#should fix it up when I get home don’t like how the white gel pen looks

[blood-and-breath]

flesh <3

[edgeofmyniall]

The Arrival: Part One

Poppy Horan knew two things: one, life sucks in the manner of doing taxes and avoiding death at all costs, and two, she would rather stick a dull, rusty spoon in her eye than to get out of the car. 

Poppy sits in her car as the white crystals fade down on the steaming metal. Even though the heat was on high, she still feels the biting wind through her car. In reality, Poppy knew her heating system works perfectly fine , but it is the anxiety that makes her bones shiver under the many layers of clothes that she’s bundled in. The steering wheel seems to almost freeze under her gloved hand as she grips it tighter. With her elbow propped on the middle console, her other gloved hand taps her temple rhythmically as she awaits for the dreaded moment to appear. She couldn’t help to feel that her skin was ice. 

She looks out the window when a pair of headlights pulls onto the snow covered street and without realization, her heart skips. The car slows as it passes her own and that sudden fleeting moment of hope or despair, Poppy didn’t know, went as quickly as it came. 

 It isn’t often that Poppy is able to sit and enjoy the weather, but as she reflects on her life and tries to convince herself to go inside where her friends are waiting for the rest of the party to join, she can’t help but to hate the position she’s in now. 

Because if she got an invite, so did he.

That’s what happens when you marry inside the friend group. You get invited to places and events together even if the two parties are, in fact, divorced. 

To give her friend’s the benefit of the doubt, Poppy knows that none of them have the slightest clue about the divorce. There were merely just rumors and claims floating around news articles and social media. None of them know about the constant fighting and the arguing that ensued all hours of the night when Niall would come home late smelling of perfume that Poppy would never dare wear. The crying turned into silent treatments that remained until they both signed their names on the piece of paper that quoted irreconcilable differences as the reason why the two should no longer be together. 

Would Niall bring her? The woman he left Poppy for? He couldn’t be that naive to bring the absolute chaos to Justin’s wake, but it would be like Niall to pop the surprise on every one at a time that they least expected it. Poppy had thought about calling the closest hotel to book a room, but what if Niall had done the same thing? Would he bring the bottle of wine that made Poppy first question the health of their relationship?

Her finger taps on the window trigger, debating if she should at least step out for a quick smoke. She hated the thought of the musky smell lingering where his cologne still hung to the leather almost as if she was ruining the memory of Niall. The Niall that once loved her. Poppy sighs before shutting down the engine and steps out into the winter morning. The quiet suburban street watches Poppy as her car chirps at her. She leans her back on her passenger door and lights up a cigarette, breathing in the nicotine. Her body falls into an ease, letting the tense aches of her muscles to relax and her hand finds the two silver rings that hang around her neck. She keeps them on a low chain, a secret that only she knows about, not daring to let the world know of her failure and shame that she couldn’t make a love like the romance novels work. They had been picture perfect in almost every way before she gave up the fight. As her fingers play with the cool metal, her mind wanders into a place that is dangerous: 

The past.

Five Years Ago

“And do you, Niall James Horan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The priest looks over to Niall who stands proud in his tuxedo as he looks his bride in the eyes before he answers the easiest question with a smile. 

“Yes.” 

“And do you, Penelope Jane Myers take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest turns to Penelope who is glowing from happiness as she looks at the man of her dreams. The world stops turning as she takes in this moment: the way the one curl of Niall’s hair won’t stay in place no matter the amount of gel he uses, the way his blue eyes are shining at her, the small croak of his voice when he read his vows of the crumpled, folded paper- a sure sign that he had rewritten everything he was trying to say. They had spent months planning the wedding: getting the invitations right, the seating charts, the ordering of decorations. Niall insisted that Poppy make the whole idea of the wedding a big deal, but over and over again she told Niall, “I could care less about what it looks like as long as I’m with you. Forever. That’s all that matters.”

In hindsight, she should have known better. She looked at Niall for the last time as a single man before saying, “I do.” 

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Niall cupped Poppy’s cheeks and pulled her in swiftly for a kiss that would seal the promise they both made before the crowd and God.

When they finally reached the small room upstairs after walking out of the chapel, they breathed a sigh of relief. They were both nervous to start their lives as a married couple even though for them nothing changed except for the legal matters. Niall never asked Poppy to sign a prenup. She had helped Niall start his business up so he felt that she should get at least half of everything that he had because without her support and encouragement, they would not be where they are today. 

“I’ll call Sam in the morning to get everything set up at the office. You just need to come by whenever to sign the papers,” Niall whispered as his hands rested on the crook of Poppy’s hips. Her heart fluttered as Niall caressed the falling brown tendril out of her face.

“I don’t need any of that. Just you is all I want,” Poppy breathes, her breath hitching as Niall kisses her fully, his tongue tasting of mint. 

“I love you times infinity, my darling. Forever.”

Forever came sooner than intended. On the breath of an everlasting promise, the word forever suffocated and shattered all over the hands that tried to keep a marriage from falling apart. 

“Jesus, Penelope, you’re still going at it with those things?” A sudden familiar voice pulls Penelope out of the dream she was reliving. Her hand clutches the rings as she throws out the half lit cigarette, her heart racing. “You’ll end up killing yourself with those.”

