onto a canvas I was working on

[corruptimles]

tictacs in wonderland haha

[yostresswritinggirl]

21 Years in Another Life Submission

Mother! Mother! By the time I sent this, August 18, I have officially turned 18! I am now legal to drink beer, I can finally drink my icon 😌. I know it's usual tradition to give gifts to the birthday person but I wanted to do a reverse and give something to you and the community. And that is: The Prologue of my Isekai webnovel! I would much prefer if I could also give Chapter 1 but I am currently recovering from tonsilitis and whenever I am not feeling good, my body just makes me sleepy to try and recover

Here's the prologue for "21 Years in Another Life"! -🍺

"It seems you are doing fine Mr. Dante, I'll be back for another check later tonight",

I could only nod and let out a hum as a signal that I understood. The boring white walls of the hospital were something that I had grown accustomed to but still loathed in every sense. The heavyweight of my right hand had a plastic cast of sorts to keep it straight as the needle of the dextrose tube was put inside in one of my veins.

I turned my head to see the dextrose bag hung on the stainless steel IV stand. I watched the small drop that would come out of the bag into the small cylinder that would connect to the tube. I looked back into my life.

21 years of my life. The majority of them are in the hospital.

The sickly body that I was born with not only burdened me but also my parents. Money was no problem for us as my father was the CEO of a well-known company he worked for from the ground up but rather it was the taint in the reputation of the family name.

I was his eldest child but thankfully not his only child. I had younger siblings and all of them have very healthy bodies.

And that is good.

I was about to close my eyes to sleep, not having the mood to read a book or even watch television until, "Oh, should we visit another time?", I tilted my head to the side as I saw my mother enter with my youngest brother, the baby of the family. "No, I was just looking to past the time", I said as my brother walked his way to the side of the bed where my free hand was. That was odd, he usually skips towards me.

I noticed the wide smile that was plastered on his face and the way how his hands were behind his back. "Big brother! I have a surprise!", He said excitedly obviously vibrating with joy, I inhaled a bit to brace myself and noticed the faint natural scent of flowers suddenly in the room.

"What do you have there?", I asked and he presented with three stalks of Sunflowers tied together with a neat little white bow. "I thought you might like them, I asked the nice old couple down the street if I can have some for you", his eyes twinkled and I couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh of my own.

"Thank you", I whispered, touched deeply by the gesture "Mum? Can you put it in the empty vase, please?", My mother nodded as my baby brother gave the flowers to mum.

I sat up with using my dominant left hand as support while my brother removed his shoes. I pat down the spot next to me gently as he climbed up the bed, sitting snuggly beside me as I gave his forehead a gentle kiss.

"I'm gonna start growing my flowers so we don't have to buy anymore from the flower shop", he affirmed to himself as I raised a curious eyebrow towards him, "Oh, why is that?", I asked, already having a hunch as to why he would like to grow them.

"You never really liked store-bought flowers, you said they smell funny", he said as he tilted his head upwards, "Why is that?", He asked as I nodded, "It's not the flowers but more so the paper, there are times that the papers are scented quite strongly that smell of the flowers are not complimented as nicely as I would have liked", I explained to him as he let out an 'Ahhhh' of realization along with gentle nodding.

"Will dad come visit?", I turned towards mom as she finished putting the flowers in the vase, "I hope so, if the meeting ends on time he'll pick up your sister so they can visit you", She sat back down on the nearby sofa as I just nodded. "How are you doing?", I could only give her the usual half-sided smile that I would give whenever my younger siblings are around.

A smile that meant: I don't know how to feel.

My mother could only exhale and gave a gentle reassuring smile and a nod towards me. A smile and a nod that says: I know.

My parents and I don't tiptoe around the topic anymore as if I was a kid. This was a sad reality I grew up in and we just accepted it but we made sure to make the best out of every situation.

The knock at the door caught our attention as my brother was about to open the television. "Come in", My mother called out and the door creaked open and the familiar face of my younger sister peaked through, "Oh! Oh! Look dad! He's awake!", The door opened a bit more to reveal my younger sister and dad, he was holding a canvas under one arm as my sister's bag was slung over the other shoulder of his.

"Hey Kiddo, how you doin' ?", My dad put the bag and canvas down on top of the cabinet as he made his way next to my bed and then ruffled my hair. A comforting feeling, his hand on top of my head as a gentle head pat was enough to help me calm down after rigorous emotions went through me.

"I'm doing fine now, I assume the meeting went well?", I asked and he just nodded along with the usual hand gesture of facing his palm up and down in a sideways motion.

It went well with some people who need convincing, just the usual things then.

"Big brother! My tutor gave me the assignment to draw on a canvas today!", She bounced a bit on her feet before skipping towards where the canvas was put down. She run-walked towards my side as I peered towards the canvas.

It has no color yet just the rough outline of her whole drawing, it seems she will be drawing sunflowers and lots of them. "I didn't have time to finish my sketch since it was already time buuut!", She pointed towards the middle part of the canvas, "This is where you are supposed to be!", I nodded with a smile etching its way onto my lips. She was so excited about it.

"My tutor also said that giving sunflowers to someone means to bring joy to someone's day", she explained before adding, "And! And! I wanted to give you this painting when I finish it so you'll be happy every day", I just chuckled and ruffled her hair with my free hand and brought her in for a side hug.

"And I'll be planting sunflowers in the garden so when you get back back, you'll see it every day and we don't have to buy new ones from the shop", My brother exclaimed. I just gave a nod as we heard a knock on the door, my father creaked the door open and the familiar white doctor's coat peeked through. My dad looked back towards mother and she just nodded and went outside.

I gave a sigh and let my head plop down to the pillow. "Big brother? When can you come home?", My sister's tone was now quite solemn. I just shook my head, not wanting to give them more hope than necessary.

I don't like promises being broken so I rarely make promises that I can't keep.

And sadly, this is one of those times.

The bed shifted a bit until my younger siblings were curled up to each of my sides, I just sighed a bit. "How are you two holding up?", I asked.

"Ehh",

"Mnnggghhh",

They also we're not too sure of it. I let out a breath through my nose, "Remember what I told you guys before? About promises?", I asked.

"Try not to make promises you can't keep", my brother voiced out, his voice coming out meek. They realized I won't be coming home any time soon. We just laid there on the hospital bed.

Closing my eyes as different memories from the times back home came to the front of my mind.

- - -

"Big brother!!!!" The muffled voiced screamed from behind the door. A voice filled with glee, before I could even say the door was unlocked it had slammed right open revealing my younger sister carrying her new case filled with art materials.

I just gave her a big smile, I settled the book I was reading to my bedside table and she made her way towards me. I saw dad peeked through the doorway and put his pointer finger to his lips and proceeded to quietly go away.

Dad had bought Artemis new art materials without mom knowing.

"Big brother! Remember when I made a wish to the shooting star we saw?", She asked excitedly, she bounced a bit on her on feet and, "It came true?", I "guessed" and she nodded, her hair bouncing along with her.

"It came true! The star was also kind enough to also give me a new case!", She heaved the case on the bed and proceeded to open up the case. She pulled out the shelfs that can be easily retracted inside for more efficient compartments.

"Darling?", the door creaked open and we both looked up and saw Mom. She saw the art case that Artemis proudly displayed, mom could only gave a smile and a nod but I could feel her secret fury behind it. It was not directed at us but rather, "Have you two seen your father by any chance?", She asked.

"Nope", "No"

She just hummed and nodded her head a bit, "If you happened to see him, make sure to give him this face", Mom gestured to her unimpressed face with her half lidded eyes and a small frown. Before smiling once again and saying goodbye.

Dad was in a lot of trouble.

- - -

The noises of delight that came from the children as they exited the school gates was one that could be heard from the other side of the street. All of them eagerly excited to come home from school.

I waited just by the sides of the gate, waiting for my younger brother, Artem. I looked over through the crowd of children slowly pouring out of the doors and I just eagerly waited for him, "Need a seat, boy?", I looked behind me and the guard was nice enough to bring out an extra stool, "Thank you", he just gave a friendly wave of his hand and went back to his station while I sat down at the stool.

I pulled out my phone and recalled the phone call that me and Mom had that led up to me being the one picking up Artem for the day.

"Dante? Do you feel alright today?", Mom went straight to the point,

"Yeah, yeah, why'd you ask?",

"If it's alright, can you pick up Artem today for me?"

"I don't mind, why?",

"You'll see when you pick him up",

I patiently waited for my younger brother by the gates. "Brother? Brother!", I looked up and saw Artem running towards me in full speed. He stopped just shy in front of me as his whole body vibrated with excitement. He bit his bottom lip as he tried to hide his smile.

"Come on, we can chat about your day while we walk home", I ruffled his hair as he nodded. I waved goodbye to the guard and we were on our way. Artem had a skip in his step as he told me about his whole day at school.

The activities they did and I just listened intently.

- - - -

I groggily opened my eyes and saw my parents had ushered my siblings out of the bed, my mom was the first one to see me awake, "Had a nice nap?", She giggled and I nodded along, a smile gracing my lips. I noticed how the edges of her eyes were a bit red and how her nose had a specific red tint to it, an indication after crying.

What happened?

I looked over towards Dad and gave him a questioning look and he just mouthed me the word, 'Later'. I just nodded as my mom had brought out a tupperware filled with dinner. "Artemis, can you go to the desk and ask for some spare spoons?", My mom's tone was a bit hurried but my younger sister just nodded and left for the door

"Artem, how about you join your sister? Just don't go to far from her, no?", My mom ushered my brother out the door as well and soon enough it was just me and my parents left in the room. There was an akward silent at first and then

"Mom? Have you been crying?", I asked while sitting up and she just pursed her lips together before nodding followed by a choked sob. I patted the spot besides me and she sat down, they were some tears refusing to fall down. I opened my arms and she just tackled me into a hug, with every inhale she took was followed by a broken sob.

"You've...been...", She sobbed out as I rubbed circles at her back, "Doing...so...well", she choked out before trying to calm herself down. I just sat there and hugged her close, trying to help her calm down.

It seemed the doctor didn't give the good news they were hoping for.

The door creaked open and my mom pulled away, soon wiping away her tears with a handkerchief that my dad had given her. My younger siblings came inside with 5 spoons. "We got the spoons!", My brother exclaimed as they gave mom the untensils.

Mom opened the tupperware and there she had cooked some Beef Stroganoff, my favorite food. "It was your dad's idea to cook your favorite today", she said while dad let out an akward chuckle. "Well, since the doctor had said you won't be coming home anytime soon. I thought bringing you some of your favorite food would cheer you up and give you some break from the Hospital Food", I just smiled towards Dad and gave him a thank you.

It was just comfortable silence until they had to leave, visiting hours were now over and I just waved goodbye to them, with my younger siblings promising to annoy mom or dad to visit me tomorrow.

I just laughed at their response as dad ushered them out of the room. Mom gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead and a farewell to them both. Being left alone in the dim room isn't always a good feeling, especially in recent times.

I toss and turned a bit, trying to find a good spot to get back into napping. The window gave a good view of the sky, it's filled with stars tonight. All of them twinkling individually, I let out a soft sigh before closing my eyes in trying to find a good nap.

- - - -

My eyes snapped open, the heaviness that my body felt before was now gone. I was somewhere else other than the hospital room I was admitted in.

I looked around, I am surrounded by twinkling stars with the ground beneath rippling under my feet with every movement I took.

"My, a young one already here?", I turned around and was met with a masked woman, she was holding a pocket notebook and a stamp in another hand. She looked up and tilted her head a bit to the side.

"You, Mister, are currently in the Realm of Stars" she started as she walked towards me, to ground rippling underneath her feet with every step she took. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and she stopped right in front of me.

She looked up towards me and was faced with her, "This is the realm where the soul journeys to their resting place", she added before looking through her notebook again and flipping through some pages.

Am I dead?

"Ah, here it is. We usually don't meddle with the laws of life but this is an exception", she hums before taking a step back.

"I'll be frank with you mister, if given the chance to live again...", She gestured with her hands, "How long would you like to live again?", She asked and I was flabbergasted with the sudden question. I gulped once more and I answered, "Another 21 years would be great", I replied to her and she looked at the notebook before nodding.

"Interesting, even if the life you were give doesn't have a clean start?", She asked and I just tilted my head a bit to the side, curious "What do you mean by that?", I asked as she materialized away the stamp and notebook she was holding.

"Let me reiterate again, if given the chance would you live again for 21 years but the body already has a history of living?", She asked and I just nodded, unsure still of her words. All I got was that I get another chance of living for another 21 years.

"Alright then, perfect!", She exclaimed whilst clasping her hand together, "We currently have a body that needs a soul but the old one had already left it and it isn't his time to visit the Realm of Stars", she sighed before a couple of stars started surrounding my whole figure.

"I wish you luck with your new life", she waved goodbye before adding another.

"I'll see you again when your 21 years are finished"

- - - -

My head hurts badly, it was dark all around as I tried to find the feeling in my "body" again.

"Call the doctor!",

Huh? Am I in a hospital again.

"Quickly, we must get his majesty back to the castle before any stragglers from the enemy line comes for us!"

Wait, wait, wait, majesty? stragglers? enemy lines? Did this body participated in a war or something.

What did I get into now?

"Don't worry your majesty, we will get you back safely to the castle", Hold on. Are they talking to me?

What is going on?! I should have asked that masked lady with some questions before agreeing.

Whatever the case, I should take this opportunity to have another 21 years to my life even if I didn't get a clean start again.

I should try to wake up by now.

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

YOOOO NIGHTINGALE SKGBAKJGB FIRST OF ALL HAPPY LEGAL AGE DAY!! YOU CAN NOW BE LEGALLY ARRESTED, I'M SO PROUD AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THAT DELISH BEVERAGE!!

SECOND OF ALL HOLY SHIT I DID NOT EXPECT THIS, NOT EVEN THE LENGTH I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST A SNEAK PEEK! I LIKE IT, THE TRANSITIONS ARE NICELY PLACED WITH A BALANCE OF NARRATIVE AND DIALOGUE, YOU'RE DOING GOOD AND I HOPE THINGS GET BETTER! FOR YOUR WEBNOVEL AND YOUR TONSILS!!

[almostafantasia]

from the same star

a villaneve soulmates au | read on ao3

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

- - - - -

chapter eight - assassin radar

“We’re getting nowhere,” sighs Eve, slumping back in her seat dejectedly. “I really thought we had her when we got the sketch drawn up but there’s nothing. No name, no DNA. Nothing.”

“She may as well be a ghost,” Elena says unhelpfully.

“Except that I know she’s real. We met her in that coffee shop, remember?” Eve runs an exasperated hand through her hair, loosening it from the confines of the elastic and running her fingers through their curly lengths, before she lets out another groan of frustration and says, “We met her and we’ve still got nothing on her.”

“We’ll get her eventually,” says Bill. “We just need to know what we’re looking for.”

“Did you get anything on the Ukrainian guy’s son, Kenny?” asks Eve, although she already knows the answer. It has been more than a week since they added Artem Kravchenko’s strangled corpse to the board, and Eve knows that Kenny would tell her the moment he found anything suspicious.

“Nothing that I can find,” answers Kenny, with a regretful shake of his head. “I’m going through it all a second time, just in case I missed something the first time, but he’s clean. His finances are a mess so he’s definitely got the motive of inheriting his father’s millions, but his emails and phone records are all in order. If he’s involved in something dodgy, he’s doing it from burner phones and secret accounts.”

“Well I can’t go to Carolyn and tell her that we’ve hit a wall,” says Eve. “She’s trusted us with this. But at the moment it seems like we’re just waiting for the killer to strike again and hoping that she slips up next time.”

“I’ve started compiling a list of influential people who have died over the last few months,” Bill tells her. “None of them have stood out to me yet but I’ll send across what I’ve got so far if you like and you can take another look at them. You know her better than I do.”

“Thanks, Bill,” says Eve, smiling her thanks at him. “But right now it feels as though I don’t really know her at all.”

The office falls silent for a few moments, filled only with the sound of computer keys clicking, until it is broken by the chime of Eve’s computer telling her that she has a new email.

“There you go,” says Bill. “See if any of those light up your assassin radar.”

Bill is right about the first two on the list. The first is a man in his late sixties who seems to have suffered from a heart condition, while the second was killed in an incident involving a drunk driver. Eve ignores them both and moves onto the third death on Bill’s list instead.

As soon as Eve reads that the third person died from a gunshot wound to the head while visiting a German art gallery, she is interested. Their assassin, after all, is earning herself a reputation as somebody who likes to kill in public places. And even if this isn’t their girl, it still fascinates Eve as she starts to look into it further. She stares at photos of the crime scene with a morbid fascination, unable to tear her eyes away despite the gruesome smear of blood across the floor from where he was shot to where his body was found.

A gunshot wound to the head - surely that would have killed him almost instantly, which rules out the possibility that he crawled away himself, before dying moments later against a nearby wall? But that means that his killer would have been the one to move him.

Why move a body after the victim is already dead? Eve can only think of one reason for moving a body, which is to dispose of evidence that it was ever there in the first place, but that was clearly not the murderer’s aim here. 

Eve tries to put herself in the killer’s position, desperate to understand their rationality. If she had just murdered somebody, particularly in a public place such as an art gallery, she would want to remove herself from the scene of the crime as soon as possible. She definitely wouldn’t fuss around with moving the body several feet away from where it fell, only to leave it slumped against a nearby wall. 

Eve squints at the picture of the crime scene again, enlarging the image so that she can zoom in on the body. But on closer inspection, it is not the body that attracts Eve’s attention, but instead the painting that the body has been moved to sit beneath. She paid very little attention to it before, a dark canvas with a few blocks of much lighter colour that had been too distant for her to discern what it was before. Now that she sees it up close, Eve realises that it is a portrait of a woman. Her nude torso is the most prominent part of the painting, surrounded by black, while the woman’s face is almost creepy in the way that it is shrouded in shadows. Eve is captivated and intimidated by the woman in the painting in equal measure, unable to tear her eyes away.

It’s probably nothing, but the fact that the killer has moved the body to sit beneath this painting in particular is playing on Eve’s mind. She crops the picture of the crime scene until it is just the painting, then opens up a search engine and runs a reverse image search. The results that pop up are pages of similar paintings, portraits of other people that use almost identical dark colour palettes.

It isn’t until Eve reaches the bottom of the second page of images that she finds what she is looking for. An identical image to the painting in the photo of the crime scene almost jumps out of the screen at Eve and she cannot click on it quickly enough. It leads her to a page of German text that Eve doesn’t understand, but there is also a larger version of the painting, as well as a caption giving the title of the painting and the artist's name.

DIE SÜNDE - FRANZ VON STUCK

Eve looks at the painting again and feels the hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise to attention. She shudders, an awful chill running down her spine as if somebody has just slipped an ice cube down the back of her shirt. The woman in the painting is creepy, but that’s not quite it. Eve feels as though she is being observed from a distance, an unsettling feeling bubbling away in her gut. This feels like their assassin, but Eve isn’t sure where the instinct that is screaming that at her is coming from, because it’s just a dead body slumped beneath a painting of-

“Wait,” says Eve, feeling her pulse quicken as she realises what she’s looking at. “What about this one, Bill?”

“Which one?” Bill asks, as he looks up from his computer.

“The German art gallery shooting that took place two days ago.”

“You think that could have been our assassin?” asks Bill, frowning as he gets to his feet and crosses over to Eve’s desk. He peers at her screen as Eve switches back to the crime scene photos, then he comments, “What a big mess.”

“Let’s see,” says Elena, rolling her chair over and craning her neck to look past Bill at the pictures. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“This one bothered me when I saw it but I wrote it off as irrelevant because there’s no way that he was killed by a woman,” explains Bill.

“Why not?” asks Elena.

“Because the killer moved the body,” answers Bill, pointing at the trail of blood across the floor to where the body rests. “The victim was a big chap. He would have been difficult to move and I think it’s unlikely a woman was able to move the body.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” points out Eve. “It bothered me too because why would you move a body? She shot him in the head and he would have died pretty much instantly. Surely she would want to get away from the scene as fast as possible?”

“She?” Bill repeats back at her, raising an eyebrow at Eve. “You’re sure that our assassin was responsible for this one?”

“She moved him to that painting,” says Eve, pointing at the image on the computer monitor of the victim’s body slumped below the painting of the half-naked woman. “Why that one in particular?”

Eve minimises the photograph and opens up the webpage that she found from the reverse image search. The text at the side of the screen is all in German that Eve doesn’t understand, so she just looks at the painting instead and the words beneath it.

“D- die …” Eve attempts to read.

“Die Sünde,” Bill reads aloud, in perfectly accented German. “‘The Sin.’ Hang on, is that a snake around her neck?”

Eve squints at the picture and recoils when she realises that the dark shape surrounding the woman’s body has a pair of eerie eyes that she hadn’t previously noticed. It makes sense now, knowing who the woman in the painting is.

“Wait, the sin?” Elena speaks up. “You’re talking about the original sin, right? The woman in the painting is Eve? I mean, not our Eve. But Eve Eve.”

“Adam’s Eve,” explains Bill. 

“Hey!” protests Elena. “Let’s not define women by the men in their lives. Eve was a big girl who doomed humankind all by herself.”

Eve has never felt any particular kinship with her biblical namesake, but she cannot help but wonder if that is the message that this assassin is trying to send. And if it is, then it means that the assassin has learned of Eve and the team’s effort to hunt her down and is taunting them. 

A performance - that’s what each kill is to this psychopath. And this kill is a performance specifically for Eve.

“Bill, can you get on the phone to the German authorities and ask them to send across everything they have on this case?” Eve asks. “I want to find proof that this is our killer’s work.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Bill says as he returns to his desk.