Niall stood in the snow just a few feet from her in a gray trench coat with snowflakes that had caught in his hair from the short distance he walked from across the street. The week old scruff and dark circles under his eyes were a given sign of no sleep. Stocks had fallen and the business hadn’t been doing so well in the past couple of months. There had been frantic emails that Poppy was still receiving about emergency meetings from the decline of sales. The board of directors, including Poppy, were called to meet in person to discuss options. Niall had always poured his heart and soul into his work so much so that two had become one, and now as he stands in front of his ex-wife, she witnesses the perfect example of an ill fated work marriage. His body seems to want to lunge forward, to wrap his arms around his once best friend, but he stops himself and looks at the woman with the permanent sad face. “How are you?”

“Been better,” Poppy, still clutching the rings in her hand, turns to her ex-husband. His hands were stuffed into the silk pockets as the cloud of breath left his body. He looked irritated at best, like coming to one of his best friend’s wake was an inconvenience to him, but that was no longer Poppy’s worry. “You look like shit.”

It was a lie, a false statement that she said aloud to convince herself to stop looking at him in the way she once did. He looks just as good as the day she met him. 

~

Seven Years Ago

Poppy trudged against the rain, hoping to make it to her professor’s office on time. She had been running late due to the fact that she overslept after pulling an all nighter to finish the essay that was due only a few minutes from now. Pen and paper, the professor had said, he would not accept anything less than pen and paper. She had only five minutes to cross the muddy lawn and enter the building only to run up three flights of stairs to hand in the paper in person to either her professor or the aide. Her heart racing, she ran as fast as she could across the slippery grass that would only stain her sneakers that she had gotten from her mom on her past birthday. She hated running across the grime, but it was the fastest route to get to the gray stone building that lurked over her, awaiting for her to fail. Stepping inside the building, Poppy nearly slipped on the mat that was wrinkled on the newly polished floor. Her shoes squeaked as she began the trek upstairs taking one last look at the elevator in hopes that someone had fixed it after all the days it had been broken. The faded paper sign was still hanging on the metal doors as Poppy’s heart lurched forward. Three minutes left and the biggest grade she needed was about to be late.

A group of freshmen descended down the stairs in a form that could only be the walk of shame. They didn’t move over to let Poppy pass so she let them push past her. Her back arching into the railing as she watched the clock tick forward. It was as if time stood still in the final seconds of her deadline. Finally free, she ran as fast as she could, pushing past students and professors, unbeknownst to her she nearly pushed over her own, and left wet puddles on the floor when she reached the darkened office of her professor. Closing her eyes, she sighed as she slid down the wall facing the office. Bringing her knees to her chest, she dropped her head in the sanctuary of her ownself and began to cry softly. She hadn’t made it on time and surely now, she would fail the class she needed the most to graduate. 

A small whistle came from around the corner. Poppy peered over her arms with blurry eyes to see the aide coming back to the office. He hadn’t noticed one of his students on the ground when he turned the key. As he turned the lights on in his small office, he quickly grabbed his jacket that he had come back for. It was when he was leaving that he saw the tear stained face of one Penelope Myers. 

“Penelope, what are you doing here?” Niall squatted down in front of Poppy and offered a hand to help her up. His touch was gentle as Poppy stood and wiped her tears. “I’m too late, aren’t I? Now I’ll never graduate on time and I’ll have to repeat the class again and hope to God I’ll never oversleep again which is a big, fat lie to you, me and God himself.” Niall cupped Poppy’s arm and gently squeezed.

“Late?”

“The paper. The one that’s worth half my grade? I’m late.”

“Do you have it?” Niall asked as he looked Poppy in her reddened eyes. “Why does it matter? It’s late. Professor Lawernce won’t approve of it. First rule of his stupid syllabus.” 

“Do you have it?” Niall asked again. His blue eyes seemed to flicker as a smile crept onto his face. Now was not the time to laugh at Poppy’s failure. 

“Yes, but it’s probably wet from the stupid fucking rain.” 

“Let me see it,” Niall smiled. Poppy’s brow furrowed in confusion, but bent down to retrieve the paper anyways. Only the corners seemed to have gotten wet and as she gave her essay to the man who comforted her, her heart raced. Tapping his watch with his finger, Niall says, “By the looks of my watch, it says you’re right on time.” He winked and turned to place Poppy’s essay in the mix of the other essays that had been turned in on time. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Poppy didn’t realize what she was doing until she had done it. She wrapped her arms around Niall and buried her face inside the crook of his neck, taking in the deep musk of his cologne. “You are a lifesaver Niall. I owe you big time.” Poppy pulled away suddenly and straightened her clothes as Niall’s gentle grasp lingered. She hadn’t wanted to let go. 

“You can treat me to some drinks later on. My friends and I are going down to a local pub and you buy me a round and we’ll call it even.” Niall extended his hand so Poppy could shake on their business agreement. 

“The name’s Poppy, by the way,” she said after shaking her newfound friend. A thought of what his lips taste like lingered in her brain. “Only my grandma calls me Penelope. It’s too old for me.” 

Niall turns to lock his office door and smiles, “Old or not, I like it.”

“You might want to put those on,” Niall nods to Poppy’s closed hand. “Still gives the facade.” Poppy swallows the last bit of pride that she has left and nods. Her hands shake, not from the cold, but from the fact that it’s been almost a year since she last saw Niall. It was when he had the movers box all of his stuff and take it away in the moving truck that she saw him. He had gotten a tan from his vacation down in Cabo and he had thought Poppy wouldn’t be home. 

“Thought you were gone to Amelia’s so I was going to leave this instead.” Niall handed her the note and walked to his car without another word. It was when he was pulling out of their driveway that she read the scratchy handwriting on the crumbled piece of white paper:

Poppy entered the house alone and was left with all of their belongings staring at her broken heart. She could hear them laughing at her failure and every vase, picture, and wall decoration dug deep into her soul watching her as she slid down the bare white wall of their living room as she cried with rage filling her body. She never wanted these things, but Niall gave them to her anyways. He always wanted her to have the nice things in life, but Niall had been so consumed with the warped accusations and thoughts that Poppy only loved Niall for the things he gave her that he overlooked the value of their friendship and relationship. Poppy grabbed the blue and yellow vase that Niall gave her for their first year anniversary after their wedding and threw it as hard as she could against the wall that held their wedding picture. The one where he cradled Poppy’s face so delicately that one would assume she was made of glass while he looked at her with life and love, all consuming and enduring, like she was the only person in the world.

It was never the same. 

“Can you help me? I can’t seem to get it.” 

Niall sighs and walks over to his ex-wife, snow crunching under each step. He could hear his heart roaring against its cage. He had locked his heart away when it came to Penelope, tortured it for still feeling the way he does for her- for her shallow love. 

“Weather’s supposed to get bad. Heard on the news it might be a storm later on,” Poppy’s voice cracked under the slender touch of Niall’s. He’s trying to steady his breathing, to keep himself under control, but the smooth skin on the nape of Poppy’s neck brings back too many memories he thought he washed down with alcohol. 

“Since when do you watch the news, Penelope?” he quirks, a small smile growing on his face. She’s trying to make an impression that she’s grown from the divorce- that she is independent, but Niall sees through the facade. She’s always been independent in her own way, and that was one of the many things that Niall loves about Poppy. Loved. He reminded himself. He loved her. He now loves Shelby. 

“It was on the radio, meathead. I hope you know that people can change, Niall. They do it all the time.”  The way his name hangs on her lips burns her- the taste of yesterday drowning in today. He unclasps the necklace when the front door of the blue townhome opens, letting the roaring laughter and music flood into the quiet snowy street. 

“There’s the two love birds. Thought we might have missed you. Come inside before you both freeze,” the olive skinned woman that they both knew as Amelia shouted. Her shawl was wrapped around her body to hold off the harsh cold wind for the few moments her head had poked through the door. Niall’s smile vanishes as quickly as it came before Poppy turns to look at the dismal face of her ex-husband.

“Put them on quick. And put on a happy face; we’re the love birds, after all,” Niall growls as he picks up his luggage. Poppy pops the trunk open and Niall quickly takes a hold of her bag. They walk up the front stairs in silence, suitcases rolling, and before pushing the red front door that was left ajar, Niall places his hand on the crook of Poppy’s back and she swears that Niall’s eyes flickered with natural joy when she looked at him. Swallowing hard, Poppy feels as if this weekend is an endless cycle of boxing matches with the odds stacked against her, and with no one in her corner, she is about to step into the hardest round of her life.

taglist: @niallerlover​, @yourpolaroid07

[teamdoubleoh]

What fits in Men’s Pockets

Or five times Q had exactly what they needed  

Q-branch always has in stock what an agent may need - Q is not so different.

wordcount: 3477

Q branch had been all but deserted when James returned from Bangkok that night, leaving him and Q alone at Q’s desk. Bond had just returned lost some equipment and Q had made him sign some document, confirming the loss. Apparently that lost gun had been one gun too many.  

"Do you have a pen?" He asked, looking the desk over. There was Q's laptop, the desk lamp, the mug of earl grey that had been cooling for ages now and the papers themselves, but nothing else. Without looking up Q pulled a single pencil from his pocket. "There you go."

"Dear Quartermaster, you astound me! Who would have thought you even knew what a pen is. One could think you had gone full digital by now."

"Please Bond, leave the banter for times when I'm haven't been working for two days straight. Everyone knows that you don't have to fix what isn't broken. Pencils are an essential, I will admit."  

"What are you doing here anyways. Everyone else is at home with their families."

"...I  wonder why. Usually we have a skeleton crew over night...."

"Q. It’s Christmas."

"Huh. Merry Christmas Bond."

“Merry Christmas. You know what could be your gift to me?”

“You’re not getting the Aston.”

"Thats not what I meant. I have a first name, you could use it sometime. If you stop calling my Bond, I'll take you out for dinner."

“Was that supposed to be a compelling argument?”

***

Bond Eve and Q were on a mission.

It sounded like the start of a terrible joke, but was really just a rather annoying affair.

Bond was supposed to seduce someone who knew something, and he had, spectacular so. Now the woman was head over heels for him.

"I told her I wanted to break up but she woudn't listen!"

"Honestly, I was wondering why that as never happened before."

"Not helping Moneypenny."

"Just act like you’re cheating on her. That should do a great deal." murmured Q from behind his laptop. He was working on something and only here in the first place because they had needed a tech expert at the location. Eve was only here to his protection.

"Great input Q, how do I convince a woman I have know for two days that I'm cheating on her? We aren't even in a relationship!"

"... You know you could just kiss Eve in front of her of her or wear a shirt with a lipsticks stain. That should work beautifully."  

"Well, I'm not kissing you." Eve stated, voice laced with disgust.

"What, too old for you?" Bond lifted an eyebrow.

"Too male." retorted Eve.

"You know what Moneypenny? That explains so much--."