“And what if it is her?” asks Elena, worry etched on her face. “Is she trying to send a message that she knows about you? About us? Aren’t you worried? What if she comes for you next?”

“She won’t,” Eve insists. “She likes the attention. It’s all a game to her and if she hurts us then she loses her players.”

“I just don’t want this to come back and bite you on the arse,” says Elena, before her eyes widen and she adds, “Or worse!”

“It won’t. If this kill is her, then I don’t think it’s a bad thing that she knows I’m on her trail. This proves that, don’t you think?” Eve gestures at her computer screen, where the website showing the painting is still up. “She’s showing off for us now, and it’s only a matter of time before she gets careless.”

“Or a matter of time before she gets bored and comes after you personally,” Elena counters with a grimace. “I don’t think I like the idea of playing games with an actual psychopath but it’s clearly getting you excited.”

Choosing to ignore Elena’s comment and Eve returns her attention to her computer. She opens up the website showing the painting and, realising that it is the website for the very art gallery that the murder was committed in, she uses her mouse to highlight the block of German text and pastes it into an online translation tool. The resulting paragraph in English is full of grammatical errors that could be much better translated if she asked Bill to do it, but it makes enough sense to confirm that the painting is depicting the biblical Eve and the serpent who led her to temptation.

Is the message that the assassin is trying to send by moving the body beneath this particular painting as straightforward as simply making a connection between names and showing off that she knows Eve is on her trail? Or is it more than that? Is the assassin trying to lead Eve astray in the same way that the serpent led the other Eve into the path of sin?

“Eve?” says Bill, from the other side of the office, pulling Eve out of her musings. “The German authorities have emailed across some more information about that murder and I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Eve can feel each ominous thud of her heart against her ribcage as she gets to her feet and crosses over to Bill’s desk. The crease of his frown fills her with anxiety as she approaches, tentatively moving to stand behind him so that she can see the screen. She is vaguely aware of Kenny and Elena coming to stand beside her too, the whole team huddled around Bill to see what he has discovered, but Eve shifts her entire focus onto the image on Bill’s screen.

If it were possible for Eve’s heart to leap out of her body via her throat, then it would in this moment. It takes a few seconds for her to realise what she is looking at, but when she does, it stuns her into disbelief.

On the screen of Bill’s computer are two photos side by side, almost identical in nature. They show the body of the man who was murdered in Munich, but the pictures have been taken from much closer up than the one Eve previously saw, cropping out the painting below which he is slumped. The new perspective allows Eve to see something that wasn’t visible in the more distant shot, with the photo on the left side of the screen revealing a patch of blood soaked into the front of his shirt over his abdomen. The second photo has been taken from the same angle, but a hand wearing a latex glove reaches in from out of frame and peels aside the bloodstained shirt to reveal the source of the blood.

Oh shit.

There, on the victim’s stomach, just to the right of his navel, are the letters ‘EP’, carved into his flesh with a blade.

Eve feels herself start to go a little bit lightheaded. She reaches out with one hand and grips the back of Bill’s chair for support, while her vision starts to blur in her peripherals until the only thing she can see is the picture. 

Those are her initials. The assassin has carved Eve’s initials onto the man’s stomach, immortalised in blood. And there must be hundreds of different two letter combinations that she could have gone for, which means that fact that she has picked these particular two is too improbable to be a coincidence.

Of course, just as damning is the fact that the killer has carved the letters onto the exact spot where Eve has the ‘V’ on her own stomach.

Her skin burns where the mark is, as if somebody has set fire to the front of her shirt. Eve lifts a hand to her stomach and rests her palm over the mark, the skin sensitive to her touch, even through the material of her shirt.

“Well I guess that answers that particular question.”

Kenny’s voice is what snaps Eve out of her trance, voicing aloud the same conclusion that she has just reached in her own mind. Eve looks away from the screen quickly, only to find that the other three are all watching her intently, gauging her reaction. She drops her hand from her stomach and tries to act indifferent.

“So what?” Eve shrugs, unable to make eye contact with any of her colleagues, so she settles for staring at the wall beyond Bill’s computer instead. “We already had suspicions. Like Kenny said, now it’s just confirmed.”

“Eve, you know this means that she’s got one too, right?” says Elena, resting a concerned hand on Eve’s arm just below the crook of her elbow.

“So it’s professional,” says Eve. “I’m destined to be the one to catch her.”

“Do you think she sees it like that?” asks Bill.

“This is big, Eve,” continues Elena. “I know I’m always the one preaching that these marks mean nothing, but she’s a bloody psychopath. You have no idea what she thinks of these marks. Or what she’s going to do next.”

“It’s fine,” says Eve, sparing one final glance to the gruesome letters on the victim’s stomach, before she forces herself to look away and return to her own desk. “She’s just trying to send me a message.”

“Exactly,” insists Elena, following Eve across the office and leaning against the side of Eve’s desk. “She knows your name and she’s probably got your initials on her body. What next? What if she comes looking for you?”

“Then it’ll make our job a hell of a lot easier!”

“I really think we should tell Carolyn,” says Elena. “This is a big development and I think she needs to know.”

“No!” protests Eve. “Carolyn doesn’t need to know. Not yet, at least. This is my mark and I don’t want her to know about it.”

“Back me up Bill!” pleads Elena.

As both Eve and Elena turn to look at Bill, he just shrinks back in his chair and holds his hands up in surrender.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he replies. “If Eve doesn’t want Carolyn to know then it’s her decision.”

“Kenny?” says Elena, in one final plea.

Kenny hesitates before answering, his eyes flitting between Eve and Elena. There is a brief moment in which Eve wonders if the mark on his arm, though concealed by the sleeve of his polo shirt, will persuade him to sign with Elena, but he eventually shakes his head.

“Sorry Elena,” says Kenny, shooting her an apologetic glance, before he elaborates by saying, “I don’t think that we should tell Carolyn about this. And I trust Eve.”

“Thank you Kenny,” says Eve, giving him a grateful smile. She can’t imagine how mortifying it would be to have to admit to Carolyn Martens that the assassin she has asked them to trace has Eve’s initials on her stomach.

“Fine,” Elena says with a frown, disgruntled at being outvoted three to one about telling Carolyn about the marks. “So what is our next step?”

Eve pauses for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, which feel a little bit as though they’ve been put in a blender and torn to shreds by this latest discovery. The confirmation of the one thing that Eve has been trying to pretend isn’t real may have answered one question, but it’s raised a dozen others too. 

What does the ‘V’ stand for? That is the biggest question on Eve’s mind. The killer must know Eve’s name now, for her to have connected a mark on her stomach to somebody who might learn about the body in the art gallery. And with Eve’s name, the assassin would only have to do a little bit of digging to gain access to all sorts of other private information. All Eve has is a letter on her stomach and the memory of a face.

There are other questions too. Why has the universe, after more than forty years of letting Eve quietly get on with her own life, decided to pair her with an actual psychopath? How did the assassin find out about Eve? Why has she decided to etch Eve’s initials onto this particular body?

Well, there is one thing they could do to get answers...

“We go to Munich,” Eve answers Elena’s question. “She wants my attention, so let’s show her that we have it.”

“All of us?” asks Kenny. “Shouldn’t some of us stay here and continue working on what we’ve got already?”

“Probably,” Eve concedes.

Eve glances across at Elena, who immediately shakes her head and holds her hands up in protest.

“Don’t look at me!” she says, shaking her head at the suggestion. “I’m not chasing a deadly assassin across Europe. I’m very happy with staying at home and staying alive. Anyway, Bill is the one who actually speaks German.”

Eve acknowledges this with a small incline of her head, then shifts her attention onto Bill instead.

“She has a point,” Eve says. “What do you say, Bill? Fancy a few days in Munich with me?”

“Are you sure you want me there?” asks Bill, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I mean, I don’t want to be a third wheel for you and your soulmate.”

Eve glares at him, unimpressed.

“Okay, for that you don’t get a choice,” she tells him. “You’re coming with me, end of discussion. Kenny and Elena, are you both alright to hold down the fort here for a couple of days?”

Eve doesn’t miss the way that Kenny and Elena make a point of not looking at each other as they both nod, and she remembers that they have each other’s marks. Neither of them have spoken to Eve about it since that first day, and Eve wonders if they’ve even mentioned it to each other yet. Eve knows that they both claimed indifference to the marks, but there is a part of her that thinks they would make a cute couple and wonders whether two or three days alone with each other will be enough to give them a nudge in each other’s direction.

“Fine with me.”

“Not a problem.”

They both mumble their responses at the same time, and Eve smiles past the ache in her abdomen that has been there since she saw the assassin’s artwork on the newest body. 

At least this case has some direction now.

“Let’s go to Munich!”

- - - - -

There are few things that Villanelle enjoys more than being correct. Being right about something is basically just evidence that she is amazing.

Being right about Eve Polastri being the woman from the coffee shop is a euphoric feeling. Villanelle lurks outside the gallery and waits, nearly going giddy with excitement when a taxi pulls up across the street and the woman she’s been thinking about every time she masturbates for the last few weeks gets out of the vehicle. She looks even more majestic than Villanelle remembers, and though her hair is pushed back into a bun on the back of her head, there are a few loose flyaways close to her hairline that bluster about in the autumnal wind. Villanelle’s hands itch to touch it, to wind one of those curls around her fingers and loosen that thick mane from its elastic confines.

Eve’s clothes leave something to be desired. It seems that Villanelle must have conveniently pushed that part of their first encounter out of her mind, and she screws up her nose in disgust at the practical waterproof coat that doesn’t quite manage to conceal the crinkles of the blouse she wears underneath. It’s difficult to tell from across the street, but Villanelle suspects the shirt may be a cotton-polyester blend, which makes her feel a little bit nauseous.

Villanelle will have to do something about this awful wardrobe when they’re together.

A man follows Eve out of the taxi, in his sixties and balding on the top of his head. The pair seem close, laughing together about something that Villanelle is too far away to be able to eavesdrop on, and she sincerely hopes that he is just a work colleague and not anything more.

Eve and her companion are greeted by an official looking man in a suit at the entrance to the gallery, then all three of them bypass the sign left outside the door to let visitors know the gallery is closed until further notice, and disappear inside the building.

Phase one of Villanelle’s plan - lure Eve Polastri to Munich - has been a success. And that was probably the hardest part. Phase two - to get Eve alone and actually have a conversation with her - will be much easier now that they are both in the same city. The companion will have to be dealt with, of course, because Villanelle cannot let her first proper conversation with her soulmate be interrupted by somebody completely irrelevant, but Villanelle is certain that she can find a way to make sure he stays out of the picture.

Eve will be occupied for much of the day, and it excites Villanelle to know that Eve will spend the entire day talking about Villanelle, admiring Villanelle’s latest kill, trying to work out who Villanelle is.

Well tonight Villanelle will show her.

There are some preparations that she needs to make before she is ready to introduce herself to Eve. She will have to make a trip to the pharmacy, and she mustn’t forget to book the hotel room.

But first of all, Villanelle needs to buy a costume.

- - - - -

“You’ve got her on CCTV?”

Eve doesn’t know what she was expecting from their visit to Munich, but to be told that the kill was caught on camera within minutes of arriving at the scene of the crime was definitely not it.

“Yes, I sent the video across to Bill with all the other files,” says Weber, the German BND agent who is liaising with them on the case. 

To have footage of the assassin actually killing could be a complete game changer for this investigation. To be able to see more of her at all would be progress, but to actually watch her in action? Eve is … well, to say that she is excited about the prospect of watching a man get shot in the head is probably a little insensitive to the victim, but Eve wants to see this footage more than anything else in the world right now.

This CCTV is the breakthrough that they need. They’ll be able to study the assassin - her movements, her mannerisms, her kill style. And not just the kill too. If that has been caught on camera, then the staging of the body after she shot him will have been filmed too. Eve will get to watch the killer as she draws Eve’s own initials on the man’s abdomen with a knife.

Carving those letters into the victim's stomach is far more intimate than anything that Niko has done for Eve in at least the last five years, if not ever.

Eve turns to Bill, her eyes wide.

“CCTV?” she asks him. “Why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

“The German investigators were very thorough,” Bill answers with a shrug. “They sent over a lot of stuff. It’ll take Elena and Kenny a while to go through it all.”

“I will find it for you,” says Weber. “You can watch it now.”

He summons one of his colleagues with a wave of his hand. The pair start speaking in rapid German, which Bill appears to be following, and Eve is grateful for the distraction brought by her ringing phone. When she reads Elena’s name on the screen, Eve answers straight away.

“We were just talking about you,” says Eve. “How are you and Kenny getting on?”

“I’ve already told you, Eve,” comes Elena’s indignant reply. “There’s nothing going on between me and-”

“I meant with the investigation,” Eve cuts in, smiling to herself at Elena’s misunderstanding and making a mental note to revisit that topic at a later date, because there is clearly something going on, even if it is just in Elena’s mind. “Have you discovered anything useful?”

“Oh, not really.”

The embarrassment is evident in Elena’s voice, even over the phone, and Eve doesn’t need to see Elena to be able to picture the flustered expression that will no doubt be plastered across her face.

“There’s a lot of information to sort through,” Elena presses on. “We’re still trying to sift through it all to work out what’s important and what isn’t, then we’ll go through everything in the important pile in greater detail.”

Eve hums in approval and says, “Sounds good.”

“Oh, by the way, Kenny stumbled across something interesting. Apparently there’s CCTV of her … you know, actually doing it. Killing the guy. It confirms that it’s a woman - blonde hair, mid-twenties, athletic build.”

“Blonde?” queries Eve, because her own memory of the assassin from their admittedly brief encounter is of a brunette with bangs.

“Well we know that she likes a costume,” Elena points out. “She probably uses wigs too.”

Eve considers the idea for a few seconds, then concedes, “Yeah, I can see blonde hair working, actually. It would suit her complexion.”

Hearing Elena snort on the other end of the phone, Eve’s cheeks flush when she realises that she said that aloud, and she is quick to press on to avoid Elena commenting on it.

“So, have you seen the CCTV footage?”

“No, they didn’t send it to us,” answers Elena. “That’s why I called you. Kenny found some notes that were made from the footage - her description, her movements through the rooms of the gallery, and so on - but there were no video files in the stuff that the German authorities sent across.”

“That’s weird,” Eve says, with a frown. “Our contact here says it was sent to us. They’re just finding it now so that Bill and I can take a look.”

Hearing his own name, Bill’s head turns towards Eve and he walks towards her.

“Hang on, just give me a second,” Eve says to Elena, before lowering the phone. She covers the speaker, then hisses at Bill, “What’s happening? Have they got it?”

Bill grimaces and shakes her head apologetically.

“Apparently they’ve lost the footage.”

“Lost the - how do you lose CCTV footage of a murder?” Eve lifts the phone back to her ear and says, “Sorry, Elena. I’ll call you back in a bit.” Ending the call with a tap of her thumb against the screen, Eve turns her attention back to Bill and adds, “Elena said that they never sent it to us either.”

“Really?” asks Bill, his eyebrows shooting up across his forehead. “Now that’s interesting.”

“How does a federal government agency lose CCTV footage of an assassination?” Eve groans, running an exasperated hand through her hair and loosening the hair tie keeping it out of her face.

“They don’t,” Bill answers, with a simple shrug.

Eve’s eyes widen as she realises what Bill is implying.

“You think it never existed?”

“I think that it did exist, but somebody has gone to great lengths to make sure that it doesn’t anymore.”

Eve glances over at Weber and his colleague, both bent over a small laptop and murmuring conspiratorially with each other. Could one of them, or somebody else working in German intelligence, have removed all traces of this vital evidence from their systems? Eve cannot imagine that whoever ordered this assassination will want footage of the killer doing her thing to continue to exist, especially not when she has been completely anonymous for so long. But to get that footage removed before it can be shared around must mean that either the hit was ordered by the German authorities, or that the people responsible are powerful enough to have significant influence over the German intelligence service, perhaps even moles inside the organisation. And if they have people inside one government authority, how many others are they controlling from within?

“Who are we dealing with?” Eve asks Bill, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Somebody very powerful, which is why we need to be careful,” Bill answers. His eyes flick down to Eve’s stomach, then back up to her face, before he adds, “Especially you.”

“I’m always careful,” counters Eve.

“And I hope that you don’t live to regret those words.”

[erasethedarkness]

Hey, want a weird request? What about a MHA Characters x Reader, where the Reader straight up tells them that they are not real and are characters from a show, brought to life by her imgantion because she was lonely and ended up falling for either All Might and Aizawa?

Woo! I feel like it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve done a request. Thank you so much for this one, and I’m sorry it took suuuuch a long time. I really appreciate the patience for it! 

I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing it, and it was easy to get into, and hopefully means I’ll be getting to some other requests as well as continuing HDILT. :) This one got very lightly political, but I feel like I should give a little heads up about it. Again, very lightly. But it happened.

Summary: With another heat wave going on, most people stayed inside, clinging to air conditioned spaces for dear life. This was the perfect opportunity for you to get some painting done- after all, you were born and raised in the midwest. This wasn’t new to you and you were certain you’d be fine.

Theme Song: I Knew I Loved You - Savage Garden

Reader: Female

Words: 1708

Pairing: All Might x Reader

I knew I loved you before I met you…

It was the middle of summer, 2019. Advisories to stay indoors and bring pets inside were everywhere- on TV and the radio, sent out in work newsletters and emails. Everywhere you looked, there was some sort of notification warning you to do whatever you could to avoid the sweltering heat and humidity of the midwest. There was even a post going around on Facebook where a police station officially cancelled all criminal activity due to the extreme heat, asking aspiring criminals, seasoned veterans, and those who were just bored to simply please stay inside.

Fortunately for you, this wasn’t all that new. Having grown up with this fickle weather and being around it your whole life, a little bit of wet air and heat was nothing. Did you like it? No. But you could handle it, so you weren’t going to let it confine you to home.

As you set up your easel by the lakefront under the cool shade of the trees that hid your little sanctuary from the view of others, you sighed deeply. What an inconvenient time for a headache to develop. With a small roll of your eyes, you sat down in front of the canvas, looking just past it at the bridge overgrown with golden bougainvillea flowers. A small smile pressed onto your lips at the view- this was easily your favorite landscape to paint. In the past, you were only able to capture its full majesty in late summer, but thanks to global warming, summer started so much sooner- to the point where the flowers were in full bloom by late July.

Inspired once again, you put in your headphones and ignored your headache until you couldn’t notice it any longer. The more you stared into the mass of yellow, the more you lost yourself, completely entranced in your brush strokes. Your gaze constantly fixated on the bridge and your canvas, switching back and forth between blinks. Everything else blurred together in your peripheral, and soon, you were so tunnel-visioned with your painting that even parts of the canvas and scene that weren’t being worked on started to blend together.

“Huh?” Your brows furrowed as you made the quizzical little sound. You’d been staring so intently and letting your hand work mindlessly that you just now noticed a handsome, broad smile beaming at you. Placing your brush and palette down on the tray beside you, you dropped your head to the side with the most confused expression. “Uhhh… All Might?”

“YES!” He declared, jumping from the bridge to you in an unreal leap. “I am here!”

You gawked at him for a moment, taking out your headphones and slumping back into your seat. What in the world was happening? The man was straight out of an anime about aspiring teenage heroes- there was no way he could be standing in front of you.

Yet he was all you could see right now. His muscle form blocked out the sun and hid the lake, bridge, and flowers from you. The yellow of his suit replaced the bougainvillea you were painting, and his smile looked just like what you imagined it would if he was real. In fact, he looked exactly like what you daydreamed he would. This was too good to be true- you were certain of it.

“You’re… not real,” you stated with empty conviction. “You can’t be real.”

“Oh? Why not?” he asked, placing his knuckles on his hips and bending over to bring his face close to yours. How could he maintain that smile?

“Because you’re an anime character. You’re just a figment of my imagination that I-…” You trailed off, lowering your eyes as your confusion sunk into a sadness you were all too familiar with.

Seeing this, All Might crouched down, squatting with his arms resting on his thighs, hands hanging between his legs. He tilted his head to try to look into your face, that smile softer but ever present. It was like he never stopped smiling in his muscle form, and you admired that. You loved it.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed gently.

“…You. You don’t belong here. I just…”

“You just made me up?”

Silence fell as you let the words sink in from a man you knew wasn’t there. How could he be? This was impossible in every sense of the word. Slowly, you nodded, lifting your eyes to look at what could only be a mirage.

“Yeah… I just made you up,” you sighed with a deeper huff. “It’s just… things have been really lonely lately. And you…” you paused for a moment, “when I first saw you, I thought you’d just be a stereotypical hero, kinda like Superman, y’know?” You forced a smile on your lips, watching as he moved to sit down beside you, head practically level at yours despite the fact that he was on the ground and you in a chair.

“That’s an odd compliment,” he chuckled. You scoffed and giggled lightly, the smile on your lips softening.

“Well, that part isn’t the compliment. You’re not the cliche I thought you’d be. And honestly, I fell in love with that. All your flaws that were overshadowed by your big dreams and the weight of carrying One For All- the lone path you took, and the way you hid the real you from everyone so they could keep believing in heroes- I couldn’t stop myself from falling for you. People aren’t selfless like that in the real world.”

“Hmm…” All Might brought one of his hands to his chin, rubbing it with his thumb and index finger in thought. “That isn’t such a bad thing though. If people were selfless like that, they’d practically be martyrs. A hero’s purpose is to protect the people, (Y/N). Maybe it’s a good thing your reality doesn’t have heroes like me.”

“How can you say that? If we had heroes like you, All Might, I feel like the world would be so much better. It’d be so much safer for women, people of color, and everyone in the LGBTQIA+ community. Children wouldn’t be torn from their parents, immigrants wouldn’t be detained or deported, and global warming wouldn’t destroy the earth in 50 years,” you argued in earnest, as if you could plead him into reality- and part of you- part of you really wished you could. “And I- … I wouldn’t be as lonely.”

“Even with heroes like me, evil would still exist. These problems wouldn’t miracuously disappear, despite how much my existence might deter them. It’s a theme in the show, isn’t it? One For All has passed down from one host to another because this fight is more than just power against power.

And… if I were real, (Y/N), I would only break your heart. I’m a hero first, and you could consider that a tragic flaw of mine. But even if you could love it, it’s still a flaw, and you’d still be lonely.”

A quietness settled between you two as you both looked away from each other. How dare he rain on your daydreams- why couldn’t he just say he’d be with you if that was a possible reality? Wasn’t he supposed to be the perfect All Might for you? He was in your head, after all.

“Besides, I’m such an old man,” he added with a lighter tone and a bit of laughter, looking back to you with his unwavering smile. “The world needs more of you than it does me.”

Your brows furrowed as you returned the gaze and tilted your head. “More of me? But I’m not a hero or anything special. I’m just a girl who watches anime, reads fanfiction, and reblogs fan art.”

All Might’s smile softened as he looked from you to the flower laden bridge. “You undersell yourself with words like “just,” (Y/N). You watch anime, read fanfiction, and reblog fan art. Do you really think it “just” stops there? You’re supporting creators. Fan artists and authors have it rough, and your support means everything to them. It keeps them going and reminds them what they’re doing isn’t worthless- that their dreams are valid.”

“How is that going to make the world any better though?”

“… It already has for someone.” He turned his face back to you, smiling with great encouragement. “I think it’s time for you to wake up, (Y/N).”

“What?” you asked, confused by what he meant. Before he could answer, that headache from before returned in more than full swing. The pressure in your head felt like your brain wanted to break past your skull, and honestly, if that was going to help, you weren’t all that opposed to it right now. Dark blue and black spots began to speckle your vision until you couldn’t make out All Might’s smile, and then everything went black.

A soft and steady beep began to bring you back, the sound like a little ECG. Coldness gave you goosebumps- you hadn’t noticed the heat before when you were talking with All Might, but suddenly you were aware of how cool and almost chilly it felt. With half a breath, you opened your eyes as more white noise began to differentiate itself. Footsteps, phones ringing, and voices… so many voices.

It clicked almost immediately that you were in a hospital bed. The pain that you blacked out to remained, but much duller and right behind your eyes and ears. You turned your head and looked for the ‘Call Nurse’ symbol, pressing the glowing red button when you found it. Within a minute, a nurse strode in.

“Hello, Miss (Y/LN). How are you feeling? I paged the doctor and she’ll be in shortly. Is there anything I can get you? Water?”

“Uh… yeah, sure. But, first, how did I get here?” you asked, your body catching up with how much you were processing.

“Oh, a gentleman brought you in. Said he found you slumped over at an easel. It must have been a pretty sight to draw you out in such extreme weather.” She smiled at you, taking the empty, plastic cup and disappearing for a short moment to fill it. “Here you go. Drink slowly. The doctor will be in soon.”

…I think I dreamed you into life.

[blasphoeme]

Transcendent

Chapter 1: Once Upon A Dream

Chapter Summary:

A new life, a new reality, a new world, a new start. Thus, begins our tale of two  souls, destined to find one another to rekindle a love that was forged many, many years before their time. Will this love story unfold as it should? Will two strangers be able to fall for one another? Or will they flee from their fates?

Ao3 link here: Prologue. Chap 1.

Enjoy~ I hope this cheers people up after the prologue hehe :) 

Credits of the mood board go to @midqueenally. Couldn't have made it without your help~

“Oh, bugger.”

His elbow connected with a paintbrush lying on its side, sending it toppling head first over the edge of his workbench. Its bristles were still wet with paint as it plummeted through the air, coming to land on the floor with a clatter. Reaching down to grab his trusty paint brush, a bright splash of colour caught the painter's attention. On its way down, the brush had streaked a line of orange across the blank canvas that was propped up against the leg of his easel. The orange paint adorning the canvas conjured up a vision of fire, flashing through his mind.

Scorching Dragonfire.

He needed to paint.

Lifting the canvas from the ground, he set it on his easel. Uncapping his paints, he squirted several dollops of them onto his well-used palette. Settling himself upon his familiar stool, he picked up his brush, moistening its tip with water before dipping it in the paint and set to work.

As a prodigal artist, Jon had been painting all his life. Strokes came easily, almost naturally as his mind wandered freely through his imagination. His mother used to say that he was born with a paintbrush in his hand and given some paint, he could create pictures that captivated everyone that laid eyes on them. When he was a child, no more than seven, a number of his art pieces had even been displayed in art galleries and sold for extremely high prices. All he needed was some paint, his trusty brush and his hands would do the rest. He simply smiled every time Catelyn Stark would gush about his achievements at such a young age to her friends. Those were moments when he felt so glad to stand out for once from his five siblings who all had an artistic, scholarly talent of some kind. Nowadays though, he preferred the anonymity more, selling his work mainly online through his shop to anyone around the world who wanted to buy them.

Besides his artistic gift, he was born with a unique quirk - the ability to lucid dream. Since he was old enough to remember, his nights were plagued with dreams of a life he never lived. Or at least he thought so. How could he have? The images and words that appeared in his sleep were nonsensical almost. Words, and sentences, meaninglessly circulating in his head. They were too outrageous.

As a boy, he saw himself training outside in a castle courtyard, alone, training on a dummy with a wooden sword. That image of the lone boy who looked like him always filled him with loneliness. As he grew older, he saw glimpses of himself wielding a real sword, hacking at the gruesome zombie-like creatures, cutting them down. He saw himself scaling a wall of ice. He saw himself riding on the back of an emerald green fire-breathing dragon.

He told his parents about them but they always shrugged it off and said it was just his overactive imagination. They all felt so real to him as if he were transported out of his body in his sleep and plonked into a medieval world. His dreams were uncanny but his nightmares were things of terror. During his nightmares, he saw himself being stabbed repeatedly. It was so real that he felt the pain of each stab to his torso and the last one to the heart. He felt his life slip away, as his blood seeped into the snow under him and he succumbed to the cold embrace of death. For a long while, there was only darkness. Until, he awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat and heaving. Instinctively, his palms drifted to his chest, searching for the seven distinct stab wounds that marred his body in his dreams. There would be none, expect a dull ache beneath his crescent-shaped birthmark above his heart. Every nightmare was the same. All he saw was his death. How could something so horrific be real?

He had no inkling why he had these dreams. Nonetheless he knew he had to do something, something to remember them by. A voice in his mind and heart told him these dreams were of crucial importance. So, he did what he did best. He painted them all since he was a boy. The collection grew from scrap pieces of paper, to sketch pads to canvases that currently lined the walls of his art studio. He kept them all. Over time, he even began incorporating some of the things he saw in these fleeting dreams into his regular art pieces. His customers seemed to love them quite a bit.

Lately, his dreams have evolved somewhat, to include someone new. He saw a woman. He didn’t know her name, but she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Every part of her was, from her silver hair to her piercing purple eyes, her plump peach pink lips and smooth alabaster skin.

It was like looking through a window into an alternate reality. He would see the man who wore his face with this beautiful lady. They were so happy together, so in love. The utter adoration that shone in the king’s eyes for his queen filled Jon with awe. It felt almost intrusive, watching their intimate moments, sharing stolen kisses in alcoves of their castle, holding each other in bed as they drifted off to sleep. Would he ever get to experience a love like that in real life? A love so deep, so pure, so strong that it survived through so many losses and wars.

Would he get to meet his own true love? Jon wondered as he added the finishing touches to his painting. True love in this day and age? In a world so full of cynicism and hatred? It's a nice notion but reality is rarely that generous. A love so sweet would most likely be too good to be true.

With each stroke of his brush, his vision of black and red came into creation, fearsome and monstrous.

Drogon.

Adding some black to the golden amber pupils of his mythical creation, the painting was complete. Dunking his paintbrush into the jug of water by his easel, Jon sat back on his stool to appraise his work.

The black dragon with accents of red upon the ridges on his back and the underside of his wings hovered in mid-air with fire spewing from his gaping jaws against a backdrop of white snow and ice, his red-hot flames ploughing through a hoard of dead soldiers, incinerating them to dust.

It looked pretty good if he could say so himself, a near perfect recreation of his dream. With a pleased nod, he reached over to grab the can of fixation spray and sprayed a thin coat over the surface of the painting.

“There,” Jon exclaimed.

His phone rang just then, breaking the silence of his studio. Dipping his fingers into his pocket, he retrieved the vibrating, jingling device. Looking at the caller ID, Jon smiled.

“You’re up early for once little sis. Who are you and what have you done with Arya Stark?” Jon couldn’t help teasing his wild child of a sister. “And on a Sunday no less? You didn’t have a late night?”

“You know I did. But honestly, Jon. Can’t a girl ever be awake at a reasonable hour?” He could hear her annoyance through the phone.

Chuckling, Jon clamped his phone between his shoulder and ear as he placed the cap over his glass jar. He would have to tip out the water later on. “Sure you can. But we both know that a reasonable hour for you starts at noon. Given it’s Sunday, this must have something to do with our mum.”

Arya groaned. “Can’t believe she wants us to go for brunch at this hour. Midday won’t be here for another two hours.”

“It’s good to spend time with the family.” Jon simply shrugged. She couldn’t see it but it came as a natural reaction. “Play nice with mum okay?”

A drawn-out groan came for the other end. Jon imagined Arya having her face stuffed into her pillow. Her eventual grunt and begrudging ‘fine...’ in his ear from the other end of the line enticed a chuckle out of him.

His little sister was a free-spirited, strong-willed young lady. Like all the other children in his family, Arya had a talent as well. Hers was closest to his. She was a part-time freelancing wall mural artist with a knack of graffiti art. Her ideal time to do her work was late in the night. According to her, that’s when her mind is the most active and creativity came easiest. Her current project was a street art gallery. A gallery in the laneways behind buildings where no one usually traversed in hopes that it would encourage people to explore their city more.

“Anyway.... on to more pleasant topics.” Jon heard Arya clear her throat. “I’ll be coming over to Paris in a bit!”

“That’s great! When will you be here?” Jon was delighted. Ever since he decided to move from London to Paris to bask in the culture in the vibrant city of love, he hadn’t seen his family in quite some time now.

Arya hummed, thinking when she could leave her gallery which was very much still a work in progress. “We’ll have to see when we get done with more murals. Iris and I thought it’d be fun to have a short break before we launch officially. Somewhere not too far away from home. So, I suggested Paris! It shouldn’t be long now, we have a few more walls to cover.”

“That’s awesome, Arya! I have no doubt you’ll do a great job.” His baby sister utilizing her dream and talent for good he couldn’t be prouder of her. He couldn’t curb the well of emotions gurgling, welling up to push at his ribs, puffing up his chest. His baby sister was growing up so fast. “I’ll give you the biggest hug you’ve ever received as a reward when I see you.”

“A hug? That’s it? Thanks so very much.”

“Hey, didn’t you once say I gave the best hugs?”

“I was five and in desperate need of comfort after scraping the skin off my knee from tumbling down a hill.”

The siblings laughed together for a few moments before a deep sigh filled Jon’s ear. “I wish you were here though. It’s less fun without you. I miss you, dear brother.” His sister muttered quietly into the receiver.

“I miss you too. I can’t wait for you to get here.”

After saying a quick goodbye to his sister, Jon hung up and headed to his kitchen. Time to get on with his day. First on his agenda, breakfast. An omelette or maybe a sandwich with coffee. Tugging open the metallic door of his fridge, Jon peered inside. “Well....” The fridge was desolately empty, only a lone sad lemon, a bottle of milk that had probably gone bad, condiments and the like, occupied the space. He’d been so busy with his orders lately, groceries were the last thing on his mind. “Cafe down the street it is then.”

Burlap shopping bag now stuffed full with groceries for the week and his breakfast purchased, still warm to the touch, Jon made his way back home. The advantage of living just above a market street meant there was food all around, easily accessible. You just had to step outside. Shifting the bag from one arm to the other, he retrieved his breakfast from its makeshift paper home before taking a hearty bite. The flaky pastry crumbled in his mouth, coating his taste buds with an explosion of rich buttery flavour. Monsieur Seaworth, as the baker liked to call himself, made pastries that tasted like heaven in every bite.

“Jon. Jon Snow.”

Pausing mid-munch, Jon glanced to his right. A lady was standing on the curb outside the fortune teller shop. A chill swept up his spine at the peculiar grin quirking at her lips.

“Umm... My name is Jon yes, but it’s not Snow. It’s Stark.”

The lady took a step onto the cobblestone road, unhindered by his words. “I know your dreams, Jon Snow. I know the things you see every night in your sleep.”

A torrent of goose bumps rose to attention all over his body. Who was this lady? He stood frozen on the spot and his mouth went dry as his stomach began to pitch and roll. How could someone know when he never, ever revealed that part of himself to anyone?

“She has come, Jon. She is here, very close by.” Lifting her arm, she pointed a slender finger in the direction of the bustling market up the slope. “The woman that you see in your dreams.” The strange lady in red spoke, taking another step forward. Jon gulped, recoiling slightly at the quickly diminishing gap between them. The lady kept walking still. Peering at Jon with unblinking eyes, she glided closer and closer toward him, completely unperturbed by the filth and grime staining the ends of her swishing velvet dress that trailed along the ground as she moved.

“Find her, Jon Snow.Go to the place where many people traverse and sell their wares.” The fortune teller implored. Now standing directly in front of him, Jon could see an unnerving gleam in her eyes. Her voice had an oddly serene tone about it almost as if she were reciting, reciting some sort of cryptic prophecy aloud. “You need to find her. You need to make her believe you.”

“Believe? In what...?”

“She won’t believe you until you show her. Show her your paintings.”

As her next words tumbled from blood red her lips, his half-eaten croissant slipped from his slackened grip and landed onto the cobblestone with a mute thump. Jon’s heart leapt into his throat and his blood lost its warmth.

“Show her your dreams.”

Dun dun dunnnn hehe. See ya next time! Thanks for reading!

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies (2/15)

Summary:

Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go the the Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: Here is Chapter 2 Guys! Posting a bit early since I have some DIY projects to do in the house and once those are done I will probably be too tired to post! The story finally starts rolling from this point on, we find out so much about Emma's back story and how she came to be at Greenwood! Thanks as always to my Beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead for making this story amazing and to my artist @princesse-swan for the art done for this story that you guys will get to see next week!

Read on FF

Chapter 2

One of Emma’s least favorite days at the academy had arrived, Open Campus Day. This day was meant to let new, prospective students for the college level tour the campus and see if this campus was where they wanted to continue their education, allow parents to come and visit their children, as well as allow non-violent students to leave campus for the day to eat out or go and do something in the community surrounding the academy. But the Academy also had ulterior motives for the day, and brought in many government officials to tour the facility to see the different techniques for how they control and contain their powers.

This allowed the government to keep better track of all the high risk cases they had files or cases on, as well as try and discover loopholes in the academy’s procedures for training students to attempt to write stricter laws allowing them to confine more and more people to the communities around the world.

Discrimination at its finest.

But the thing that bothered Emma the most was that all High Risk students were restricted to their rooms on Open Campus days, because they “posed too great a risk to the general public” according to every official statement that the academy released ahead of the day. This also meant that all the published reasons for Open Campus day didn’t apply to them. No family visits, no friends, no company. Ever.

And that’s how Emma found herself locked down in her room for the day. The dorms on campus for high risk students were built more like studio apartments, so she at least had access to a bathroom and small kitchen throughout the day.

Emma was painting in an attempt to pass the time.

Since she didn’t have to worry about having a different career outside of a regulated community, she was really allowed to major in whatever she wanted on campus without having to worry about providing for herself in the future. And painting was one of the things that she did before she came to Greenwood that she actually enjoyed.

Dipping her brush into the sky blue paint on her palate, she turned back to her canvas and added a touch to a pair of eyes looking back at her.

Sean, her older brother, had sent her a letter recently that contained an image of his first daughter with his wife Ashley, baby Alexandria. Emma was hoping that once she finished the personalized painting of the newest member of her family, the academy would allow her to send it to them without any trouble.

She thought back on the other paintings of family members she had done before she left and wondered if her mother still hung them on the walls in her home.

Mixing together some brown, orange, red, and white in hopes of getting a reasonably peachy skin tone, Emma was working on filling in the little girl’s round cheeks when there was a knock on her door.

“This is a High Risk Room, I can’t open the door,” she called back, not looking away from the painting.

Hearing the release of the mechanical lock holding her door shut, Emma immediately dropped her paint brushes and backed away from the door. Besides the headmaster of the academy, she did not know who would have the security clearance to open her door. For a moment, she wished fervently that she was able to remove the bracelets smothering her powers from her wrists so she had the possibility of protecting herself. She didn’t relax even though she saw the familiar face of her personal coach Graham through the door. The five security guards standing behind him were enough to cause her to push further back against the wall next to her bed instead. She wished the window wasn’t bullet-proof, she might have had a chance of breaking through it to get free.

“Graham, what a surprise to see you,” she commented, hoping to sound stronger than she felt, “What can I do for you today?”

Despite her best efforts, the tremble in her voice came through enough that one of the guards behind Graham smirked.

“The Headmaster would like to see you in the secure training wing,” Graham said, extending a hand from behind his back.

Emma blanched as she beheld what Graham had in his other hand. Because even though she had on her suppressor bracelets, they would still have to bring her across campus, and that required the glove-chains.

The Academy had a set of chains made for very volatile shifters or new cases that had powers that manifested from their hands that they couldn’t control. They were required to wear the metal gloves attached to chains to fully immobilized their hands and suppressed powers even more effectively than any other device that the government had created.

Noticing that it wasn’t likely that Emma would move from her place against the wall, Graham took a step into her room, shrugging off the hand of the security guard that moved to stop him. Emma slid down the wall and extended her hands to him palms up, tucking her chin down into her chest.

“I’m sorry Emma,” Graham said as he slipped the first glove onto her right hand.

The effect was immediate. Emma felt as though a blanket had been thrown over her senses and her stomach moved into her throat.

She pressed her lips together in an attempt to prevent herself from vomiting. The first time she had been shoved, screaming, into the gloves when she was thirteen, she had puked. Graham slipped the other glove over her left hand and, moving behind her, got his arms under her armpits and heaved her to her feet. Emma swayed as the room spun around her. These gloves were designed to keep even the strongest of animal shifters stuck in their human bodies, dulling senses even in human form, so the effect that it had on Emma was debilitating.

“Can one of you get her other side please, I can’t support her full weight across campus.” Graham asked, working at trying to keep her on her feet.

Emma felt someone else slide one of their arms under her own, and between the two of them, got most of the weight off her feet and began moving her around the easel in her room and out the door.

The trudge through tunnels under campus,made so prospective students didn’t witness how some of the cases here were really treated, was a daze. Her head was spinning and she felt as if her stomach was trying to push its way out of her throat.

“Stop” Emma groaned part of the way down a tunnel, moving her right hand weakly to grab at the person holding her. The chains, loose and rattling while they were essentially pulling her across campus, went taut. She needed a minute to steady her head or she was seriously going to vomit.

Graham must have heard her, because she didn’t sound very loud to her own ears, and stopped. The security guard holding her other side, however, didn’t, and kept moving, forcefully pulling on her shoulder.

“What’s the hold up here?” He asked gruffly.

Emma scrunched her eyes shut, pulling more on her chains to try and hold her head in place. The security guard pulled at her again, jostling her around and making her head really feel like it was going to roll right off her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, tugging at the arm that he was holding while he was talking.

“Hey, just give her a minute, okay?” Graham said from off to her right. He set her down a bit so more of her weight was once again resting on her feet, trying to hold her steady as she swayed again, her feet sliding out a bit from beneath her. His voice came from in front of her when he spoke again, “Emma, are you alright?”

“The world is spinning,” was all she was able to mutter back, pulling again to try and get her hands up high enough to be able to hold her head steady.

The security guard, ignoring what she was saying, jostled her again. “Stop trying to pull free of the chains you little bitch, keep moving.”

Graham turned to the guard, while trying to steady her shoulders again, moving his hands up to try and hold her neck still since she wasn’t able to get her hands up, “Have you ever been in a set of these before, just give her a minute to reorient herself, okay? We have a bit of time before we have to be to the training room anyway.”

The security guards muttered something, but mercifully stopped pulling back on her chains.

With Graham holding onto her neck, the world was slowly coming to a stop around her, and while the urge to vomit had decreased some, it still sat uncomfortably at the back of her throat. His thumbs gave a slow slide along her jawline, “Do you think that you can keep moving again?” he asked quietly after a couple of minutes.  

Emma nodded, slowly opening her eyes to see him looking at her with concern. He gave her a quick quirk of his lips, a shadow of a smile, and then slowly released her face and neck. Watching to make sure she kept steady, Graham went around to her right side and levered his arm under hers, again lifting some weight off her feet as they continued to help escort her down the tunnels.

Graham had been assigned to her as her personal trainer four years ago, after her previous coach retired.

At six years her senior, it was hard not to notice the unruly locks of brown hair and the light in his blue eyes, the way he smiled at her when they actually were able to train her abilities and she did something proficiently.

She knew nothing could ever really happen, he was her coach for fucks sake, but she still had eyes.

Graham didn’t look at her like he could be afraid of her, and it had also been a long time since a guy looked at her with anything remotely close to interest and not fear or disgust of her abilities.

Then again, for a blip of a second, sky blue eyes flashed through her brain. Killian hadn’t necessarily looked at her with disgust, but he also hadn’t taken note of her suppressor bracelets.