"You should be trying to find a lipstick right now 007."

"Oh right yes. Eve, may I borrow your spare lipstick? I seem to have lost mine."

"Why would I carry spare lipsticks around James."

"I don't know. Why shouldn't you."

Q looked up from his laptop. "What seems to be the problem?"

"James thinks all women carry around lipsticks all the time."

"Well. Dont you?" Q asked adjusting his glasses with his spare hand.

"Of course not. Assuming that I do that is mysogynistic Q."

"Why would that be mysogenistic? Don't people carry around stuff like that all the time? You know lipsticks, breath mints, that sort of thing?"

Eve rolled her eyes. "Do you happen to have a breath mint for me then?"

Q hesitated. "...No."

"There you go."

"But I do have a peppermint gum. And a lipstick, if you still need it." He fumbled around his parka and pulled out a small black and gold container. A lipstick, Eve realised. James eyed him with interest.

"Now I want to know why you have a lipstick. Because thats a good one. Mac isn't exactly cheap and that colour isn't for everyone."

Q sighed and handed the Lipstick to him. "Bond, please refrain from commenting my appearance. I know I look young for my age, you've told me before."

"Only when you stop calling me Bond. I have a first name you know."

"I know. I read your file, remember?"

Eve sighed and pinched thuebridge of her nose. “Fellas, if you'd be so kind. We need to ruin James’ shirt before his girlfriend finds him."

***

Q was pissed. His brother had come back from the dead.

Bond hadn't even know the Quartermaster had family, let alone a brother who knew how to fake his death and had to use his knowledge.

Yet here they were, at 2am I a dingy back alley in inner London.

The street sign read Bakerstreet and the brass lettering on the front for of the building they were about to break into informed pedestrians that this was number 221B.

Bond wasn't ignorant. They had been in Q branch, when a notification had popped up on one of the monitors. Q had grabbed his parka and James’ arm and off they were. On they way the Quartermaster had explained.

His brother had come back from the dead, had neglected to inform Q of his continued existence - something he apparently should have done ages ago - and now Bond was standing next to a furiously calm Quartermaster in the back alley of a house Q apparently knew well enough. There was only one way this night could develop.

The Quartermaster was currently looking up at the darkened windows of the first floor, obviously trying to decide between two, as his eyes flickered back and forth between them. "Alright. Bond, give me a hand will you?" he gestured up at the fire escape that was tugged away to the left side, ladder secured at the corner of the small iron balcony.

"If I'm helping ou break into your dead brothers flat you should at least start calling me James first."

"James, a hand please."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You need to lift me up so I can reach the ladder." Q pushed his glasses up his nose. If he was lucky the darkness would hide his blush. "Before you say anything, I am aware you could jump high enough to reach the ladder. Sadly that would be extremely noisy, so if you'd be so kind--"

James folded his hands together and Q put his left foot in them. "On the count of three I'm going to push myself up and you're going to throw me as hard as you can. I'll let the ladder down from above."

James nodded in confirmation. If breaking and entering was what it took to get Q to stop calling him Bond he would take it. He started to count. "One... two... three." he hoisted Q up, effectively pushing Q to the height of the balcony, where he grabbed onto the steel bars of the railing.

Q pulled himself up and climbed over it, making almost no noise. Slowly he walked to the far end of the fire escape and carefully let the latter down, until it was within James’ reach.

Thirty seconds later everything was back in place again, with the slight difference that Q and James were now standing in front of a small, milk glass window with a white painted wooden Frame. There was no lock.

Q eyes the frame for a second.

"How exactly did you plan to get in? I would lend you my lock picks but if there is no lock that doesn't exactly help." asked James, voice low.

"Don’t be silly James. I have my own lockpicks."

"Why didn't we go in trough the front door then."

"That’s tasteless. Everyone knows doors are or people with no imagination." He bent down and untied his shoelaces, slipped his shoes off and then handed them to Bond. "Hold this."

"Q what-"

Q shushed him and proceeded to pull a small crowbar from one of his parkas’ many pockets.

"Why-- " James sighed. "Nevermind."

Q smiled sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. "Now, that’s the right attitude."

Within two minutes of careful and almost-silent meddling the old frame gave in and Q and James were standing in a small bathroom.

The tiles were white, the walls olive green and there were two toothbrushes sitting in a glass on the sink next to a small container containing some kind of hair product. Next to ancient looking bathtub that doubled as a shower there was a bootle of shower gel and shampoo. It was sparse.

Q stepped towards the door, which was only halfway shut.

James followed him, careful to make no noise, as he was still wearing his shoes. They made their way to the kitchen and living room.

Q took his shoes back and sat them down near what appeared to be the front door of the small flat. Then he gestured towards the couch. James took the hint and sat down while Q made his way to another door, which was shut completely. He knocked.

James rolled his eyes and slumped into the couch. After a few seconds there was the dry rustle of fresh sheets being pushed back, then steps. The door opened and a tall man appeared in the doorway.

Standing there, in the doorframe of a bedroom at 2 am, they looked eerily similar. Q held out his hand and the other shook it.

"Sherlock."

"Q. What a joy to see you well. What is your SIS agent doing on my couch?"

***

Everyone was ecstatic. They had just completed an important mission and It was Friday night. Where else could they have ended up but a pub.

The entirety of Q-branch as well as the double-ohs, Eve and Tanner had cramped into the closest establishment, celebrating the success of the day.