Emma slammed her eyes back shut after Graham buzzed them through a locked door into the secure training wing of the Academy, the overhead fluorescent lights blinding. They carried her down another set of hallways, to where the largest auditorium was located. Again pulling out his badge, Graham buzzed them through a final set of locked doors.

Emma hadn’t been in the training wing for a couple of months, but it hadn’t changed since the first time she was brought into one of the secure rooms on her first day at the academy.

“The steel doors of the training auditorium are at least 5 inches thick,” the Warden had explained to her as she was deposited into the room. “Meant to keep some of our most dangerous and unstable cases contained.” A wary look was cast in her direction.

She got that look from many here, no one could understand what had a 13 year old girl at the top of the High Risk cases list. There were no more than 20 High Risk individuals at this institution, but that was still more than most places could handle. And all of them had been sentenced to the Academy well into their late teens, maybe early twenties if they had graduated from a high school level academy somewhere else in the region and had been sent here as part of their sentence. So she was a bit of an anomaly.

“The Headmaster will be in to see you and discuss where you will go from here.” the Warden had said before he buzzed through those five-inch-thick steel doors and she heard the airlocks seal her into the room.

The sound of those locks sealing her in at the age of thirteen flashed again through her mind as those same locks clicked shut behind her.

Graham and the security guard brought her to the center of the floor, where she caught a glimpse of the government officials standing behind the panes of bullet proof glass in the observatory.

The guard dropped her arm suddenly, and the sudden loss of support caused her legs to give out from under her and her knees slammed onto the floor. She got her gloved hands out in front of her just enough to prevent her face from hitting the floor as well.

Grahams arm slipped from underneath hers and he lost a bit of his balance trying to slow down her fall, but he quickly let her go and stood up, backing away a couple of steps.

“Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, and Welcome to Greenwood Academy.” Headmaster Riggans said from off to her right. Emma squeezed her eyes tighter and kept her head turned downward, not wanting to look at the gaggle of people here to watch her like an animal behind a glass enclosure at the public zoo.

“I hope you have already had a wonderful tour of our grounds this morning, as we are looking forward to showing you how the government’s latest research has been implemented at our facility to help keep our High Risk and potential risk students under control while they are here and possibly in the future when they are released back into the regular population.” He explained, his footsteps echoing through the floor and up her knees. “Emma Swan has been a high risk case here with us for nearly ten years, starting at the academy after-”

“They don’t need to know my whole backstory, Headmaster Riggans” Emma said, mustering enough strength and volume to successfully interrupt his telling of her entire history to these complete strangers. She tossed her head up to get her hair away from her face and looked up at him with disdain.

The look was returned in kind with a malicious smile down at her. “Very well Ms. Swan. Emma here, as you can probably guess based off her attitude, has the gift of fire manipulation.” He made air quotes around the word gift. “She can produce fire from her hands mainly, but can occasionally produce it from her feet. The talent also extends to manipulating fire that is already present. That affinity for burning things,” He said, throwing another cruel smile in her direction, “is the reason she was brought to our facility.”

“To keep her, and our other students and faculty members, safe while she was being brought across campus from her locked room; which you were given a tour of an example room this morning, she was outfitted in an upgraded model of the Suppressor gloves ten point six point five point two, modified to suppress shifter abilities and keep them locked in their human bodies.”

Two of the security guards that were lining the walls came up from behind her and, shoving Graham further off to the side, grabbed her hands at the wrist, dragging her back up to her feet with her hands on display for the officials sitting and watching Riggan giving his grand speech.

“We use these on very high risk cases, like Ms. Swan here, when we are transporting them off or onto campus, and our newer cases that tend to be very volatile and are unable to control their abilities.” Grabbing a key from inside his pocket, he came over and slipped it into the clasp at the base of her left wrist. Turning it quickly, she felt the glove loosen around her hand and sighed in relief. Some of the effects were already beginning to lessen, and the world finally came to a complete stand still around her. Riggans moved the key to the other wrist and turned it to loosen the other glove.

“Only myself and our highest level training staff have access to the keys to release these cases from the gloves. And this is only after they have proven that they have gained some control over their person, or have been properly fitted with some other form of suppression equipment.” Graham came over and grabbed the gloves from her hands and took them off, moving quickly to release them and the chain around her waist.

Graham took over speaking to the group of spectators after walking a few steps back from her.

“After the initial period where these students learn how to control their powers in control rooms with specifically selected trainers who have powers to combat or diminish the effects of their powers, they are outfitted with specific suppression gear so that they are allowed to continue their course work and complete a high school or college level education while in an area that will help them gain full control over their powers. Ms. Swan has been given two bracelets that are designed to specifically suppress her ability to produce fire, but also manipulate fire that is already present. In tandem, these bracelets also suppress that ability from her feet.The bracelets work on a remote monitoring system, so they also have a remote unlocking system, meaning that no specific key is needed to unlock her set of bracelets. All personalized suppression items are on the same system.”

Graham set the chains aside, while the officials leaned forward to get a better look at her bracelets. They were pretty subtle, looking like two ordinary silver bangles on her wrists, but the intricate design hid the hardware under the surface that did the work of suppressing her powers.

“We also have one of the most rigorous screening programs here for allowing students here to begin to assimilate into the real world after completing schooling here.” Riggans said. “This ranges from anything to a simple application for students with low risk abilities, to a full panel interview and skills testing for students with more high risk abilities. Depending on the risks associated with each individual case, some students won’t be granted a hearing and will be given notice at that time that they would be moving into a regulated community after completing their schooling here.”

Emma knew where she fell under that description easily. Someone like her, with the HIGH RISK stamp all over her file and a court case against her, she would be lucky if they allowed her to live in a “Community” without her suppression bracelets. But there were days where she hoped that one day she wouldn’t have to live behind walls separating her from society.

Graham started talking again, describing the training that they did to teach students to control their abilities.

Students in the younger areas of the academy got to work with coaches to master their abilities (not so much on the college side of the academy), but high risk individuals didn’t get that kind of training. They were not allowed to practice their powers on their own without the supervision of one of the school’s deans and no less than 3 trainers, two of whom had to have powers to counteract their own. And as Emma looked around the room again, Graham was the only one of her trainers present.

“In our demonstration for you today, we will begin with demonstrating the suppression ability of her bracelets, and then move on to displaying her abilities, so you can see exactly how extensive the suppression lies.” Riggans said, gesturing to two security officers off to the side that Emma hadn’t noticed when she was initially brought in.

Riggans and the guards that had been holding her backed away as these new officers approached, wearing flame retardant suits and carrying what appeared to be industrial flame throwers. Emma’s eyes widened. Another two guards surged off the wall and grabbed Graham as he moved back towards the center of the room, obviously not having any knowledge of what was about to happen.

Emma barely heard Graham yelling her name as the flamethrowers roared to life and the inferno came screaming at her.

Emma dropped, curling up on herself, pressing down on her knees and throwing her arms over her head in protection and squeezing her eyes shut. The flames were even louder as they flooded over her.

Thankfully, the one thing the bracelets couldn’t suppress was her immunity to fire. She could be completely surrounded in flames; as she was now, and not get a single burn. She supposed it was one of the redeeming aspects to her power.

Emma could hear the flames clearer now, hear them whispering secrets to her and only her through the roar of the inferno. They wouldn’t hurt her, they were life, and warmth, and survival all in one. Only people looking to do harm could turn them into war, and death, and destruction.

And they wanted to burn.

With a click that Emma heard as clear as day amongst the whispers of the flames, her bracelets fell from her wrists. The flames were singing now, singing a song only she could understand.

Singing that she was FREE.

Inhaling deeply, Emma felt along the flames to their source, smothering out the gases and the spark that gave these flames their life. She gathered the life of the flames and pulled it inside of her as she stood, listening to the whispers of the flames as they merged. They told her the lay out of the room, the 7 guards that still stood stoik along the walls of the chamber. That Graham was 6 feet to her left, panting as he stopped struggling with the two guards who held him; Riggans, who was shocked still as she gathered her power, stopped on his way to the protective barriers along the wall below the observers box.

She cupped her right hand on top of her left, as if she were holding something precious between them and pulled the flames further inside of her until they winked out.

The room was silent as everyone waited with baited breath to see what she would do.

Emma opened her eyes, and the world burst into flame.

[tryagainmv]

ad nauseam (part two)

part two: two lonely people we were

➷ you had never known the meaning of lovesickness until you had crossed paths with na jaemin.

part one: strangers in the night ❧ part three: up to the moment we said our first hello

warning: cursing, violence.

you’ve been in this town for one day, and you’re already dreading the concept of spending a summer like this.

in a town where everything mirrored the life you had just left, with the exception of the familiar storefronts and neighbourhoods and faces strolling down the sidewalks. you had worked yourself up, your oh-so-big jump, to leap a puddle and land in the corner of the muddy water. you still had the same coast, but different shops. you still had the same red brick buildings lining the main streets, but different names. you still had the same loft apartments over every single business, but with different numbers. you were living in a strange, but parallel universe.

you didn’t know if it was because you had built up your first taste of self-sufficiency, your first taste of the freedom of living away from parents and from the same cracks in the road you had caught your shoe toe in, or if it was because you had unfinished business from the night before, if you can even call that business. it felt more like comfortable anarchy, the wild beat of your heart against the steady beat of the drum fighting the smooth beat of your lips against his.

you didn’t deny that whenever you closed your eyes, you could almost picture yourselves, his arm holding you against him, your heads cradled together, silhouetted against the raging sunset orange fire, blending into one shadow as the orange flicker outlined you. between the crackling of the fire behind you two and the connection of your hearts, you didn’t know what created the sparks that floated in the night sky among the stars. however, you refused to admit that when you had driven past the cliff on your way out, you had spared a glance towards the field where your softly swaying feet had worn another sparse patch into the rocky earth.

you refused to admit that the boy named na jaemin held anything over you but a memory.

but you felt yourself wanting to reverse time and catch him before he slipped away, before he sent you that last glance and molded into the night crowd so seamlessly that made you wonder whether the boy was a human or a figment of your imagination. a guilty conscience trying to hold you back in the place that you had been so relieved to part from.

whoever jaemin was, you refused to admit that the stranger in the night had put another pair of shackles on your rubbed-raw wrists.

but for now, you’d make do in the parallel universe you lived in.

as your feet crossed the threshold from sidewalk to linoleum, you felt the cold push of the frozen air and the sweet wave of ice cream collide with your senses. you inhaled the cream-filled air and walked up to where your new coworker was waiting, his brown hair visible over the cash register as he made eye contact with you and gave you a soft wave, beckoning you to the false countertop which he swung open.

“you came ready in your uniform! i have your apron and name tag in the back, they’re folded just beside the cooler room door,” he said, pointing you down the narrow hallway lined with extra cones and napkin containers. “i’m renjun.”

he pointed to his green and pink name tag, wiggling it and shooting you a toothy smile. he had a small snaggletooth, and you felt yourself smiling back at the soft boy.

“i’ll be y/n, once i get my name tag,” you laughed back, walking past him to grab your apron and name tag and put them on, renjun coming up behind you to tie the top strap of your white cloth covering.

you thanked him and slid the pin of your lacquer name tag onto the thin white cloth, and you presented yourself to a renjun who gave you a thumbs up and another smile. he showed you the ropes quickly, the cleaning of the scoops and how to work the new electronic register. you learned that his dad owned the shop and that him and his older brother ran it now that his father was getting older. his older brother was named kun, and he was the manager that only worked the night shifts while renjun worked the days. it was obvious how much he knew about this shop and the way it had been run for years, that it was both ice cream and blood that flowed through the sweet boy’s veins.

“one more thing,” renjun says, only after he’s decided your scooping is satisfactory.

“yeah, shoot,” you respond, taking a bite of your final cone product so that the ice cream wouldn’t go to waste.

“uh, because of our… location beside the beach, we draw a pretty sketchy crowd around the early afternoons. don’t let them phase you, okay? they’re harmless, mostly.” he rubs the back of his neck and you smile, biting the rest of your sugar cone and throwing the paper shell into the trash below the counter.

“renjun, don’t worry. i’ll be okay,” you smile, giving him a thumbs up as you go to open up the shop.

renjun had told you that it was the newbie’s initiation to flip the paper ‘open’ sign and officially start their first workday at green rose ice cream parlour. you appeased him, despite your complete disinterest in the small rituals that he seemed to value so highly. you didn’t want to make your boss think of you as flippant, as disrespectful or uncooperative, and you didn’t want to make the soft looking boy upset. so you flip the open sign as the clock hits ten and immediately spot a few groups of people make their way towards the cute shop perched a street away from the tourist-filled beach.

you slipped into your place back behind the glass walls and tubs of ice-cream and took your position at the cash register, ready to ring up the first customers of the day while renjun crafted his beautiful cones. you fell into a rhythm for a while, the soft jingle of the radio a backing track as you called out order after order to the boy who whipped the cream into the wafer and passed it to the waiting customer, over and over again.

until the next ring of the door’s bell signified something so much more than another customer you’d have to serve.

they didn’t come to the register or browse the flavours, not even take a peak at the menu. they slid into a table that had remained unoccupied, almost as if they owned it, and burst into a jubilant conversation. they looked so out of place in their dark attire amongst the green tables and pink chairs, yet they blended into the scene as if they had been placed there purposefully by a hand designing a piece of art, so stark of a contrast, so different of people from who you would see in a parlour with twice playing from the loudspeakers. and yet here they were.

you stared at them, black paint splotches on a pastel canvas, until one of them flicked his eyes to you and you averted quickly, staring at the green and pink background of the desktop cash register. you didn’t even notice the single jingle of the bell echo through the shop, the racing of your thoughts creating a maelstrom in your head that blocked out the small sounds.

“uh, hello?” a voice called out, and you could have sworn you had heard that timbre before.

you flicked your eyes up and your mouth gaped. you quickly shut it and took a breath in through your nose. na jaemin, tattoos clear as day against his tanning skin, stood in front of you, gaze hooked on yours and his eyes the width of someone who was shocked yet trying to bury that surprise under a layer of confidence and nonchalance. you scoffed and plastered a thicker version of that on your face, a version of that meant for someone who had screwed you over without even knowing he had done anything, who had caused a snag in your heart that you refused to acknowledge as more of a fondness for a memory.

he’s just a stranger, after all.

you owed nothing to someone who treated your heart like it had strings.

“hi, what can i get for you?” you gritted out, shifting on your feet and starting a new order on the screen.

“a single scoop of pralines and cream on a sugar cone, please?” he asked musingly, drumming his fingers on the top of the glass.

you nodded and hummed, inputting the order and hovering over the ‘complete’ button.

“will that be all for you today?” you responded, not wanting to bring your eyes up to meet his again, not after the first time.

“no, actually. i know it’s not on the menu, but i would like a fresh order of ‘explanation’,” he laughed out, and you leaned back and crossed your arms, bringing your gaze up to his again.

“what do i need to explain to you, na jaemin?” you spat out, huffing. “it’s not like you really were interested in what i had to say about anything.”

“what are you doing here?” he pressed, and you laughed dryly before completing his order and calling it out to renjun, who watched you two interact, enrapt.

“i’m working. now, if you’d go collect your cone down with renjun, that would be swell,” you grumbled, gesturing for him to move along.

he simply looked at you and leaned further over the table, and you caught the roman numerals along his collarbone when his tank top dipped further down.

“i thought you lived a few towns over,” he questioned, more suspicion climbing into his voice than before.

he was cracking.

“yeah, well, a lot of things can change in such little time,” you shot back, tilting your head and nodding towards renjun. “your cone is melting.”

renjun hadn’t even taken the cone out yet.

“y/n, listen, if you’re mad about —“

he used your name.

he knew.

“i’m not mad about anything,” you gritted out. “i’m just swell. go pick up your cone, thanks for coming.”

“y/n!” he hissed out as you turned around, slamming his fist on the top of the glass.

you spun around, and you saw the hurt in his eyes. but you also saw two of the boys from the table behind him slide back in their chairs and climb to their feet. one of them pulled off jaemin’s baseball cap and tossed it to you, and jaemin’s carob locks flopped down in a haphazard pool on the top of his head.

the other boy grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, leaning in and pushing him closer and closer to the wall.

“leave the girl alone,” the first boy grunted. “or i’ll make you.”

he sneered. the other boy did too.

“she’s obviously not into you and whatever you guys did together, and honestly? looking at you, shrimp? i can’t blame her.” the second boy laughed and placed his hand on the first boy’s shoulder as he held jaemin in an iron grip. “she’s cute, right? the way she stands is so confident, so detached, i’d like to tame her for a night. i’d treat her so good, she’d forget anything you two did toge—“

you absently let out a cry as you watched jaemin’s fist swung up and connected with the first boy’s nose, the crack filling the tense air of the room. you heard renjun drop the cone in his hand, and jaemin didn’t stop. he swung up and hit the second boy, jab after jab until the other two boys from the table were on him too and he was kicking and grabbing collars and snapping noses. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch as the boy you had kissed two days ago beat the ever-loving shit out of four grown boys. when the first punch was landed on his face, he snapped back and the tables turned. the boys launched themselves on top of him, and he was swallowed by a pile of flying arms and kicking legs and brutal sounds of broken skin breaking skin. you screamed again and slid out under the counter, hearing renjun’s cry of dismay and fright, and you yelled out at the top of your lungs for this to stop, stop, stop.

it only stopped when you put yourself into the fight, pulling one of the boys off of a bloody jaemin who was curled on the ground, who spit out a shot of blood as the other boys backed off slowly. you slid yourself in between jaemin and the retreating boys, and you wiped off the smudge of blood you had gotten on your hands.

you stared at your hands, then up to the four boys with bloody noses and bruised eyes. they all stared back, some with confidence, some with fear and all of them with mirthless contempt.

you imagined you looked the exact same, your hands balled into fists at your sides and your eyes set in a glare.

“get out!” you yelled, and the boys didn’t move.

“get the hell out, you creeps,” renjun shouted, voice enthusiastic with a slight twinge of adrenaline. you didn’t expect that.

that’s when the boys nodded and picked their bloody faces up, running one by one out the door, taking the jingles of the little silver bell with them.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and dropped your head into your hands, sighing shakily before turning back to jaemin who was pulling himself to his feet.

“uh, y/n, do you — uh, do you want to patch him up in the back break room? i have a lot of first aid stuff, there was an accident with a scooper and someone’s eye a while ago that we don’t talk about,” renjun asked, and you heard the concern in his voice.

you looked back to jaemin, who was on his feet and limping to the table where he rested his body weight on his leaning hand. his eyes were already bloodshot and swelling, and you felt your heart climb in your throat as you catalogued every visible injury on the boy’s body.

he was defending you, your heart called out. he fought the creeps because they talked about you.

he was violent, your mind called out. he was impulsive, but you knew that already. he was just like you.

no matter how many times you tried to repeat it to yourself, you knew. when your heart spiralled, so did your head, and you had always been irresponsible when your feelings and thoughts didn’t sync up. you had always been impulsive, always been someone who had never totally understood your heart and your head. you’d always had one foot in love and the other in logic.

your feet were getting further and further apart.

you nodded to renjun and grabbed onto jaemin, pulling his arm over your shoulder and bringing him back into the break room. renjun followed and opened the first aid cabinet, and you thanked him as he ran back out to the front to go greet customers. you set jaemin down on the foldable chair that sat beside a matching table, and he laughed as you pulled down a kit from the cupboard.

“why are you laughing?” you asked, dragging another chair beside him to rest on as you began to dab a cotton ball with peroxyde on it onto his open cuts.

“i don’t know,” he laughed out, and you huffed as he continued to laugh when you put bandaids and steristrips on his face cuts.

“then stop,” you growled.

he stopped, raising a hand gingerly to tilt your chin up and meet his eyes.

“i really fucked up, didn’t i?” he said, more to himself than you. “i really fucked up when i walked away, i fucked up when i didn’t ask your name. to be honest, i didn’t think i’d see you again, and i was so ready to have my heart broken by you if i had asked. but i didn’t, and that was so smart of me, and i felt so bad that i was weak and told you my name, because now i’m someone to you, and i disappeared and i hurt you. so i really fucked up not asking anything, but i think i’ve fucked myself over so much more now that i know, now that we’re not strangers in the night.”

you didn’t dare break eye contact, and you dropped your hand from where it held the cotton ball on his shoulder back to your lap. you felt the rough skin of his knuckle turn under your chin as he rolled his lips over his teeth and sighed.

“just tell me how i can make it better,” he asked, and he pulled your head a bit closer with the crook of his finger under your head.

you weren’t going to stand down, you weren’t going to admit to anything, you weren’t going to admit a boy who was a stranger in the night became someone who you know. someone who you allowed to know you, someone who you allowed in past your walls and into your head with the reckless, destructive, confused thoughts that filled it. you would not let the boy who disappeared into the fog of pot and cigarettes and god-knows-what to have any say over what you felt, not when he turned his back on you.

one foot in logic.

“can i make it better? can i fix this?” he asked, and you let him.

you let him move closer to you and press his lips to yours, and you let the cotton ball that was pink with his blood drop to the floor. you let his lips find that rhythm again, let him cup your jaw and tilt your head to slot your noses together, and you let him kiss you and map out every corner of your lips. you didn’t stop him, and you didn’t want to, your heart didn’t want to remove your lips from his in fear that he’d turn his back on you again.

one foot in love.

you kept your hands in your lap, you twiddled your thumbs and ran your fingertips over the ridges of your nails, you kept them everywhere but on him. you thought that if you had kept your hands off him, had kept your hands away from the smooth feeling of his skin and away from the ink of his tattoos that you felt you could rub off with the pads of your fingers even though you knew that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t get yourself connected to him. you wouldn’t let a boy with a bloody taste on his tongue leave that on you, that memory, that imprint, if you didn’t let your hands wander or climb the stalk of his neck and trace the bumps of his spine like you had already. if you didn’t let him hold you by the waist and run his fingers where your shirt had ridden up and your soft, warm skin had hit the air, you wouldn’t connect yourself to the boy who had turned his back on you.

things didn’t work that way, not anymore, because it didn’t take one kiss to fall in love with someone. it took two and you had so foolishly stumbled into his trap, his lips and his gaze and his charming voice pulling you into him and refusing to let you go.

you broke it off a few seconds, minutes, hours later and drew back, standing to pick up the soiled cotton ball and walk it over to the trash in the corner of the room.

you had a pit in your stomach, because you knew that if you turned your back on the boy, you might never see him again. you might never feel him again. you might never taste the iron on his lips again. but you turned. you turned your back on the boy who was watching you from the foldable chair and you walked away, walked to the corner instead of throwing the ball. you turned your back. this time, you turned your back.

why did you turn?

when you spun back around, na jaemin had taken a handful of bandages, the cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, and he was gone, chair empty and the air he had occupied empty. the baseball cap that you had brought in and set on the cabinet ledge was gone too.

you were convinced na jaemin was no more than a shadow who haunted you, a figment of your imagination.

was he just a stranger?

if only you could predict the future, read the cards it held. you’d be so much more worried. you were already sick to your stomach.

a/n: grammarly won’t LEAVE ME ALONE (this is a let down)

[scenitroute]

Ten Days From Raven’s Roost

Ok.  Here it is.  My first TAZ fanfiction.  I don’t even have many followers into TAZ I’m sure.  Thanks to @zrllosyn for pushing me through this one and encouraging much worse to come.  and thanks to @amysantiagone from the TAZ fic writer’s discord for beta-reading the completed draft.  You guys rock!

Title: Ten Days From Raven’s Roost

Warnings: Happy Mango, Sad Mango, Angry Mango

Summary:  Magnus Burnsides travels 10 days to Neverwinter from his home in Raven’s Roost to enter his hand made rocking chair into a carpentry arts contest, where he is expected to win the award that will officially recognize him as a master carpenter. Two days into his journey, his home is attacked by the very villain he defeated not long before. 76 people were killed, including his new wife, Julia, and her father-his mentor, Steven.

“Do you remember the last thing you said?”

“I said…’I love you Jules’.”

It was the last of the warmer months and Neverwinter was crowded.  The townspeople lined the streets with booths to pander their best merchandise, and tourists from towns away came to explore.  While the days were still long, skilled craftsmen traveled from all over to compete for gold and title, to be recognized for their craft.  The competitions pulled in many business owners and wealthy collectors looking to commission the most talented workers.

The excitement could be felt throughout the busy city, and it infected Magnus as he strolled through the marketplace, a particular bounce in his step of pride despite the burden on his back.  It was still early in the day, and Magnus was beaming with energy and grinning as he scanned the rows of shops.  He didn’t stop at any of them, and only slowed to wave a quick goodbye to a fellow competitor he’d met during his time here.  The road led out of Neverwinter into a much smaller town on the outskirts, but Magnus was going further than that.  On his back was strapped his now prize-winning chair, along with his normal pack of rations.  A ten day journey lay ahead of him, and he was eager to get home and share the news of his victory with his new wife, who was waiting there for him.

Jules would say she wasn’t surprised, but kiss him excitedly all the same.  Mr. Waxmen would clap him on the back with a bark of laughter.  Magnus….Magnus would just be happy to be home again.

Magnus had never considered that a quiet life in a small village would suit him.  For as long as he had known, he had always been on the go.  Even as he exited Neverwinter he had the urge to go back and explore what he hadn’t yet seen there.  Yet when he thought of home, of Julia, his heart felt settled, and longed to return.

His pace quickened a little as he pictured her smiling face.  Ten more days until he reached Raven’s Roost, and held Jules in his arms again.  That was better than any adventure or prize, he thought.

Two nights in a row Magnus didn’t bother looking for an inn to sleep in.  He set up a small camp for himself and laid on a mat he’d brought along.  There were a few clouds, but the moon shone bright and lit up their wispy edges from behind.  Magnus stared at the stars that were visible, awed by them.  He had a certain fondness for clear starry nights that he couldn’t quite explain.  Julia never did question it, content with watching the night sky with him.  They would talk about the expanse of stars, and she would go on about constellations and beauty when Magnus fell silent, staring in wonder at the thousands of white lights.

Magnus awoke early the third morning and set off again.  Throughout the day the clouds grew denser, and darker, and much earlier than the night before, the sky grew dark.

The closest village was miles behind him when the rain started to fall, but only moments after the first droplet hit Magnus, he saw a small cottage ahead.  A wooden awning stuck out over the front door, off center, but still providing cover for the doorway with some extra space to stay comfortably out of the sun, or, as Magnus thought now, the rain.

It took several moments after knocking for the door to open, and Magnus was greeted by a half elven man wearing stained brown pants and a light knitted shirt.

“Oh!” he said.  “Hello!”

“Hail and well met!”  Magnus smiled a little sheepishly and waved.  “I um.. I’m travelling a long way and I wondered if I could impose on you for a short time.  If it’s fine with you, I’ll just stay out here under this cover until the rain passes, and be on my way again.”

The man stepped forward a bit and looked at the sky and the rain now pouring down heavily.

“This storm will surely last through the night,” he hummed, scratching his ear as Magnus’s face fell.  Then, a little forlornly he added, “Probably floor th garden in too…”

The man stepped back to the doorway, motioning to Magnus.  “Come on in stranger,” he invited.  “We won’t have you sit on the stair the whole evening and we’ve just finished making some stew.  You’re a big fella but I’m sure there’s enough for yo-”

A muffled crash interrupted him that made both men jump, followed by a voice calling from further inside the house.

“Mattias!  Matti it’s fallen again!”

The man grimaced but led Magnus inside.

“You can leave your pack in the corner there,” he said, quickly pointing it out and heading into the adjacent room.

Magnus set the chair down first, adjusting the canvas covering it as he did, then laid his bag and rolled up mat on its seat before turning to follow his host.

Just inside the other room was a small round table, worn with scratches on its surface.  A pile of trinkets lay scattered across it and a stack of books toppled as it was pushed by a second, held by a dark skinned human woman.  She snatched one book before it fell off the table and moved to adjust the stack before looking up and seeing Magnus for the first time.

“Hello!” she said, smiling through clear exasperation.  “Please excuse the mess, this shelf just doesn’t want to stay together anymore.”

“I’m sorry love,” Mattias straightened up next to her, having picked up a couple boards that had come apart.  It was a small bookshelf that seemed to be poorly attached at the corners, causing it to come apart.  “I’ll see if I can find a new one in town.”

Magnus didn’t miss a beat.  “I can fix that for you!”

The couple laughed.  “Don’t you worry about it,” the woman said.  “Please dear sit.  What’s your name?”

“Magnus Burnsides.”

“Welcome Magnus,” the woman smiled.  The pair finished picking up the fallen items and did’t complain when Magnus helped to carry them into the other room so they could all sit at the table to eat.

Their names were Jaznah and Mattias, a young couple who had just inherited this little cottage from Jaznah’s parents.  She was pregnant, and they had plans to build another room onto the home to make space for their growing family.  However they were struggling to keep together what was already there.

“It’s a perfect home for us,” Mattias said as he finished his meal.  “There’s plenty to fix up, but we’ll manage.  It’s just old.”

“Matti is always so positive about things,” Jaznah stood from the table and collected their bowls.  “But we’ll have enough money to hire someone if we can’t finish the extra room in time.”

Mattias rolled his eyes with a smile and moved to help her as Magnus chuckled.

He stood from the table as well and went around to look over the broken shelf.  It looked like a simple fix in refastening the corners so they wouldn’t tilt when weight was placed on them.  He insisted on mending it as repayment for the meal and shelter, and they relented.

Magnus settled on the floor with some tools he’d retrieved from his pack and set to work eagerly.  Jaznah took a notebook from the stack of books and sat back at the table with a contented sigh.  Mattias finished cleaning up from their dinner before taking to watch Magnus work.

“This must be your trade,” he commented, and Magnus nodded.

“I’m actually returning home from the Continental Craftsman Showcase,” he muttered as he sanded the roughened edges of the wooden sheets.  “Back home I work in a pretty well renowned shop.”

“So you’re a pretty big deal!”  Mattias laughed.  “Something like this old shelf is hardly worth your time.”

Magnus waved a hand.  “This is the least I could do for the kindness you’ve shown me.  After this I’ll be on my way as well so-”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mattias interrupted.  “Don’t you hear that storm?  That won’t be over anytime soon.”

“I couldn’t, it’s too much trouble…”

“It’s no trouble at all,” said Jaznah with finality, looking up from her notebook which she had begun writing in.  “It’s night anyway, and there’s no inn for miles.”

Smiling appreciatively, Magnus bowed his head and thanked them both.  He carefully set new nails into the connecting corners of the shelf, then tested the other corners to make sure they didn’t also need repair.  As he went he described the work to Mattias, who began asking for advice on the building project ahead of them.  The shelf was finished quickly, and the pair moved to the more open sitting area.  There was a single bench in the room, padded with sheepskin and placed in front of a simple hearth where a fire was already going.  As they went Magnus looked back at Jaznah, who stayed at the table, bent over her notebook, focused on writing. He found himself staring with a sense of comforting familiarity.

“She likes to write stories,” Mattias explained.  “They’re really something too, I’ll never need to try and come up with something to entertain our children.”

“She’s so focused,” Magnus said, almost to himself.  He pictured Julia pouring over the stack of orders they’d received, tongue between her teeth as she sorted through the work.

He was pulled from his brief daydream by Mattias’s voice, quiet and full of emotion that Magnus easily recognized.

“She just enters her own world when she writes.  It’s truly amazing.”

A warm expression of deep admiration fell over Mattias’s features as he gazed at Jaznah, and Magnus felt exciting welling up in him again to get home.

They relaxed on the bench and talked for a while, until Jaznah joined them and Magnus pulled out the prize-winning rocking chair to show them.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed.  “How did you get it to smell so good?  Lavender is my favorite!”

Magnus laughed, and invited her to sit in it.

“It’s a beautiful work of art,” Mattias said.  “I’d say it’s worth the journey to Raven’s Roost for new furniture if you’re making it!  Expect to see me sometime!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it!”

Late into the night they talked and laughed, before finally turning in.  They left Magnus to recline on the bench, giving him some blankets and extra padding for the night.

By the next morning, the rain had stopped.  Magnus, despite his eagerness to get home, happily stayed for breakfast before saying goodbye to Jaznah as Mattias walked him outside.  He readied his pack again, making sure his tools were secured inside, and stopped before slinging the rocking chair onto his back.

“Hey Mattias,” he called.  The man stopped with his hand on the door and looked back at Magnus.

“What’s up?”

Magnus lifted the chair up and carried it up to the house.  “I want you guys to have this.”

“What?  N-No Magnus, take this back home to your wife,” Mattias tried to push it back into Magnus’s arms as he set it down, but Magnus gently stopped him.

Smiling, he said, “Trust me, we have no shortage of decent chairs in the Hammer and Tongs.  I think this will be better suited for you and Jaznah.”

Defeated, Mattias eyed the chair, and then looked up at Magnus.  “You really want to leave this with us?”

“Consider it a gift for the baby,” Magnus suggested, shrugging.

Mattias took his hand in a firm shake, grinning widely.  “Thank you so much friend!  Jazzy will love this!”

“It’ll be a good place to read her stories to the kids,” Magnus said, and Mattias agreed.

“Please stop by again if you’re ever nearby!”  he said as Magnus walked away again.  “Bring Julia too!”

“I will!”  Magnus waved, and he set off again, homeward.

On the seventh day Magnus made a new friend.  A stray dog followed him for some time, trotting along beside him.  Delighted, Magnus stopped to play with the hound, and when he stopped to rest around midday, the dog lounged on the ground next to him.  That night Magnus found a small village, but the dog would not follow him closer to it.  With a sad sigh, Magnus gave the stray some of his rations and scratched its ears before entering the village to find an inn.

The place was small and inexplicably crowded, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the owner said there was a single room available. He didn’t linger in the common area, instead Magnus tucked himself away in his room and drifted off.  Only a few more days until he was home.

The innkeeper invited him to sit for a meal in the common area before leaving.  Magnus was eager to be on his way, but sat at the bar anyway.  The room wasn’t nearly as crowded as the night before.  At one of the two occupied tables sat 3 men who spoke loudly, but it was friendly and Magnus ignored them.

He chewed on some spiced bread and absently squished the bit of cheese on his plate as he planned for the day.  If he kept up his pace he could easily make it home before the next day was out.  Bouncing a little in his chair, he dug in his pockets for a few coins to leave.

“Did you see those folks last night?” a voice asked from the table behind him.  “Heard they were on the run.”

“What, are they outlaws?”

The third man chimed in.  “No, they said they was attacked.  Y’know that city on the columns?  Raven’s Roost.”

The coins in Magnus’s fingers fell, bouncing on the floor.

“Everything alright sir?” the innkeeper asked, watching the coins roll across the floor.  Magnus didn’t answer him.

“Raven’s Roost?”  he called to the three men, who turned to look at him.  “Is that what you said?”

One of the men glanced at his companions then back up at Magnus.  “Yes,” he said.  “A few travelers came from there talking about how their city was attacked.”

Magnus blanched and his mouth dried up.  “Attacked?” he croaked, and stumbled forward to their table.  “Do you know anything else?  Any details?”

“Not much,” the man said apologetically.  “The group seemed keen on passing through quickly.  Sounded like they weren’t the only ones.”

“Who….who attacked?”

“Some tyrant, didn’t catch the name.  Gotta be well off though since he managed explosives.”

“You from Raven’s Roost?” the third man asked taking a drink.  “Lucky soul you weren’t around.  Seems like one of the columns fell, right out from under them people’s feet.”

“Poor souls…” the first man lamented, swirling his glass on its edges on the table.

Magnus didn’t ask for any more, rushing out of the inn and forgetting his pack.  Raven’s Roost was still three days journey away, but he didn’t think about that, focusing only on getting back as fast as he could.

He didn’t stop once, he couldn’t.  Terrible possibilities burst through his mind like jolts of lightning.  Steven taught him everything Magnus knew.  He was resourceful and wise and would have made it out of the Craftsman Corridor with Julia, who was brilliant on her own.  He only had to find them.  Even as he assured himself, terror gripped at his heart every moment, and drove him to travel through the nights, until he finally arrived at the first column of the city, his home, a full day early.

It was abandoned.  A ghost town.  Every building and home was an empty shell, but he passed them all by, heading straight for the place he knew most of all.  

And it was gone.  The woodshed, The Hammer and Tongs, the broad desk where Julia stacked their orders and watched Magnus work.  Their home…

It was all gone, fallen entirely with all the other shops in Craftsmen Corner.  The bridge that had been that column’s connection with the others hung from the residential column in ruins.  A sign was hammered into the ground in front of the bridgeposts.  A hurried homage to the lost lives, and under it, a list.

A choked sob echoed through the empty air.

Magnus lowered himself to his knees.  He felt like he could melt down, and simply slip over the edge.  Instead he just stared over it, down into the fog below.  Everything he had, all he’d loved and worked for, was below that fog, dashed against the rocks.  There were no ruins for him to search.  No bodies to mourn over.  His fingers dug into the dirt and rocks, clenching as he leaned forward, head hanging over the precipice.

The Mad Governor Kalen only attacked the one column of Raven’s Roost.  The shops and of the brave men and women who turned against him.  A ragtag team of craftspeople who took back their homes and livelihood.  No rescue attempts could even be made for the 76 souls that were in Craftsmen Corridor.  Every family left, once accounted for, packed their bags and left the forsaken city, fearful of any further attack.  Raven’s Roost was a ghost town, with no one to hear or answer the anguished cries of a man who had lost everything.

Some weeks later, Magnus sat alone in a small tavern.  He had no pack, but held a drink in front of him, nearly empty.  His calloused fingers rubbed against the grain of the wooden table.  Tiny splinters brushed away as he went, and he thought of sanding it, and the smell of sawdust.

The door to the tavern opened, letting in a sliver of outside light, before closing again.  Magnus’s mind emptied again, saved from the flash of a too recent memory.  He downed the last gulp of his drink and wiped his face with the palm of his hand, eyelids drooping.

“Burnsides?” His eyes shot open.

The voice came from over him.  Magnus leaned back in his seat, shaking his head a little to wake up.  A familiar half-orc man stood there, holding his own drink and watching him with cautious smile.

Magnus grunted.  “Stanek.”  He peered back down into his glass, half-hoping Stanek would leave.  Instead he heard the chair opposite him scrape against the floor, and the man sat with him.  Stanek let out a slow sigh.

“We wondered what happened to you,” he said.  “Gunnar said he tried to find you on the road from Neverwinter, but never passed you.”

“I went off the road for a while,” Magnus glared at a spot on the table.  “Didn’t want to bother with inns.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Silence fell between them, and Stanek drank half his cup in it.  Magnus didn’t move.

“No one knew what happened,” he muttered finally, clenching his fists.  “It was days before we knew it was Kalen.  By then he was long gone.”

Stanek’s hands relaxed again, but his voice cracked as he continued.  “76 people were in Craftsmen Corridor that morning.  Shopkeepers mostly, a handful of families….76 souls taken.”

Magnus moved, slowly turning his glare at Stanek, his teeth grinding together.

“76 lives ended,” he growled out.  “He killed Julia-everyone, because of us.”

“We didn’t do this Magnus.”

“No,” Magnus agreed, brows furrowing.  “Kalen caused all of this.”

He laid his palms flat on the table and sat up just slightly so he could lean forward, still staring straight at Stanek.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said.  “I’m going to hunt him down and end Kalen.”

Stanek sat back slowly, eyes widening.  “Shit Magnus,” he glanced around, then pulled himself back to look at his friend.  “No one knows where he’s gone.”

“I will find him Stanek.”

“And if you do?”  Stanek opened his palms to the air.  “He’s still got plenty of followers, too many people are protecting him.  Magnus you led an army but that army…all those people are gone now.  You won’t be able to reach him Magnus, it’s a suicide mission!”

As he spoke Magnus hunched his shoulders more and more, and his hands curled on the table into tight fists.  At Stanek’s last word Magnus slammed both fists down with a loud grunt.  “I DON’T CARE!”

Stanek reeled back, gaping at him.  The room went quiet as the handful of other patrons eyed the pair warily.  The bartender barked an order to calm down from behind his counter.  Magnus acknowledged him with a fierce look, but sat back in his seat, keeping his balled up hands in the small spaces he’d indented into the wood.

He spoke again, a low growl that only Stanek could hear as Magnus lowered his head again to stare in his lap.

“He took everything from me.  I don’t care anymore.  I have nothing, and I don’t give a shit.”

As Magnus’s composure shifted, loosening, Stanek’s own eyes started to water.  “I’m going to find him, alone,” Magnus said.  “And I’m going to kill him.  It’s all I have.”

“You earned your happy ending Magnus.  If you use me, you can have it all back.”

“Julia wouldn’t want this.”

[agilenano]

Agilenano - News: 4 Low-Cost Ideas To Update Your Home This Weekend!