Q and Eve had taken over an entire table at the very back of the pub. After half an hour Tanner had sat down too and a few minutes later even Bond had joined their small circle.

Q and Eve were arguing about someone while Bill and James were trying to understand what was going on.

"Q wants to introduce me to someone, even though he knows I'm not interested in dating right now."

Bond frowned. "Didn't you say just yesterday you were forever in love with the scary one, what’s her name --"

Q sighed. " Morgana Pendragon, Duchess of Sussex, drama queen extraordinaire. Yes. But hear me out --"

"I don’t want to date."

"Unless its the duchess, yes. But please give her a chance? I'll give you her number and you guys can text, I bet you'd love her."

"Q, unless you have Morgana Pendragon’s phone number hidden away in that ridiculous parka of yours, I won't text anyone tonight, alright?"

"...uhm." Q looked uncomfortable.

Eve stared at him. "You’re kidding."

Bill raised his eyebrows gaze flickering between the two. "Wait, what’s going on."

"Q. Please tell me you didn't hack the Buckingham palace’s wifi and stole the phone number of the King’s daughter." Eve asked, suddenly very tense. Bond couldn't tell wether it was from nervousness or excitement.

Q didn't say anything.

Bill tapped his shoulder. "Q, you didn't do that right?"

"I didn't. Why would I do that?"

Eve shrugged, a bit disappointed. "I know you've done worse things for less."

"No I mean, why would I hack the wifi."

James laughed. "Moneypenny, how much exactly has he had to drink? Because I don’t think we should be explaining tech to the quartermaster of MI6."

Eve eyed Q suspiciously. "Not that much. Q are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. But why would I hack the palace’s wifi?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "According to Eve that’s how you would get Morgana Pendragon’s number." "

I don't need to hack the wifi for that! Has all this time working with me taught you nothing? --- I have Morgana's number on my mobile. She gave it to me ages ago.”

The others stared at him in disbelief.

“Why are you looking at me like that! I have lots of numbers -- Bill, first person that comes to mind, who is it.”

Tanner, looking not at all convinced, if a little intrigued, thought for a second before blurting out. “The Prime minister.”

Q rolled his eyes. Then he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began scrolling trough the contacts. After a few seconds he turned his phone around to show it to the others. The display showed the name ‘A. Holmes’ and below it a Londoner number.

Eve sucked in a shaky breath. Bill and James turned towards her, clearly confused. Just because the name matched didn’t mean that it was actually the number of the Prime minister of England. She exhaled slowly. “Thats his number. It’s in M’s contact list.”

“Told you so.” Q huffed.

Bond seemed exited. “What about normal people! Do you know a John Hamish Watson? He saved my life in Afghanistan, few years back.”

Q scrolled trough his contacts until he found the right one, then showed it to James. “To be honest, I didn’t know his name was Hamish.”

“You know him Personally?”

”Why else would I have his number? He’s married to my brother.”

Eve took a large gulp of her drink. Bill just muttered something about a small world before emptying his beer.

James was smiling like a child on Christmas. “What else do you carry around! Do you have a knife? A screwdriver? Ohhh -- a flamethrower! Please tell me you carry around a flamethrower.”

Q looked pained but pulled out a metal cylinder. “We developed it some time ago. Can reach up to 500°C, depending on handling the reach is approximately 4 to 6 meter. Happy?”

James nodded vigorously stood, walked around the table and lifted a fumbling Q up from his chair.

“Wha--”

James smirked, carrying Q towards the door. Everyone who wasn’t entirely drunk by now stared at them in confusion. “We’re going to test out that flamethrower. Now.”

“But why do you have to carry me!”

“Because you’re the adult supervision, and because I want to.”

***

Q was in the field. He didn't like it one bit.

Contrary to what every double-oh seemed to believe he was trained as an agent, which at the time had been a simple issue of security. He was important and powerful. He had to be able to defend himself.

Now he was sneaking behind Bond trough the special security sector of the  biggest gene-manipulation company on the planet. Unofficially. Officially it was the third biggest seed producer on the market.

Q was slowly getting tired of the whole sneaking thing. Due to a week of planning, mostly filled with programming and some hacking he was now able to remote control the cameras in the building via his phone.

He had originally wanted to bring his laptop but together with the special equipment but there had been no space left in his bag what so ever.

He pressed a sequence of keys on his phone screen and the cameras in the next hallway over went dark. He gave Bond the signal for go and they went in, enabling the cameras behind them as they went.

Q searched the signs on the doors for the right one. If his calculations were correct it would be in the optimal position, laying almost at the centre of the building right below the high risk laboratories. Finally he spotted the right door and pointed, so Bond knew where they were heading. Q walked up to the door - non descriptive, generic, off-white - and opened to it and stepped inside.

The automated lights went on.

Bond, who was directly behind him stared. "Q are you sure --"

They were in the loos.

"Yes I'm sure. now help me." Q had sat down his messenger bag and was fumbling with the zipper of his black, MI6 issued tactical gear.

"My, my Quartermaster, how am I supposed to say no to that?"

Q flushed. "Not with my clothes 007, with the sink! We're going to steal it!"

"First of alI, am so coming back to that first thing later. Secondly: What?"

"The sink on the far left. Deinstall it."

"I don't have any plumbing gear, Q. I have a Walther and a com. And the com is pretty worthless when you're not on the other side."

Q’s complexion grew even darker at the flattery. "I have plumbing gear." He had finally managed to take of his jacket. He laid it out on the floor and opened a zipper at the top inner lining.