Interiors by Sally Tabart Photo – Maree Homer. Photo – courtesy of Kerrie-Ann Jones. Photo – courtesy of Kerrie-Ann Jones. The Shelfie – Kerrie-Ann Jones, Interior Stylist Do you have an under-used mantlepiece or bookshelves, but you’re not sure how to style them? There are some easy tips you can put into action straight away to create a chic, personalised arrangement of objects. You absolutely don’t need to go out and purchase a bunch of new designer pieces to achieve a great ‘shelfie’ –  the beauty comes from using a mix of collected things that mean something to you, and getting the placement right. Blank Canvas Start by removing everything off your bookshelves and start with a blank canvas. It’s a good opportunity to give the shelves a dust off too! Dig for Treasure Go through your cupboards, take a walk around the house and see what hidden treasures you have that might look great to display on your shelves. You might uncover goodies you forgot about or sentimental items that you’d like to have a special spot for. Curate Go through all your favourite books, treasures, objects and art that could work well styled on the shelf and do an edit of the ‘must-haves’.  Also, be mindful of the colours and textures of your edit – do they work well together? Hero Choose your hero piece or vignette.  This is the first place you want the eye to go when looking at your shelves. It could be a piece of art, plant or object. Place your hero item first on the shelves, ideally at just below eye level, then work your styling outwards from there. Vignettes Create vignettes from your edited collection of objects, ceramics, plants, books, etc. Do this by grouping items into collections of 3-5, and placing either side of your hero piece. Books If you’ve got a selection of books to work with, arrange them in vertical and horizontal stacks, with about 3-7 books within each stack. If you are stacking the books horizontally, you can style with a small object on top, too. For vertical stacks, you may need bookends (or something heavy) to keep upright. Vary the stacks along different shelves. Balance Ensure you have created a visual balance amongst the shelves, so one side doesn’t look heavier or fuller than the other. Check there is visual balance above and below the ‘hero’ pieces too. Think about varying heights and shapes. You don’t want anything to stick out like a sore thumb! Review Take a step back and review your styling. There should be a feeling of balance and harmony within the overall visual picture of your shelves. Also, check the placement of everything, does anything need to be rotated, or rearranged slightly? Sometimes I find its good to go back a few hours later or the next day with fresh eyes to check over. Done! You’ve officially learned how to nail a chic shelfie! Kerrie-Ann Jones has recently launched her interior styling school The Stylist Lab where she reveals all her styling tips, tricks and techniques to create a home that reflects you, how you live and what you love. Enrolment is open now here! Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Photo – Rachel Castle. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. The DIY Tea Towel Artwork – Rachel Castle, Artist + Designer One of the quickest and easiest ways to add a little sing song to a space at home is with a colourful artwork.  Not too serious, and a little bit of fun, our 100% linen artworks are a crowd favourite you just want to rip open from the postie and get on the wall straight away. Of course, you can use any tea towel that takes your fancy! I’m a big lover of blu tack and sticky tape, but if you’re after something a bit more polished we love to see them mounted onto rigid felt board, perfect to just lean or place on a shelf, to bulk up an art wall (see Jono Fleming’s tips up next!), or with a little hook on the back to hang on the wall.  What you’ll need  – acoustic pinboard from Bunnings – cloth tape (easy to tear with hands) – pencil for marking – scissors – ruler – utility knife – string to hang your artwork – CASTLE art tea towel (or whatever you have on hand)  1. Use your ruler to mark 450mm x 650mm on your acoustic pinboard, this allows a margin for your tea towel to wrap around and be taped onto the back. 2. Hot steam iron the back of your CASTLE art tea towel to get rid of any creases. 3. Place your tea towel facedown, then place your cut acoustic pinboard in the centre. 4. Fold each edge of your tea towel over and secure with cloth tape, be as generous as you like with the tape. 5. Tape a piece of string across the back of your pin board in a straight line if you want to hang your tea towel on a hook. 6. Your tea towel is now all ready to go! Get your own CASTLE tea towel here for your DIY wall art and watch Rachel demonstrate a tutorial of this DIY on her Instagram!  Jono Fleming’s impressive art wall in his Sydney apartment. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. The Art Wall – Jono Fleming, Interior stylist There’s lots of information out there on how to hang a gallery wall. You trace all the frames out on brown paper and lay it out, arranging it to find the right spot for every piece… but here’s the thing. How often do you have 10 pieces of art laying around ready to hang? It’s rare to have a whole collection of art at the ready. Art is more likely to be something you collect over time. It can take a bit of patience, picking pieces that speak to you, and the cost of an art collection can add up. Every single piece doesn’t have to break the bank though, if there is something that you really want to invest in but don’t have the budget for, there’s a government program called Art Money that’s essentially like ‘After Pay’ for art. Many galleries are engaged with the initiative and it’s a great way to start adding value to your collection. In the meantime, look at smaller galleries or find up-and-coming artists on Instagram to get more affordable pieces. Op shops, eBay, Etsy and posters are a great way to add to bulk up your collection (TDF Note: And tea towels… as per Rachel Castle’s tutorial above!). The trick here, if you can, is to get them professionally framed – it might cost a couple of hundred dollars, but will elevate any piece to look gallery-worthy. When it comes to hanging your wall, there’s a level of flexibility you need to have with rearranging pieces. Start with one large focal piece as an anchor, and then go from there. The flexibility comes when you add more pieces, or you might just want to move things around to give the room a refresh. Don’t forget, you can always patch and paint holes in the wall if you’re drilling, and sticky hooks are great for those who are renting or want to change things up a lot. Gallery walls make a great impact in a room. Keep it interesting with different sizes, and cohesive with similar frame colours, and then you can do whatever you want from there! Even if your furniture is more neutral, a gallery wall can help bring personality, life and colour into a space. There are no hard and fast rules, just choose the art that you connect with. Jono and Kerri-Ann Jones host a fabulous design podcast, House of Style, interviewing some of Australia’s greatest design talent (including our very of founder Lucy Feagins!) about their lives and careers. Keep up with Jono’s amazing styling work on Instagram!  Shelley Banders at home in South Gippsland. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Shelley Banders’ stunning home overlooks rolling green hills in South Gippsland. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Shelley’s drop-sheet curtains are a revelation! Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Shelley’s drop sheet curtains! Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. The DIY Curtains – Shelley Banders, Interior Designer I pinched the idea for affordable canvas drop sheet curtains when I saw them pinned up in the exquisite home of Natasha Morgan in Spargo Creek. If you have basic sewing skills they are straightforward to make, although I won’t lie – they are time-consuming! The difficult part lies in the fabric length and width calculations, but there are plenty of online resources to help guide you through this. (Generally, for a decent ‘gather’ in your curtains, you need fabric at least 2.5x the width of your windows…) A few tips and tricks – I used Wagner drop sheets from Bunnings, IKEA heading tape and rings, and steel rods from Curtrax. Canvas drop sheets are a mid-heavy weight fabric, so keep this in mind when choosing your rod, I don’t recommend extendable rods as they can be flimsy. Always go higher and wider than your windows for greater impact, and allow the fabric to touch the floor – no ankle biters ! **Note from TDF – we’ve also seen flat linen bed sheets used to make some amazing DIY curtains! Take a tour of Shelley’s beautiful home in regional Victoria here and keep up with her on Instagram. 

Agilenano - News from Agilenano from shopsnetwork (4 sites) https://agilenano.com/blogs/news/4-low-cost-ideas-to-update-your-home-this-weekend

[jeremystrele]

4 Low-Cost Ideas To Update Your Home This Weekend!

4 Low-Cost Ideas To Update Your Home This Weekend!

Interiors

by Sally Tabart

Photo – Maree Homer.

Photo – courtesy of Kerrie-Ann Jones.

Photo – courtesy of Kerrie-Ann Jones.

The Shelfie – Kerrie-Ann Jones, Interior Stylist

Do you have an under-used mantlepiece or bookshelves, but you’re not sure how to style them? There are some easy tips you can put into action straight away to create a chic, personalised arrangement of objects. You absolutely don’t need to go out and purchase a bunch of new designer pieces to achieve a great ‘shelfie’ –  the beauty comes from using a mix of collected things that mean something to you, and getting the placement right.

Blank Canvas

Start by removing everything off your bookshelves and start with a blank canvas. It’s a good opportunity to give the shelves a dust off too!

Dig for Treasure

Go through your cupboards, take a walk around the house and see what hidden treasures you have that might look great to display on your shelves. You might uncover goodies you forgot about or sentimental items that you’d like to have a special spot for.

Curate

Go through all your favourite books, treasures, objects and art that could work well styled on the shelf and do an edit of the ‘must-haves’.  Also, be mindful of the colours and textures of your edit – do they work well together?

Hero

Choose your hero piece or vignette.  This is the first place you want the eye to go when looking at your shelves. It could be a piece of art, plant or object. Place your hero item first on the shelves, ideally at just below eye level, then work your styling outwards from there.

Vignettes

Create vignettes from your edited collection of objects, ceramics, plants, books, etc. Do this by grouping items into collections of 3-5, and placing either side of your hero piece.

Books

If you’ve got a selection of books to work with, arrange them in vertical and horizontal stacks, with about 3-7 books within each stack. If you are stacking the books horizontally, you can style with a small object on top, too. For vertical stacks, you may need bookends (or something heavy) to keep upright. Vary the stacks along different shelves.

Balance

Ensure you have created a visual balance amongst the shelves, so one side doesn’t look heavier or fuller than the other. Check there is visual balance above and below the ‘hero’ pieces too. Think about varying heights and shapes. You don’t want anything to stick out like a sore thumb!

Review

Take a step back and review your styling. There should be a feeling of balance and harmony within the overall visual picture of your shelves. Also, check the placement of everything, does anything need to be rotated, or rearranged slightly? Sometimes I find its good to go back a few hours later or the next day with fresh eyes to check over.

Done! You’ve officially learned how to nail a chic shelfie!

Kerrie-Ann Jones has recently launched her interior styling school The Stylist Lab where she reveals all her styling tips, tricks and techniques to create a home that reflects you, how you live and what you love. Enrolment is open now here!

Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Photo – Rachel Castle.

Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

The DIY Tea Towel Artwork – Rachel Castle, Artist + Designer

One of the quickest and easiest ways to add a little sing song to a space at home is with a colourful artwork.  Not too serious, and a little bit of fun, our 100% linen artworks are a crowd favourite you just want to rip open from the postie and get on the wall straight away. Of course, you can use any tea towel that takes your fancy!

I’m a big lover of blu tack and sticky tape, but if you’re after something a bit more polished we love to see them mounted onto rigid felt board, perfect to just lean or place on a shelf, to bulk up an art wall (see Jono Fleming’s tips up next!), or with a little hook on the back to hang on the wall. 

What you’ll need 

– acoustic pinboard from Bunnings – cloth tape (easy to tear with hands) – pencil for marking – scissors – ruler – utility knife – string to hang your artwork – CASTLE art tea towel (or whatever you have on hand) 

1. Use your ruler to mark 450mm x 650mm on your acoustic pinboard, this allows a margin for your tea towel to wrap around and be taped onto the back.

2. Hot steam iron the back of your CASTLE art tea towel to get rid of any creases.

3. Place your tea towel facedown, then place your cut acoustic pinboard in the centre.

4. Fold each edge of your tea towel over and secure with cloth tape, be as generous as you like with the tape.

5. Tape a piece of string across the back of your pin board in a straight line if you want to hang your tea towel on a hook.

6. Your tea towel is now all ready to go!

Get your own CASTLE tea towel here for your DIY wall art and watch Rachel demonstrate a tutorial of this DIY on her Instagram! 

Jono Fleming’s impressive art wall in his Sydney apartment. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

The Art Wall – Jono Fleming, Interior stylist

There’s lots of information out there on how to hang a gallery wall. You trace all the frames out on brown paper and lay it out, arranging it to find the right spot for every piece… but here’s the thing. How often do you have 10 pieces of art laying around ready to hang?

It’s rare to have a whole collection of art at the ready. Art is more likely to be something you collect over time. It can take a bit of patience, picking pieces that speak to you, and the cost of an art collection can add up.

Every single piece doesn’t have to break the bank though, if there is something that you really want to invest in but don’t have the budget for, there’s a government program called Art Money that’s essentially like ‘After Pay’ for art. Many galleries are engaged with the initiative and it’s a great way to start adding value to your collection.

In the meantime, look at smaller galleries or find up-and-coming artists on Instagram to get more affordable pieces. Op shops, eBay, Etsy and posters are a great way to add to bulk up your collection (TDF Note: And tea towels… as per Rachel Castle’s tutorial above!). The trick here, if you can, is to get them professionally framed – it might cost a couple of hundred dollars, but will elevate any piece to look gallery-worthy.

When it comes to hanging your wall, there’s a level of flexibility you need to have with rearranging pieces. Start with one large focal piece as an anchor, and then go from there. The flexibility comes when you add more pieces, or you might just want to move things around to give the room a refresh. Don’t forget, you can always patch and paint holes in the wall if you’re drilling, and sticky hooks are great for those who are renting or want to change things up a lot.

Gallery walls make a great impact in a room. Keep it interesting with different sizes, and cohesive with similar frame colours, and then you can do whatever you want from there! Even if your furniture is more neutral, a gallery wall can help bring personality, life and colour into a space. There are no hard and fast rules, just choose the art that you connect with.

Jono and Kerri-Ann Jones host a fabulous design podcast, House of Style, interviewing some of Australia’s greatest design talent (including our very of founder Lucy Feagins!) about their lives and careers. Keep up with Jono’s amazing styling work on Instagram! 

Shelley Banders at home in South Gippsland. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files.

Shelley Banders’ stunning home overlooks rolling green hills in South Gippsland. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files.

Shelley’s drop-sheet curtains are a revelation! Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files.

Shelley’s drop sheet curtains! Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files.

The DIY Curtains – Shelley Banders, Interior Designer

I pinched the idea for affordable canvas drop sheet curtains when I saw them pinned up in the exquisite home of Natasha Morgan in Spargo Creek.

If you have basic sewing skills they are straightforward to make, although I won’t lie – they are time-consuming! The difficult part lies in the fabric length and width calculations, but there are plenty of online resources to help guide you through this. (Generally, for a decent ‘gather’ in your curtains, you need fabric at least 2.5x the width of your windows…)

A few tips and tricks – I used Wagner drop sheets from Bunnings, IKEA heading tape and rings, and steel rods from Curtrax. Canvas drop sheets are a mid-heavy weight fabric, so keep this in mind when choosing your rod, I don’t recommend extendable rods as they can be flimsy.

Always go higher and wider than your windows for greater impact, and allow the fabric to touch the floor – no ankle biters !

**Note from TDF – we’ve also seen flat linen bed sheets used to make some amazing DIY curtains! Take a tour of Shelley’s beautiful home in regional Victoria here and keep up with her on Instagram. 

[andimpink]

A Gift in Return

@girls-with-boys-names , a.k.a. my best friend, made a lovely gift for me. Her talent astounds me and I still can’t get over the piece of art she did for me. I love it so much. So much so that I thought I would give a gift in return.

Now I am nowhere near as talented in the art department as she is. I can draw a pretty mean stick figure, but I wanted to give something equivalent to the drawng. While art is not my talent, writing is. So I have written her a lovely little story. She was the peson who inspired me to write and we read each other’s pieces from time to time. I can never thank her enough for all that she has done for me, but I hope that she really loves this.

So, you wonderful human, enjoy this beauty as I enjoyed your art. Love ya! 

Home

By Yours Truly ;)

For The Best Friend a Girl Could Ask For

The sky was clear of clouds and full of stars. A bright, white moon smiled down on the world below. Around me, the trees and bushes were lit up with twinkling lights. Fireflies danced around between the blossoming trees. The air was filled with the scent of roses and I could feel a strange energy along with it. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that this night would be one to remember. It was a magnificent sight to hold and I was speechless as I proceeded to the end of the worn dirt path. As I walked, I thought about what had brought me here to this wondrous place.

Earlier that day, I was working in my studio on my latest art project. I was starting to get so frustrated with the blasted thing that I simply wanted to throw it out the window. Three times, I had to start over because I had botched significant parts to the piece. Not to mention the two times I had changed the plans and had to start over. Whilst staring at the canvas in me, someone knocked on the door. I had not ordered any supplies, so I knew it wasn’t a deliveryman. Steve had been gone on one of his missions for so long and as I went to answer the door, I hoped it was him.

Steve Rogers or Captain America to most, but to me he was so much more than a name. We had met during a rough patch in my life. I was just out of college and was struggling to do something with my art major. There weren’t any opportunities that jumped out to me so I found myself stuck working as a barista. It was all I could do to help pay the bills as well as the monstrous student debt on my shoulders. This was not where I had seen myself after graduation, but I was not going to just give up. I had hopes that my dreams and aspirations would come to me in time. Had I known that Steve would become a part of them, I would have been baffled.

I also would have been baffled to see the Avengers walk right into my work place. Leading the back was the billionaire face of the group, Tony Stark. He walked with overconfidence and I frowned as he approached the counter. Offering to pay for everyone, he placed his order first and proceeded to annoy me while the others ordered. Steve was the last to order and I was grateful when he told Stark to go find a table. When he looked up at the menu, I found myself looking up to the tall, blonde, hunk-of-a-man. The media did not do him justice and I wished everyone could see what I saw before me in that moment. Of course, I had been caught up in the beautiful man and missed his order, as well as being caught admiring him.

My apologies were endless, as was the redness of my cheeks. I must have looked like such a buffoon, babbling on and on to the great Captain America. It took him a few tries before he caught my attention enough to put a word in. With a bashful grin, he told me there was no need to be sorry and gave me his order once again. I added it to the list and then asked if there was anything else. At that moment, Stark appeared with a smug grin. “Ask her for her number, Cap-sicle.” Stark had said. Laying down way more than enough money to pay for the few cups of coffee, he walked away, tossing a quick “Keep the change” over his shoulder. Steve shook his head and turned to go join his teammates, but I stopped him. He looked back at me and I bit my lip nervously. Grabbing a pen and a napkin from the counter, I scribbled down my phone number. He took it from me and gave me a dashing grin that would set any woman’s heart aflame.

I had almost forgotten about the encounter by the time he had actually called. It was weeks later and I was working on some commissions when my cell started to ring. The number was not one that I recognized, but I picked it up and answered. On the other line came a voice I was truly surprised to be hearing: Steve Roger’s. He asked if I would like to go out for lunch sometime and I somehow managed to say yes without making a fool of myself. I let him set up the when and where because I was blown back from him actually calling me.

The lunch date went unexpectedly well. While I had my awkward moments, Steve had his as well. We talked about all sorts of things and I helped him to understand things that he still hadn’t gotten used to. After that first date, we continued to see one another more and more. Something was brewing between us and I hoped that he felt the same way. It was after a couple months of us getting to know one another that he asked to make things official. I could not have been happier and accepted, knowing that it was just the beginning of something beautiful.

Steve was a proper gentleman and treated me like a princess. We spent a lot of time together when we weren’t working. Taking walks through the park or going to the movies were something we did often. I suppose the thing we did the most was going out to eat together. Food was our third wheel and it did not even care. Things were great between us and we grew closer. It wasn’t until Steve had to go on trips that I thought things would not work. He was gone a lot, saving the world and doing good. Those times when he was gone were the hardest. He didn’t call often when he was away and I found myself needlessly worrying about the man. I wished for him so many times to just appear and hold me in his arms. When he did return, I would sometimes break into tears from being so happy to see him safe and sound again.

After a few more months, I had finally found an opportunity to put my major to use. A local art exhibit had found some of my works and wanted me to make a piece for their upcoming summer art showcase. Steve was so happy for me and we celebrated with a nice dinner. The next day, he picked me up from my apartment early and already had coffee for me. I asked why he had done so, since we had celebrated the night before at dinner. He said nothing and continued to drive, leaving me to wonder what was going on. Eventually he stopped in front of an expensive apartment building and had me get out. Holding my hand, he led me up the steps and inside. We hopped onto the elevator and he took us up to the top floor. At that point, I was confused about what we were doing here. He dangled a key in front of my face and I knew what he had done.

I took the key and looked at the number on it, then quickly found the door the key belonged to. Wasting no time, I unlocked the door and entered the apartment. Art supplies of all kinds filled the room and I looked at it all in awe. I had voiced my wish for a place where I could just surround myself with art. My apartment was small and I simply could not fit this much art supplies in there. Steve did not expect it when I crushed him against me in a hug. He laughed and kissed the top of my head, returning the embrace. This was the best gift I had ever received and I did not think I could give a gift to him that was equivalent. I soon left his strong, loving arms and went to explore my new studio.

While I was exploring, Steve got a phone call and stepped out of the apartment to take it. I knew it was for his work and waited patiently for him to return. Whenever he got those phone calls, I knew that I would hear he was leaving upon returning. Taking a seat in front of an easel that had been set up, I sighed. I did not want him to leave after giving me such a meaningful gift. He would rather stay with me than go off on missions with the Avengers. I wanted that too, but I knew deep down that it was for the greater good that he went. So when he returned wearing a grim expression, I ran into his arms and made him promise to come back to me, safe and sound. We spent the remainder of that day doing all our favorite things. The next day, he was on his way to Lord knows where with his crew.

That was weeks before the day someone came knocking on the studio door. So as I reached for the door, I closed my eyes and prayed to find him there when I opened the door and opened my eyes. I should have recalled that he had his own key. When I opened the door, I found an empty hall. Looking in both directions, I let out a sad sigh and dropped my head. That is when I found it: a napkin. It was stained with coffee and had a familiar smudged number on it. A smile lit up my face as I recalled giving said napkin to Steve. I flipped it over and saw a newer addition to the old paper napkin. 7:00 p.m. tonight. Dress nice. Come alone. Beneath that was an address that I planned to look up as soon as possible.

After I got ready, I drove to the address and found myself where I had left off before. The dirt path seemed to go on endlessly, but I followed it until I saw the end. Just past the archway over the path, I could see the smiling face of my boyfriend. Even though I was wearing a dress, I broke into a sprint and charged towards Steve. Flinging myself into his arms, I felt tears dancing in the corners of my eyes. He kissed the top of my head and then pulled away so he could kiss me properly. When he broke the kiss, I leaned against his chest and wondered if I was dreaming. “Are you really here?” I asked rhetorically.

“I don’t know.” he answered. “Are you sleep walking?” I laughed and pressed my ear over his heart, listening to it thump. This was too good to be true, but I knew that what was happening was entirely real. “I missed you, Hailey.”

“I missed you too.” I breathed. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Home.” Steve repeated. “I never felt at home after waking up in this time. Nevertheless, I think I can say now that I finally do feel at home. I feel at home in your arms. Your smile, your laugh, everything about you feels like home.”

Out of nowhere, music started to play and we swayed back and forth to it. Tears poured down my face and I did not even care that my makeup was being smudged. All that mattered was that I was here with Steve.

The real life love is under the mirror of the surface So cut my cord I want to know how deep we can take it See the thing you’ve been chasing, honey You’ll never find it wearin’ a life vest You gotta risk your neck know in your heart it will be worth it

So here we go head first, no regrets and no rules We can stay as long as we want Slow dancing in the darkness And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on

It’s been my fashion to keep my head dry and get my feet wet Step by step I’ve been letting you lead me to the deep end Well, I learned my lesson, honey Just when you think you’re all adult swim Is precisely when somebody shows you to the ocean

So here we go head first and no regrets and no rules We can stay as long as we want Slow dancing in the darkness And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on

Just keep holding on, holding on to me Under, under the top of, the surface of the sea Just keep holding on, holding on to me Just keep holding on, holding on to me

Oh, here we go, head first and no regrets and no rules  We can stay as long as we want Slow dancing in the darkness And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on

Head first into the water  And so it hits me I guess we couldn’t breathe all along One breath after another And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on

As the music died away, Steve pulled away from me. He looked me in the eyes as he dropped to a single knee, never breaking his gaze. My mouth hung open in disbelief, but I quickly found myself covering it to hold back a sob that threatened to escape. Steve smiled and took one of my hands before speaking. “Hailey, you are my home and nothing else matters. All I know is that I want to be here with you from now on. Please make me the happiest man alive and be my wife.”

“Yes.” I cried out, no longer able to hold back the sobs. “I will. I swear I will.” Taking the ring from his jacket pocket, he slipped it onto my ring finger and pulled me into his arms. The arms that would hold me for the rest of our lives until death do us part.

Note: Song I used in this is Aquaman by Walk the Moon. I don’t own it or Captain America.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 7

Thanks as always to @edream93 for looking this over and giving me very helpful feedback. 

Jordan couldn’t believe she actually agreed to this insane plan.

After Ben had asked her if she would be willing to go to the Isle and magically stop a Coven of super-powered, better-experienced villains, she had transported herself out of there. Once she got to her lamp, she collapsed in front of her mirror in some hysterical shock-induced laughter.

Her? Be the hero of the story? That was rich.

Having the Vks do it made so much more sense. They had the whole reformed villain narrative going on, but her?

She was the snarky loner, the daughter of the sidekick.

The sidekicks worked best as little helpers to the heroes like she did with Aziz’s lack of love life or political savvy.

And the reason she did that job well was because aiding someone else’s messed up life was so much easier than fixing her own. She couldn’t be trusted to make decisions, she could barely make small talk.

Also genies never make decisions! That’s why they had masters because they screw up their own lives so easily.

Or at least she screwed up her own life easily by arguing with her mom, and choosing gold diggers to date and general judgemental attitude...

No she was not going to go there. This was not the time for self-reflection. That only made her head hurt.

Plus whenever she made self-improvement plans she always broke her vows by the next day like everyone else did after New Years.

No, no. She was not meant to be the hero. She couldn’t be. She had to be much more deep, and noble and kind to do that.

And that was what she had planned to say when she went back to Ben’s room. 

She wasn’t cut out for the Isle. 

Sure, Freddie said she was the closest thing to a Vk in Auradon, but that was by Auradonian standards.

On the Isle she would probably insult the wrong person and blow their cover.

The closest thing she came to as a leader was an awful job she had as a tour guide in Agrabah for three days. She had quit after sucking scorpion venom out of one too many asses from stupid tourists that did not watch where they sat. 

And she really doubted that anyone consider that experience a good prerequisite for leadership.

But most importantly and terrifyingly, she wasn’t trained to battle dark magic.

There were so many good reasons to say no, but when she arrived in Ben’s office, there were Ben, Jay, Aziz, Dizzy and Evie sitting in a circle and discussing their next moves.

“There she is. It only took 30 minutes for her to come to her senses, but I knew she would do it.” Ben cried when she entered.

“Uh yeah about-”

“That’s wonderful!” Dizzy squealed, abruptly invading her personal space for a tight hug.

Evie beamed, “Good, we have that settled. Now, I was thinking that while Jordan is there, whoever else on her team..”

“I am.” Jay interrupted, “She’s going to need someone who knows the way around the Isle, and some of this muscle.”

“Me too.” Aziz added, “This is Jordan’s team, and she wants me by her side as always. Right, Jord?”

“The team?” Jordan repeated nervously.

This was not happening. She hadn’t officially agreed to this yet.

“Great,” Evie said smoothly, physically putting herself between the two boys, “While you are there, I want you to list the conditions of the Isle. As well as contacting this list of names. They hadn’t answered Ben’s invitation to come to Auradon so I want you to talk to them directly.

Hermie Bing

Hadie

Jade

Harold Jace

Diego De’Vil.” 

“Wait, Yzla is still on your list? Even after what Zevon did?” Jay questioned.

“We aren’t like our parents. Yzla isn’t like her brother.” Evie said sternly, her usually compassionate eyes had a menacing glint daring anyone to cross her choices.

“How about Hadie, I still have a good feeling about her from what you told me.” Ben suggested.

“Hadie is still a question mark. Children of Gods can be pretty unpredictable.”

They weren’t listening. They were talking in front of her as if she didn’t exist. They were just like her parents assuming that she would be happy to go along with their plans about think about the consequences.

No matter how loudly she yelled at them to listen, they would move on to a more “fun” topic.

It was always the same and this was probably one of the most important decisions that would impact her life and she wasn’t getting a say? 

“Guys, I didn’t confirm that I would agree!”

Everyone stopped talking to stare at her.

Well maybe she could scream loudly enough to get people’s attention.

Including the hopeful face of Dizzy who looked suddenly terrified as if she knew what was going on through Jordan’s mind and that she planned to say no.

Her face reminded Jordan of Carlos’ sheer terror when he thought he was late for his date with Jane. How that terror related to his mother’s constant abuse of him since he was child. Maybe Dizzy had a similar scar as he.

She bet many Vks had scars like Carlos. Forced to take on the beatings and disappointment of their parents while pretending they didn’t feel pain whatsoever.

And if she didn’t help to stop the Coven, maybe they all would have to suffer the abuse if the Coven succeeded. Jay would go back to sleeping underneath tvs, and Carlos would be harassed by his mom, Evie, Mal, Freddie, Dizzy... The names went on.

She couldn’t bring herself to say no to DIzzy now. Not with seeing her eyes turn as big as a puppy and her head filled with horrors.

“Because the answer is obviously yes.” Jordan managed a weak smile.

So she wasn’t the most heroic person in the world, but apparently she had an easily manipulated guilty conscious when it came to puppy eyes.

They were going to be so screwed.

But Jordan kept that little thought to herself as Ben proceeded to interrogate her about her lack of plans and who else she wanted on he unofficial team besides Jay and Aziz. She had been tempted to say FG because she knew she had experience, but also knew it was highly unlikely the fairy godmother would agree to such a thing.

She wanted Freddie, but skillswise her only great talent was stealing since her attempted magic with her shadow cards was amateurish at best. Jane was in the same boat. There wasn’t any room for magical mistakes in this mission.

She wanted someone powerful, but skilled. She wanted intimidation but also someone who could blend in. She wanted someone smart but not such a smartass that she would be annoyed by him. 

Basically she wanted a team that would hide her faults and do all the work that she was pretty sure she couldn’t pull off.

Ben gave her till the end of the week to gather her team together and he promised that he would work with Evie, and Mal to arrange convenient yet believable excuses for their absence.

Jordan paced around her lamp the whole night after that instruction with only one name coming to mind that she absolutely had to ask.

Calix.

He was perfect. He knew some of the sorcery his mother had taught him and had some siren allure that would allow him to mind control people away from causing trouble. 

Plus years ago they did a blood oath that they would always be each other’s partner in crime. What better crime or adventure was this! Sneaking onto the Isle to save their homeland.

But in recruiting him, she had to explain that his mother had gone over to the dark side. That wasn’t going to be fun.

So here she was painting a nude portrait of Calix for an art class that she didn’t even take as her subtle excuse to make him come over. 

He had a cream white cape draped over his right shoulder in the style of old Roman emperors, clutching a book to his chest and holding out a candle and laurel in the other, totally oblivious to the drama bomb she was going to drop on him. 

"I have to be nude while holding this because...?" Calix questioned, fidgeting and impatiently swishing the dark brown bangs that fell over his left eye.

Jordan nearly knocked over the canvas she was drawing on. It was irrational she knew, but she felt like any second now Calix was somehow going to figure out the real reason she had called for him to hang and have an ugly breakdown.

"Nudity is the transparency of the soul. Duh." Jordan snapped, wishing she didn’t feel so jumpy, "Now, stop moving your head, I'm trying to draw your hair."  

"Can I sit down at least?" Calix complained, shaking a leg. 

"Yes you can sit." She rolled her eyes, reminding herself to act normal. Calix sighed as he plopped down to sit cross legged.

“Soooo...” Jordan procrastinated, venturing to do her “favorite” thing to do in the world- small talk, “How are you doing?”

“Jord? We saw each other last weekend. Remember? We spent all of spring break together. Trust me, nothing interesting has happened since then.”

“Oh right, I knew that. But.. but you must have done something interesting this week. Been with any nymphs? Dated anyone?” 

“Did you call me here to ask me about Dina?” Calix’s upper lip curled into a smug smirk as if he just solved a rather difficult mystery, “Don’t tell me. You want to have rebound sex revenge and use her? Or you just like torturing yourself by hearing about your ex?”

And there was the man that so loved to irritate her. Usually on Tuesdays.

“I am completely over Dina.” Jordan snarled, barely resisting the urge to throw the charcoal at his face, “She was a fling. A fling that I did not even love or care about.”

“Then why did you not want to go to any of the clubs that she frequents while you were visiting Greece?” Calix smiled knowingly at him.

“Umm...I might have.. slightly. Tiny bit. Really really understandably lost my temper at her when she asked me for wishes.”  Jordan cringed at the memory.

Dina had been a nice spring fling. A nymph with more than a few party habits that were similar to her parents that she didn’t like to dwell on. She would leave that complex to Electra. And though Jordan had had no interest beyond the physical, she had thought the same was for Dina too. Dina liked her for the casual sex. The kissing. Partying.

Not as a potential opportunity for a wish.

Jordan supposed it was silly to have thought that Dina didn’t have an ulterior motive for being in a relationship with her but that girl was so unsubtle about it...so blunt when she did ask Jordan for a stretch limo.

Could she really be blamed for her reaction then?

“What did you do?” Calix singsonged like a little kid, clapping his hands eagerly.

“I might have made the limo she asked for turn into an asp at midnight.” Jordan sheepishly muttered.

Calix burst out laughing, “That’s priceless! How did she react? Wait was she in the limo when it turned into a python? Did it bite her on the ass? No, no, don’t tell me. I’d like to imagine it for myself. Oh gods, how dumb can she be. Thinking you wouldn’t use that wish against her.”

“Yep, she’s a bonafide idiot.” Jordan rolled her eyes, “And you sound like an idiot, laughing like a hyena. So back to the subject at hand, what have you’ve been doing lately?” 

Calix composed himself, rubbing some of the tears that had formed around the corners of his eyes. “Well I have started dating Morrían. Well not dating. Occasionally meeting her for coffee whenever she’s in Greece is more like it. And I know what you’re going to say—I don’t love her so don’t put any sort of dating rumors on your channel again.”

Jordan pouted, “I wouldn’t talk about you on my channel if you would just watch voluntarily. Or you know, actually use a phone like a normal person.”

Calix waved his hand dismissively at her, “Tech addict.” 

Jordan bit her lip to resist the urge to start up their usual Technology-Useful?-Or-Bane-of- Society? argument, and switched to something more relevant- “Whose Morrían?” 

“Morgaine Le Fey’s daughter.” Calix answered, “We met when you know...”

Claix voice trailed off with the words unspoken between them. Morgaine Le Fey had one of the few that had also been sent to the Isle due to unverified claims that she was plotting against KIng Arthur.  

The moment of silence was brief enough for Calix perked up in a forced attempt to be lighthearted and began to describe the dates he had been having with Morrian, leaving Jordan to dwell on her thoughts. 

She wondered if maybe sleeping with him would soften the news she was about to give him.

If he was honest about not having real feelings for Morrian then Calix would totally be game for banging on top of the canvas.

Then she could spring the news on him!

His brain would be all hyped on endorphins to fully realize the danger he would be getting into if he said “yes” to joining her mission, and maybe he would be slower to realize that even if they did save the day, that his mom would probably still be punished for helping to found the Coven in the first place.

Even if sex didn’t lessen the blow for him, at least, it would be nice for her to literally pound out the stress that had been building up in her body for the past two days.

Right now, just the thought of telling Calix about the Coven and his reaction to the information about his mother was causing her heart to pound as if it was trying to burst out of her chest and her hands were becoming so sweaty that she kept dropping her charcol, making a dusty mess all over her pants.

She hated dealing with emotional crisis as much as she hated small talk. The blubbering was impossible to understand and she never quite knew what to do when the other person looked at her with snot and tears running down their face, looking for an answer to solve all their problems that she just didn’t have.

That wasn’t too say she completely avoided crying people. She had dealt with it before like when she had to comfort Aziz during their first year at Auradon Prep when the homesickness and culture shock turned out to be a lot more... shocking then they had thought it would be.

Or sometimes even Ally if Jordan happened to be the unfortunate one to bump into the British blonde in the middle of one her meltdowns. It still did not make it any easier to handle them at their low points.

Plus there was the physicality factor. Patting the back was awkward, but hugging them tightly was weird. At least for her. The other person always ended up with his or her face pressed against her boobs and while she figured they were too saddened by whatever tragedy that had befallen them to notice where their face was pressed against--she did.

And she did not enjoy getting salty tears and boogers all over her chest. Even if those tears and boogers were from people she loved. No thank you.

The charcoal slipped from her fingers again creating a unattractive black streak down her blue harem pants and rolling noisly around the floor to Calix’s feet.

He smirked at her, eyes crinkling at the edges with those ever-present laugh lines.

Jordan sighed. She would have loved to make an excuse. Take him to a party, make a joke. Anything to keep the atmosphere light in spite of the harsh truth she had to tell him, but at the same time she knew she had to do right by him and held him if he cried.

After all, he was there for her after she had been raped for the first time.

It was one of her first time at a local party in Agrabah. And she had foolishly thought that people were excited to have her because they wanted her to do the usual magic tricks, gaze at her lamp. 

Of course, their true intent was to rub her lamp. People were always so grabby. Looking is never enough.

After the event she transported herself to Greece, stopped by his home and demanded sex. She had wanted to to prove to herself that if she could literally sleep it off, that it didn’t matter to her.

Her faulty thinking was that it would be good practice for the worst case scenario where she did get a master. Not all masters would be as kind as Aladdin. And she was a genie, she was expected to grant the three wishes. Those any three wishes even if she didn’t like them. Including sexual favors.

She kept repeating to herself that this was preparation. That this would be what her life was going to be like. If she got raped, move on.

Yet the moment Calix smiled at her and moved to kiss her neck. She broke down crying.

His smile reminded her of the leering gaze of the people who looked at her golden cuffs with the opportunistic glint of a snake. His touch was a remembrance that people saw her as much of a vessel as her lamp. They could rub her and hold her in any way they wanted. She was just a pretty object to possess.

And he assured her that she wasn’t. That just because people had treated her kind as wishing machines with no feelings or autonomy of their own, it didn’t mean she should have to deal with it or that she should follow tradition and feel “meant” to do it. She was as much of a person as anyone else and he and many others would happily go to jail for murder if someone tried to take advantage of her again.

The he offered to go to jail that night if she gave them the names and the faces. Well he would go after she felt better and after he called Aladdin and Jasmine arrived.

She refused his offer of homicide, but he made a night that was so disastrously awful and traumatic just a little bit better.

He did that for her, and while she wanted to keep him smiling, she wasn’t going to begrudge him the need of comfort just because it made her feel awkward.

“...And then boom! She popped out a dragon tail like Madam Mim and we had sex on the gold she had taken from Merlin.” 

Jordan did a double-take, “What? Morrian’s part dragon? Oh Allah, has she met Mal? There cannot be two part fae, part dragon people here! Wait? Merlin has a gold pile?”

Calix raised a sardonic eyebrow signalling that he had caught onto her wandering mind and had decided to shock her back to reality.

“Uh yeah. Sorry I haven’t been listening. It’s just that...okay. I’m going to get right to it. Calix, your Mom is trying to get off the Isle by teaming up with super-evil villains.”

Calix shrugged, “I know.”

“What!” 

“Beast deigned to allow mom and I to video chat. Since cutting virtual communication between a mother and child is just inhumane. You know, compared to physically cutting us away from each other.” Calix snarked.

“Oh. I thought you-” Jordan stammered. 

“As for her getting off the Isle plan? I wouldn’t say Morgaine Le Fey is super evil. But she’s told me that she has told me that she is figuring out a way to get off the Isle. I guess it’s not right to be sneaking off the Isle, but it wasn’t right that she was sent there either.”

Jordan froze. She hadn’t been expecting at all that Circe had told her son about what she had been planning. But since Calix only mentioned Morgaine Le Fey...she had a sinking feeling that his mom only divulged in part of her plan.

But she also couldn’t help but focus more on how tired Calix voice sounded. He must be exhausted by having to deal with all the sudden questions and rumors that his mom had never changed from her evil sorceress ways, that she deserved to be sent to the Isle with the other scum. As well as just suddenly having to adjust to living on his own. 

Sure, he lived with Helen of Troy, but she was a mortal. She didn’t get issues like what is the polite way to turn down Dionysus’s requests to have a chugging contest because it was likely he would need his stomach pumped. Or the urge to do sorcery despite the Magic Ban and the subsequent jail time. Or the sheer frustration of talking to water nymphs. Gods those nymphs were idiots.

Jordan moved to sit next to him, “I agree. I mean I loved your mom. She was more helpful with advice than my own mom. And she was always-”

“There for you if you needed anything. Yet she was also chill and wouldn’t stand for nonsense.” Calix finished with a bitter smile. “Sure, breaking the Isle’s barrier is against the law. But I want her back. Guess that makes me one of the bad guys.”

Jordan slung an arm over his shoulder, inhaling deeply, “You’re not a bad guy. Neither is your mom. But did she tell you she also teamed up with Maleficent, Ursula, the Evil Queen and others to form a Coven of 13?”

Calix looked at her as if she had grown another head. “What?”

Jordan forced herself to look him in the eyes as she delivered the news, “Yes. I heard it straight from FG’s mouth. As well as my mom and dad’s. The villains have their powers back and have been trying to break the barrier.”

Calix stuttered, which made Jordan more uneasy than she would have liked, she had never seen Calix seems so flustered, “Sh-she didn’t tell me that. She didn’t even tell me that she had her powers back.”

Jordan nodded, rubbing his back in what she hoped was in a comforting way, “It’s true. And King Ben wants me to create a team to help stop them.” “You’re leading a team?” Calix let out a slightly hysterical laugh which Jordan hoped was a sign that he was trying to keep calm and he wasn’t going to snap into some sort of psychosis.

“Yes, I am.” Jordan forced herself to keep her voice even and calm, and not reveal how she personally felt that she was too underprepared to lead anyone. Much less save the kingdom.

“And I want you on my team. You’re my number two partner in crime.” Jordan smiled.

That seemed to snap him out of his shocked mood a little bit.

“Number two?” Calix huffed. 

“Aziz is coming. You’re regalated to number two partner in crime.” Jordan explained, “Besides if you’re with us, maybe we can convince your mom to help us against the rest of the Coven and so she’ll come back to Auradon as a hero. We all will be heroes if we succeed.”

Calix cracked a small smile, “You can count on me. I’ll be your right hand man.”

“Number two man.” Jordan corrected seeing that it was an appropriate moment to ease back to their usual banter.

“Number two and on your right hand side.” Calix added.

“That’s not how it works.” Jordan shook her head.

“I can be both!”

[awesomeblockchain]

I bent down, rested my knees on a prayer cushion, and began typing into a small computer. In front of me were dozens of candles, flowers, Japanese lucky cat figurines, and several wallet-sized picture frames. They held photos of Vitalik Buterin, the Canadian programmer who cofounded the computing platform Ethereum, as well as of Satoshi Nakamoto, a man in his 60s with the same name as the founder of Bitcoin. He was misidentified as its creator by Newsweek in 2014; because no one knows what the actual Nakamoto looks like, the California man's image has continued to serve as a stand-in.

At the altar, a message on a small computer screen prompted visitors to write prayers to the real Nakamoto, which were then algorithmically transformed into random private keys, which were in turn used to guess the password that unlocks the Bitcoin inventor's abandoned cryptocurrency fortune-estimated to be worth over $8 billion. I entered in a halfhearted prayer, waited a few beats, and was greeted with a message: "I'm sorry my child. You are not the chosen one. Have more faith in the HODL. Spread the good word of decentralization."

The artist collective Vapor Ants conceived of the shrine as a commentary on the near-religious fervor that devotees have for blockchain technology, which they believe will transform the internet and global economy. The interactive art piece was displayed at the Ethereal Summit, a two-day conference hosted at Brooklyn's Knockdown Center by ConsenSys, one of the most prominent companies betting that blockchain tech, and Ethereum specifically, will disrupt nearly every industry imaginable. Ethereum differs from Bitcoin in that it allows for a variety of applications-and even other cryptocurrencies-to be built on top of it, like how apps are built on top of the World Wide Web. ConsenSys plans for a future where Ethereum-based apps eclipse the web as we know it, creating what it calls Web 3.0.

The two-day, $1200-a-person conference was hosted at an art and performance space in Queens, and served as the start of New York's blockchain week, which includes a series of other events-including a conference confusingly called Consensus, hosted by the publication CoinDesk. Attendees included plenty of young men in their 20s and 30s, but also lots of women, and a fair number of people who looked to be retirement age. Think of Ethereal as Google I/O or Microsoft Build, which both also took place last week, but for Ethereum.

'This is either the biggest scam or the most undervalued asset in humanity. It could still be either way.'

Ronny Chieng, The Daily Show

To strain the analogy a bit, it also helps to think of ConsenSys as the Google of blockchain tech. The company has its hands in nearly every aspect of the Ethereum landscape, the same way the tech giant dominates most facets of the digital economy. ConsenSys has nearly 1000 official employees, some of whom work on projects related to supply chains, real estate, music, journalism, and other industries. But the heart of its business is in developing foundational blockchain tools, which can then be utilized by other companies, like how Google developed Gmail, Google Drive, and Google Cloud. So far, Consensys' offerings include uPort, a tool for managing user identity, as well as Truffle, an Ethereum development framework, and more.

The company was founded in 2015 by Joseph Lubin, a Canadian entrepreneur and a cofounder of Ethereum. His net worth is estimated to be over $1 billion, amassed from investing in ether, Ethereum's cryptocurrency, before it gained traction. Lubin's personal fortune helps to bankroll the company's ventures.