Inside there were two wrenches - apparently exactly the two sizes they needed - as well some other gear couldn't have named to save his life. They were all neatly held in place by rubber bands. Q only grabbed the jacket by the sleeves and dragged it to the very end of the room.

Q got to work, James assisting where he could, and within seven minutes the sink was laying on the floor. "What now? I'm assuming were not just here to steal this beautiful sink."

"Well we can't just leave it, can we?"

“We can't just take it either. They’ll notice it’s gone by tomorrow morning. Which is in three hours."

Q rolled his eyes and scoffed. He picked up his bag and opened the latch. There was sink inside. It looked exactly like the one they had just deinstalled. “It’s explosive.” Q said matter-of-factly, as though that would explain anything.

James nodded offhandedly. “You know what? I’m not even surprised.”

“Good. We have 2.75 hours left before the first shift arrives, so if you’d be so kind?”

“Of course.” James sighed.

***

James was sitting in Q branch. This was not unusual. He often hung around during off time to spend time with the minions, or so he claimed.

In reality he just shadowed Q.

It was an average Thursday night in one of the top secret services on the planet and James was tired.

Not hallucinatory tired though. He was pretty sure the blue police box had actually just appeared out of thin air.

He shrugged. This as Q branch. Q had everything under control.

"Q. A blue box just appeared out of nowhere. Should I be worried or get the kettle going?"

Q, who had just stowed away some paperwork in his desks drawers, appeared in the doorway. "Neither. He’s just here to pick something up."

"Of course love."

Q blushed and walked up the box instead. He knocked twice and waited. James stood and walked over.

"Q, love, please tell me there isn't someone inside the box."

Q rolled his eyes. "Only if you stop calling me love"

"Only if you agree to go get dinner with me."

The door opened. An old man with a shock of white hair stepped out. Behind him was a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties.

"Doctor please tell me we're not-"

"We're not."

"Then where-"

"MI6."

Her eyes went wide but she only uttered a quiet ‘Alright’ and closed the blue door behind her.

The white haired man who had just appeared out of a box which had appeared out of thin air extended his hand towards Q.

Q took it. "Nice to see you again." He said conversationally. "Bond. Meet the Doctor. Doctor, meet Bond."

The doctor nodded at James.

James nodded at the doctor.

The doctor scoffed. "I thought you Englisch were supposed to be polite." His accent was thick and clearly Scottish.

James smiled thinly. It was his I-am-amused-but-i-don’t-show-it smile. "I'm Scottish." He let some of his accent shine through.

Q turned to the girl. She wore a leather jacket and jeans and her coily hair was braided down the back of her head. "I'm Bill. I’m just tagging along."

James put his head to one side. "Nice to meet you Bill. I'm Bond. James Bond."

Q Rolled his eyes.

"And this--" James continued, "--is the lovely Q. He won't go on a date with me, although he clearly want to, so I call him love until he agrees." Bill nodded and turned to the doctor. "Why are we here again?"

"Do I need an excuse to visit some friend and-" he looked Bond over, "-friends of friends?"

"Yes. We were in the middle of something, remember? The puddle? My trapped girlfriend?"

The Doctor rubbed the palms of his hands together. "Ah yesss. Q if you could?”

Q handed him a small pen-like device. Except it wasn't a pen.

"Thanks. You'll get it back in one minute. Well one minute for you. We'll be off!" He turned around and strutted back into the box.

Bill followed him.

The doors closed and the box disappeared.

"Love, that was the single most weirdest thing that has ever happened to me and I'm a literal spy."

Q sighed. "I'll explain over dinner."

[mor-beck-more-problems]

An In-Spectre Calls || Cassie and Morgan

Set before the potw. Morgan meets Cassie for the first time and asks for some slightly spooky help. 

There was something pathetic about drifting through Eye of Newt alone. Around Morgan teenage witches squealed over crystal balls and bundles of sage, handmade fliers for a Tarot Tuesday covered the table, taper candles of every color stared down their wicks at all the fuss, and so many purple spined books gleamed out from the shelves. It was all so curated, so proud, so...much nicer than the mess of wax and leaves around Morgan’s kitchen table where she made her own wares. Even Vera, Vera, could afford gilt labels for her smudge sticks. Bitch. Worst of all was knowing that few self respecting witches dared to roll the dice here. They had other, better outlets to send for. But Morgan had left a chunk of her self respect somewhere around trying to connect with her ancestors through a three dollar slice of birthday cake. And the shame of all this, re-stocking from her own competition, watching teenagers exercise more freedom and skill with their gel pens than she had bothered to muster lately--settled around her like the heaviest of blankets. At least if she was miserable, she was safe. Probably. 

And so Morgan lingered, bitterly taking mental notes on packaging and pining over books she would not be able to afford for another month or more (Vera saw right through any cash she tried to conjure, every time). She had almost tortured herself to the point of boredom when she spotted a familiar face. 

Oh. Oh no. Was this some kind of cosmic trick? Was that--the pro bono exorcist girl? The moon was still in Capricorn, so that was in her favor, and Friday was her lucky day, but having an expert fall into her lap, or at least someone else’s storefront, was not the kind of gift that generally came her way. Morgan stopped and stared at the girl more than was socially appropriate.

Fuck it. 

Morgan marched up to her, wares still in hand, and leaned over as unobtrusively as she could into her line of sight. She smiled brightly, too mystified at the possibility before her to contain herself. “Hi! This might be a really strange thing to say, but you’re--Cassie, right?” She lowered her voice. “Exorcist Cassie? I hear things around town. And the targeted ads in my mailbox are just--well, anyway, I could really use an expert’s help with summoning something. Someone.” 

If you couldn’t make your own grave dust store-bought was probably fine. Wincing at the price tag mark-up compared with the last place Cassie stopped at to stock up she scanned the rows of jars and tinctures for the last couple of ingredients that had been trashed in transit. Fresh out of ash and with no way to make the stuff without either looking like a serial killer or setting the smoke alarm off. Although, on second thought considering the place she was staying, whatever weirdness she brought with her was likely only the sixth strangest thing in that hotel. Speaking of, the four-dollar hole in her pocket was still stinging from shelling out for those Cheerios late last night. Next stop had to be for something that had actually seen the inside of an oven. With that thought in mind she guessed her next stop would be finding someplace to eat some point. The Thai place she passed last night seemed like a good bet.

Like most of its sister stores around the country this place might have been full of wishful thinkers, but maybe there were a couple things that could do in a pinch. Either way she was limited on options and she doubted there’d be anywhere else offering anything any different. Stooping down to read the price tag of a jar of black salt that caught her attention she registered another person in the vicinity. Assuming it was the owner stopping by she straightened up from her crouch by the jars to stand at full height and grabbed up a jar, about to ask if she had anything a little more specific when she registered her name being mentioned followed by the familiar hushed tones, exorcist. That caught her attention as she seemed to peer over at her interestedly. She seemed earnest enough. It was the eagerness that surprised her. Word got around fast, real fast. Anywhere else the whole thing, the whole business really, was a clandestine operation. The routine, ‘Hey thanks for your services, but get out and let’s never speak of this again’ followed by a swift exit was the norm. Not here though. Here it was practically encouraged almost.

“Uh, yeah. That would be me,” she nodded uncertainty, eyeing the store inventory she was holding. “A summoning? You mean to, you know, deal with something?” It was easy to get lost in translation so she tried to follow it with a gesture that she hoped implied giving the boot, “then I can check into it, sure.”

Morgan couldn’t believe her luck. A real exorcist. A real, helpful, exorcist. She bounced on her feet, resisting the urge to clap her hands with excitement. “I thought I recognized your face! And, whew, that would have been really embarrassing otherwise, accosting some poor random person with words like  ‘exorcist’ and ‘summoning.’” Was she being funny? The image played hilariously in her mind in a terrible sort of way: the total lack of understanding on the stranger’s face, the painfully awkward attempts at saving face. After so many big setbacks, the reach of this stupid, strupid curse, Morgan found herself hard pressed to believe in lucky breaks or happy cooincidences. 

(Did that mean her plan was doomed? Oh god, it might be doomed)

“Oh, but, not like--” she mimicked Cassie’s gesture, growing red and speckled with anxiety. Maybe she should have stayed home and brooded over her hot glue gun situation in quiet isolation instead. Sure,  her cat would have still given her judgement eyes from her nest in the bookshelf, but that wouldn’t be half so bad as having this blow up in her face. But like a bad piece of gum on your shoe, Morgan stuck and kept talking. 

“I mean, I’ll want them, you know,” She gestured again, “Eventually. But first I want to bring something here. After I’ve gotten the information I need, it should probably go back to wherever, I guess,  but I need to get someone first.” 

If Morgan had only sensed the ghost judging her from behind, she might have appreciated how funny her request already was, Cassie’s help or not. 

Cassie tilted her head a little, “right,” she nodded with a small laugh. “Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

She watched as Morgan repeated the gesture, still trying to wrap her head around the request.  Okay, so she did mean summoning something, inviting it. It wasn’t totally unheard of, trying to make contact. Mostly for any lingerers that were already there, but actually folding out the welcome mat? That was still a new one, but she still felt that pang of curiosity that something like that would even work, or why anybody would even want it to. 

I need to get someone first.

Looks like you already got them, she mused not unkindly, finally acknowledging the second shadow nearby. Cassie hadn’t made eye contact with the figure lurking in the background until then, but when she did it made her stop in her tracks for a second. They were there alright, but weak. Whoever they were, she couldn’t make anything out past the general humanoid shape and occasional incline of their head as they listened in. Like they were stuck in some halfway point. Weird.

They were here, but they weren’t thrilled about it, but what else was new? Cassie gave them a look that she hoped implied later and turned her attention back to Morgan as she weighed up the options. What were the chances here that whatever she said she was going to do it anyway? Pretty high she was willing to bet. Putting the jar back on the shelf decidedly, “you know what...sure,” she agreed. “I mean mostly I’m there pointing out the exit sign, “she admitted, “but can’t hurt to be around. Let you know if you’re getting warmer”, and to step in in the off chance the invisible man back there had any ideas she added after a second glance. 

“Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

“Just ‘little white crest things,’ huh?” Morgan replied with a laugh. “I do promise I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes I say things like how are you, and, I don’t know--what nice, normal weather we’re having!”