Perhaps befitting of its name, Ethereal hosted mostly vague talks, including several that might leave blockchain skeptics unconvinced. The tech's great promise is that it will decentralize the internet, putting power back into the hands of the people. When you transact with a traditional bank, it's in charge of keeping track of who you send money to and when. But with blockchains, that information is verified and stored by everyone on the network, stripping institutions like banks of their historical power. That's why no single person controls Bitcoin, and it's not regulated by an entity like the Federal Reserve. Sometimes, though, it's unclear how that tech applies to many of the things blockchain believers say it can disrupt. Or how it can improve on the status quo.

One Ethereal's first sessions was led by the founders of Viant, a ConsenSys project designed to disrupt supply chains. Attendees nibbled on yellowfish tuna that had been tracked using Viant's blockchain app all the way from Fiji, where it was caught. It's heartening to think of a future where you can know exactly where your food came from, but also hard to see how Viant's tech differs entirely from, say, what UPS uses to track packages. Even if entries into the blockchain are permanent and verified, it's not clear what would stop bad actors in the supply chain from fudging them in the first place.

Ethereal also featured speakers from outside of ConsenSys, like Yorke Rhodes, a blockchain engineer from Microsoft, who spoke about the power of blockchain tokens, and Amber Baldet, a bonafide cryptocurrency celebrity and the former blockchain lead at J.P. Morgan, who primarily discussed the importance of privacy.

Ethereal's attendees, by design, were not fully insulated from skeptics cautious of blockchain's power to transform the world. During one session, Ronny Chieng, a correspondent from The Daily Show, debated Lubin over the hype and promises of the cryptocurrency industry. It was the second time the pair had sparred; Lubin came on Chieng's show in December.

Chieng argued that decentralized technologies have long existed, like BitTorrent, a file-sharing platform developed in 2005. Lubin retorted that the platform had been stigmatized, and that now was the right time for decentralized tech to really flourish. Chieng wouldn't relent. "This is either the biggest scam or the most undervalued asset in humanity. It could still be either way," he said.

The conference also offered ample distractions, including a meditation session lead by Deepak Chopra, a prominent alternative medicine guru. "Blockchain is a construct," Chopra said to an audience of 75 or so attendees. In fairness, he later added that everything else in the world is a construct too, aside from our "awareness." Chopra gracefully answered a question from one audience member, who asked whether he saw connections between the Ethereum blockchain, yoga, and awakening one's chakras. "I like the idea that blockchain can address all needs," he responded, in part.

Lubin spoke last at Ethereal, before the event's closing art auction. In a t-shirt reminiscent of something one would wear to Burning Man, Lubin explained how blockchain technology will allow all of us to become "well-educated, festival-going gamers." Once the tokenized-utopia arrives, he said, everyone will have more time to develop their personal interests as well as socialize. That's been the promise of nearly every iteration of new technology, but so far, it hasn't come to fruition.

'Blockchain is a construct.'

Deepak Chopra

Ultimately, we'll expand our species beyond Earth, according to Lubin's vision. The entrepreneur, who is in his 50s, spoke in short, endearing sentences, sprinkled with plenty of "ums." He said ConsenSys was an "experiment," and that after Web 3.0 will come Web 4.0, in which artificially intelligent agents will enter into contracts on our behalf.

The audience acted mostly unsurprised by the speech, though it booed at the mention of some of today's leading tech platforms, like Uber and Airbnb. -They're just resource aggregators," Lubin said, dismissing them.

"He's Steve Jobs times times 100, when this is all said and done," an attendee nearby said of Lubin as his speech was closing.

The closing auction was hosted by Codex, a platform that uses-what else-the Ethereum blockchain to register and catalog art. Proceeds from the event went to the Foundation for Arts Blockchain, a group that funds artists whose work incorporates blockchain tech. One piece, a white canvas with HODL-a term that signifies holding onto cryptocurrency instead of selling it-printed on it in red went for $8,000.

The final item up for bid: an exclusive Cryptokitty designed by Guilherme Twardowski, director of art for the game Cryptokitties, which is kind of like the digital equivalent of Beanie Babies. Users trade and breed digital cats on the Ethereum blockchain. More valuable kitties have rare traits, like say, green eyes. Getting a rare kitty is kind of like capturing a rare Pok\cE9mon in Pok\cE9mon GO.

As bids for the Cryptokitty crept above $100,000, a group of attendees wearing shirts that read "ARTISTS DESERVE MORE" cheered and hugged one another. The digital feline sold for $140,000.

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[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: At the World Trade Center, a Familiar Tale of a Developer Exploiting Artists

Artworks by Stickymonger, Duda, Sonni, and Lauren YS on the 69th floor of Four World Trade Center (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic unless otherwise noted)

What would you do if offered the opportunity to create and exhibit work at the top of one of the world’s most prominent buildings? For 50 or so artists given that chance at Four World Trade Center, the choice was obvious, even if it meant paying for all involved costs out of their own pockets, with zero compensation guaranteed. Starting last summer, they painted their visions on the tower’s 69th floor, one of the building’s last unfinished areas, which would otherwise have stood quiet and dull. But now, unwittingly for some, their art may serve as office decoration, following a convoluted sequence of events that exemplifies the infamously murky relationship between the worlds of art and real estate.

Logan Hicks’s mural, “Travel North,” before and during his buffing of the wall (photos courtesy the artist)

The creations now color the sky-high, raw space — literally, with pieces painted directly on its concrete walls, posters wheatpasted on columns, intricate adhesives covering windows, and floor paintings. They’re rendered in the style and spirit of street art, except here, 850 feet above street level, with unparalleled views of Lower Manhattan and the rare blessing of the building’s developer, Silverstein Properties. And much of it will soon belong to Spotify, which recently secured the 34,000-square-foot floor as part its 15-year lease on the tower’s top 11 levels, which are set to become its new New York City headquarters. While the billion-dollar music-streaming service has in the past commissioned local street artists to enliven its offices, this time its future home comes pre-packaged with a lot of this decor — for free.

Four World Trade Center opened in 2013. Although artists understood that the 69th floor would eventually be leased, news of a high-profile company signing for it less than a year after they finished painting was unexpected to many. Silverstein Properties publicly shared the news in mid-February but has still not made an official announcement to the artists, many of whom found out only through a New York Times exclusive on the 69th floor gallery. The London-based artist Fanakapan, for one, was not aware of the news until Hyperallergic reached out to him last week. He and a number of artists are now seeking compensation for pieces never intended to be permanent, much less to be adopted as corporate interior decoration without their consent and at their expense.

Many saw the opportunity to work in Four World Trade Center as an honor; an exceptional privilege to be part of the rebirth of the complex. A number of artists Hyperallergic spoke with said they signed onto the project as they believed they were making temporary work for a tightly curated exhibition under the working title, Streets to Towers: Life in NYC, purportedly set to open on September 11, 2016, to coincide with a 15th anniversary memorial ceremony organized by Silverstein Properties. No such event ever occurred; the developer now markets the display under the incongruous title, 69th Floor Graffiti Artists, according to promotional materials Hyperallergic received. The works on view today include everything from touching tributes to 9/11 victims and survivors to a sensual painting of a topless woman and various portraits of CEO Larry Silverstein.

Portraits of Larry Silverstein by Chris RWK and Sonni with foam board figure by Brolga

Hugo Bastidas, “Portraits: Larry Silverstein”

“That project was presented to me as a standalone extension of the World Trade Gallery,” artist Logan Hicks told Hyperallergic, referring to the family-owned gallery near the tower. “There was minimal mention of Larry Silverstein and Silverstein Properties. I spent close to $3,000 on getting stencils cut, plus volunteered my time and effort —something I did knowingly and without hesitation when I thought it was for a 9/11 ceremony to honor those from the 9/11 events. On Silverstein’s side … there was no materials, no logistical support, nothing.” He accused the developer of intentionally using the artwork to “show the space to potential business interests, and potential renters.

“So our art became a sales tactic for them,” he added. “Way I see it, they exploited the emotional attachment to the 9/11 events to line their pockets.”

On February 25, he asked his friend to help him remove the large-scale mural of Times Square at night that he had painted with his son last September. It was soon replaced by Ben Angotti‘s painting of the aforementioned nude woman. Other artists are now considering following the example set by Hicks, including Bushwick Collective’s Chris Stain and Joe Iurato, who together painted a larger-than-life portrait of a construction worker helping rebuild one of the World Trade Center towers, based on a photograph.

Joe Iurato and Chris Stain’s mural, “The Rising” (2016), with Jack Fox’s “Take Time”

Ben Angotti, “Sonic Elation” (2017)

“This was a very special project for me,” Iurato told Hyperallergic. “I worked at the World Trade Center briefly in 2001, as a volunteer at the Windows On The World wine class. I’d left just a few months prior to 9/11. Going there to paint this mural would be my first time returning to the site since. It was important to me that the work paid tribute to 9/11 while also honoring the resilience of the people of NYC.

“After giving it thought, Chris and I both feel that our mural does not belong in the environment of an entertainment company. It just doesn’t reflect our reasoning for painting the piece in the first place, and it doesn’t feel right to leave it. … Had I known the work was going to remain on the wall once the floor was occupied, or that it was potentially going to be used for marketing purposes, I would’ve approached everything differently including the concept and cost.”

Silverstein Properties is allowing artists to paint over their art, but doing so requires volunteering more of their personal time and money. For Stickymonger, who spent all of last summer spreading her giant vinyl stickers across the floor’s windows, the effort wouldn’t be worth it. It would also mean about $5,000 essentially spent for naught, which she covered with the help of three sponsors.

“I am just too tired to be mad at this point,” she told Hyperallergic, adding that she had been told to prepare for an interview with Fox on September 11 that never happened. “It’s so disappointing that Spotify gets all the artwork for free and the artists were put aside while they were negotiating. I will never take my installation down as it will take a couple of days for me to tear down, which means another time investment.”

Stickymonger, “Cosmic Tower” (2016)

Works by Stickymonger and Conrad Stojak

The idea for art on the 69th floor began as a casual conversation between Doug Smith, the owner of World Trade Gallery, and Silverstein Properties’s Chief Marketing Officer Dara McQuillan. Situated near the World Trade Center complex, Smith’s gallery primarily represents street artists. It also houses a frame shop, which handles a lot of Silverstein Properties’s framing needs.

About a year ago, McQuillan visited the store for business but also noticed the art on view. He told Smith he could offer his artists a larger canvas under certain conditions: they’d have to work for free since Silverstein Properties has no budget for art; and the works accepted had to remain with the building since the canvas being offered, of course, was the blank surfaces of raw commercial real estate. Yet, there was also no guarantee of permanence, since any future tenant would have full control over the floor’s architecture. In return for the artists’ efforts, they would receive media publicity and could invite friends, family, and collectors up to view their work. Smith, excited at the prospect, told him there’d be no problem finding interested artists.

“Silverstein Properties’s goal is to bring in some of the world’s top companies to rent space,” McQuillan told Hyperallergic. “In the meantime, we’re happy for artists to use the raw space until companies rent space in the building.”

Marcus Robinson’s studio on the 66th floor of Four World Trade Center

Silverstein Properties has actually housed artists in the World Trade Center towers for over a decade, providing them with free studio space worth millions of dollars in jaw-dropping settings. In what seems like a dream situation, these unofficial artists-in-residence retain full ownership of all work created, are allowed to invite collectors to see the space, and keep all profits made, according to McQuillan. Painters Marcus Robinson and Todd Stone have occupied the 66th and 67th floors, respectively, of Four World Trade Center since it opened. They used to work in Seven World Trade Center, painting scenes of the complex’s reconstruction, until their floors were leased to tenants. Now that Spotify is taking over floors 62 through 72, Robinson and Stone, along with a small group of other artists, will migrate once more to Three World Trade Center when it opens next spring, along with all their paintings.

And therein lies the root of the conflict on the 69th floor, where the artworks are immovable and available for whoever moves in. The impetus for the inviting artists to transform the space may have been, as Smith asserted, “altruistic,” but numerous are the cautionary tales of developers coopting art — particularly street art — as advertisement. To give just a handful of examples: the narrative has played out around a Detroit landmark; around a Philadelphia condo-to-be; and over and over again in New York City, from a pop-up art show in the Bronx to a prominent mural in Dumbo to a shrewd attempt to capitalize on 5pointz. To believe that real estate moguls don’t consider artworks on their properties to be assets would be acutely naive.

“The amazing thing about Spotify is that they fell in love with the art and they’re going to design around it,” McQuillan told Hyperallergic. “The art that was done this summer and this fall is going to be there forever as part of their space. Maybe it was a factor … I certainly think it might have helped enhance the building.” He emphasized that Silverstein has never had an art budget and has no plans to compensate the artists. Hyperallergic has reached out to Spotify to ask if the company will pay the artists whose work is incorporated into their office décor, but has not received a response.

“Untitled” by UR New York and “Threshold Apprehension” by Hellbent

“Spotify has worked with ‘street artists’ to decorate their previous offices and those artists were paid, so I would guess they know that this stuff is not free,” artist Hellbent told Hyperallergic. “Since it is done, how do you retroactively put a price on the art? Some artists are at different levels and there will be different price points, and it just seems very hard to make all parties happy after the fact, which is why this is [usually] all done before paint hits the wall.” As a firsthand witness to the September 11 attacks, he created his patterned works as a small tribute to those affected by that day, also for the purported Streets to Towers exhibition.

“I will more than likely remove my work before Spotify moves in,” Hellbent added. “If they are interested in working with me they can contact me directly unless some sort of deal is brokered between the artists and them.”

Others still are more than happy for the new tenant to keep their work, particularly a high-profile company like Spotify. Although they may have eaten costs and essentially given away works worth thousands, or even tens of thousands of dollars, some of the artists believe the recognition they receive will ultimately repay their investments.

“I mean, we all know what kinds of executives they’re going to bring through,” Sean Sullivan, who works as Layercake, told Hyperallergic. “Record executives, musicians, all sorts of people there. Word of mouth is the best form of advertising.

“To do a project on the 69th floor of the World Trade Center has been beneficial to a lot of us,” he added. “You’ve gotta be pretty dumb not to think the floor’s not going to get rented out eventually, and that whoever probably took it wasn’t going to want the artwork. Of course they’re going to want the artwork. But never did Silverstein say they were ever going to use it for marketing to rent the place.”

Murals by Bradley Theodore, Layer Cake, and WhIsBE

Sonni, “21 Characters”

The timeline of events, to some, suggests a dubious story. According to several artists, including Sullivan, they had to finish their creations by the anniversary date. Many, like Stickymonger, had the impression that there was going to be an exhibition opening on September 11 with plenty of media in attendance. They rushed to finish their works, but no event ever happened. Spotify was touring the space around that time; the company signed the lease in January.

Robert Marcucci, a consultant working with Silverstein Properties, said the September date was set simply “to get a completion date for this stuff. Because we wanted it to get concentrated, to have it done so we could do something with it.

“Everything just was thrown into the pot. We didn’t know what was going to really become of this until it started really percolating,” he added. “And we had all sorts of people with input, all sorts of curators come in. It was a wonderful, cool, happening thing. Things got convoluted, got mixed up here and there, but it’s just such an adventure.” Marcucci’s official title, on the plaques accompanying each artwork on view on the 69th floor, is “Executive in Charge of Production.” Some artists never worked directly with him and believed he was simply a building manager.

Ron English, “No Brain No Pain” (2016)

Around September of last year, Silverstein Properties executives had also started approving more space for art, and the curators — including Joshua Geyer and Brooklyn Museum curatorial assistant Caitlin Crews — introduced more unpaid artists, often through informal invitations. While the artists Smith had initially brought on had to fill out an application form and explain how they would illustrate the concept of Streets to Towers, the only guidelines later participants were given, according to McQuillan, was to be respectful of the space. (All participating artists also had to sign a “temporary access and license agreement” with Silverstein Properties that let them more easily enter the high-security premises.)

Artist Ian Ferguson, who works as Hydeon, said he was simply offered a section that he covered with black-and-white paintings of brownstone façades. He was happy to exchange his 80 or 90 hours of free labor for the rare opportunity to work outside of his small Brooklyn apartment and up in the World Trade Center.

“I would have loved to get paid, of course, but for me it was more about the future exposure and future opportunities my mural would lead me to,” he told Hyperallergic, saying he appreciates Spotify’s interest in the art. “I never felt misled … I never felt like it was just some ‘free decoration’ for them … I feel like I’m still an undiscovered artist, and for me it was all about the opportunity/exposure.”

Iurato, who with Stain put in hundreds of dollars to create their 9/11 tribute mural, sees the situation differently. “Being an artist is often a very undervalued profession, where it’s very easy to go broke and fall short of your goals because people think you’ll just do it for ‘exposure,'” he said. “It seems everyone has a wall to paint or a place to hang a painting, where lots of people walk by, and that could bring great exposure and lead to commissions. But what they’re really saying is they want some art and don’t want to pay for it. Artists all go through it, and sometimes it’s just hard to say no.”

Installation of Kimyon Huggins’s piece, “Dakini Wonderland”

Murals by Dominic Pattinson, Dimension, and David Hollier, with sculpture by Savior Elmundo

As the months passed, artists were largely left in the dark about the fates of their works, with some still expecting an official unveiling or at least for curators to organize public visiting hours. Hicks accuses Smith of misleading him and others by remaining silent as the project’s concept strayed from the original vision he was pitched. The gallerist, he said, provided ambiguous answers to his inquiries about the Streets to Towers show, repeatedly saying he was hoping for something to happen. Hicks personally had no idea potential tenants were even touring the space, which he had believed was empty because Smith had received a special grace period for the project.

“Why not keep the artists updated with the facts of what is going on?” Hicks said. “To this day there is not a comprehensive list of artists who painted on that floor. It’s another case of a corporation thinking they are doing artists a favor by ‘allowing’ them to put up their work, while not considering the time, effort, or cost that went into creating the pieces.”

Invitation to private opening reception of the 69th floor gallery, with artwork by Fanakapan (image courtesy Silverstein Properties)

McQuillan told Hyperallergic that a website for the project is forthcoming, as is an opening event set for April 5 to celebrate the art and thank the artists. The event will welcome not only artists, their friends, family, and dealers, but also media, to ensure participants get publicity and acknowledgement for their work. The invitation for the opening features a photo of one of Fanakapan’s realist paintings, and although it’s prominently stamped with the Silverstein Properties logo, credit to the artist is absent.

Silverstein Properties has encouraged artists to bring reporters up to promote their own art, according to McQuillan. They had to wait, however, until the Times received the big media exclusive — what was essentially “a fluff piece” for the developer, Hicks said, with little focus on the art, and served “as a mouthpiece of saying, Look how fucking great our property is. Top-class tenants like Spotify are renting here.” He blames Smith for not properly informing artists of the floor’s developments. As an organizer who actually knows the art world, the gallerist “is in the position of doing something that advocates for the artists and their time and resources devoted to the project,” Hicks said. “But I’ve not seen any vocal opposition come out.”

To Smith, the 69th floor had always simply been an incredible showroom for his clients and prospective clients to see how artists may work on large-scale projects. If miscommunication occurred between him and some individuals, he said, it was due to time management issues and him juggling the project on top of his job at the gallery.

“My goal really hasn’t changed,” Smith told Hyperallergic. “My vision is, put amazing art in an amazing location with these incredible views, and good things will come of it. We’ll get some sales. But with any big project, it just kept growing. Many of the original ideas are really still on track, except the timeline changed.”

Chris RWK, “In the Big City”

Basil, “Perservere” and works by Brolga

Sales have happened. At least two artists reported selling pieces as a direct result of their work at Four World Trade Center. In less than a year, the 69th floor has transformed from art show to showroom; while artists are certainly receiving at least exposure, as time wears on, it’s painfully clear that for their billionaire hosts, quantity outweighs quality, and brand image trumps artistic integrity.

“[Silverstein executives] are now trying to cram as much ‘art’ in there as they can as they think that is what is supposed to happen,” Hellbent told Hyperallergic. “What made the original project really great was that it was curated around a theme and there was high talent level. … In the last week some more shit was stuffed into every bit of naked wall or floor. I think that dilutes the quality of the original idea.”

It’ll be about a year until Spotify’s architects touch the space, by which time the 69th floor may look entirely different depending on what additions and subtractions transpire. Perhaps the music company will do business with some of the artists involved and pay them for new commissions to brighten up its 10 other, unadorned floors. The company has already worked with at least one of them, a few years ago: Spotify previously hired Chris RWK to paint its offices, twice. The Robots Will Kill founder hadn’t been told that the 69th floor was going to be rented when he painted his signature android-like figures on its elevator bank, thinking it was being used for photo shoots or events. Still, he doesn’t want to buff out his efforts — which means that the music company’s third set of Chris RWK works will be freebies.

“I personally was driven by emotion for the project,” Chris RWK said. “I definitely understand that Silverstein is a large corporation with money and that Spotify is also.

“At this point,” he added, “if there was compensation, how would it be judged? The project is done, and my artwork is high above the city I love.” It’s a quandary created by those who never considered such concerns at the outset; finding a solution to it was never part of their agenda.

Lauren YS, “Flying Stripes” with Cern, “We Trust More Than We Hate”

Installation view of the 69th floor gallery

Painting by Erasmo with Sonni’s “21 Characters”

Miguel Ovalle’s in-progress sculpture with L.E.G. and Itaewon’s “Light Print”

Work by Frank Ape

Dru Blumensheid, “Do Humans Dream of Electric Sheep”

BoogieRez, “Optimistic Rebel”

Rubin 415, “II”

Installation view of the 69th floor of 4 World Trade Center

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