This was...nice. Almost fun. Morgan began to sweat behind her ears at the thought Fun was the sort of thing she felt she had to trick her way into. Fun was the kind of feeling that hatched big, wild bursts of ‘come and get me while my back is turned you lousy curse’ energy. And, Christ on a cracker, wasn’t she getting ahead of herself? She was talking with Cassie about what amounted to a work thing, not about making friendship bracelets, or going to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Not exactly the stuff of tragedies, even in her own family tree. Could be safe. And if she had managed to shake certain doom for awhile, and since it was doomed to catch up, maybe she should hold it together and enjoy the reprieve. Pretend to be a less disastrous version of herself until later. Hopefully much later. After they found Agnes. 

When Cassie agreed to help, Morgan reigned in the impulse to tackle her with relief. “Thank you, so much! You are amazing, and I will compensate you...somehow. I know conjuring money is pretty high on the questionable morality spectrum, but I can also fix things! If it’s in the broken vase category and not the complicated mechanical one, I can definitely fix it. Or with the right material I can make you something really nice. But, again, not too complicated. I’ve spent more time at the archive than my old alchemy books lately, so. And, drinks, or several, burgers even.” Morgan could feel herself running too fast away from her personal disasters. So fast she almost missed what Cassie added, quietly, as not to set any alarms. Invisible man? What? 

It shattered Morgan’s loop of thought and made her go rigid. She cast her gaze back, head-turning slowly. What did Cassie mean? Invisible? Was she being followed? Maybe she had triggered something in the universe and now she was going to watch this blow up in her face before she’d even started. This might be how she died-- 

Morgan looked. Nothing. Not even a shadow. Then again, that might be the whole point of ‘invisible.’ She turned back to Cassie, suddenly feeling like they needed to get somewhere not in the shop. “Um...what do you mean invisible man?” She whispered. “Like...with some kind of glamour? Or--” It came on her so slowly because until now it had seemed laughably impossible. “Do you mean a GHOST?” She squeaked.

“No kidding,” she laughed, “been here a couple days but this place…it’s something else,” she had to admit. Understatement of the new decade, twenty-four hours in and she felt like she had enough for most of her co-workers to have a field day out here. Difference was, for the most part, she had ethics. “Oh hey, no need. I have a day job,” she waved the offers of compensation off, “you’re good.” The day she accepted cash or handouts for this kind of thing would be the day—wait conjuring cash? At some point, she’d have to ask about that-about all of that, but one thing at a time.

Cassie saw the look that crossed Morgan’s expression and frowned for a second in confusion. It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized she’d said that last part out loud and immediately felt like backtracking. Shit, way to scare the crap out of them. She could practically see the alarm bells going off in Morgan’s head. Part of her wanted to bluff, tell her she meant as in the general sense but thought better of it. Better not to start off on a lie. It never ended well.

“Okay so, you’ve got one visitor,” she admitted tentatively, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about, they don’t look like much of a threat.” Cassie cast another glance at them as they continued to hover around nearby like a bad smell. Was that an incline of their head at that last comment? “This’d be a very different conversation if there was, trust me.” She hoped that might take a little of the edge off of it. “I’m free today, least I’ve got nothing much planned. I can stop by, deal with the mystery guest over there, try and get contact properly,” figure out if they’re who you’re looking for,” figure out what they wanted and how they even got there like that she added to herself. The longer she looked at the figure the weirder it got. For a second she thought she saw a pair of eyes take shape before they flickered out again. Interesting. “Or if you wanted to wait,” she blinked and brought her attention back to Morgan, “I can hand over some things to keep them out of your hair for a while give you my cell number and you can text me an address or something. Whichever works.” Cassie pulled her cell out from her pocket and opened her bag out to look for what was left her the black salt but came up empty-handed, “crap, the last of it’s in the car,” she murmured and picked the jar of the stuff she was about to buy again and raised her eyebrows at the price tag. Wow, not for forty dollars I’m not. “This stuff keeps them away,” she lifted the jar back up before putting it back down again. “I have some in the car, but regular salt works, just doesn’t last as long.”

 “Are you sure?” Morgan pressed. “You’re kind of doing me a big favor…” But Cassie seemed pretty sure of her stance. Morgan couldn’t figure out why. There had to be loads of people who would pay a lot for help like this. Now that the weight of making up for her services was off Morgan’s chest, she could admit she would have pushed her powers to limit to make this happen. Why wouldn’t you try and get something out of the deal?

But Morgan didn’t have time to think about this because of what Cassie said next. You’ve got one visitor. She had really done it. Maybe? Hopefully. “A visitor,” she repeated, dumbfounded. “A ghost kind of visitor, following me around.” What if it was Agnes? Or one of Agnes’ children? Morgan looked back over her shoulder again, just in case willpower alone could bring it into her sight and understanding. When looked back at Cassie, her face was glowing with held back excitement.

“I need to find out who it is,” she said quietly. “In case it’s who I’m looking for. But the other stuff would be good too. This maybe-kind-of isn’t my first time trying this, just the first time that it’s worked.” She looked at the salt jar Cassie Hefted and made a mental note to up her game in that area. Forty dollars for a little jar. Maybe she should start charging more for her candles; this family quest was getting expensive. “I’d like to see the kind of salt you roll with,” she added lightly. “I’ve been using mom’s old kosher salt, but that was before I knew I should be upgrading. What’s in your mix that makes it different? And, would it be unprofessional if I hugged you right now?”

“Just the one,” Cassie repeated as if that would somehow make it any better. “They’re hard to make out though, which means either they’re weaker, like they’re new or they’re on the out.” Another glance towards the mystery figure and she was sure she picked up the indignation coming off from their stance alone. “Okay. If I can get some stuff from the car, find somewhere quiet I can try and get a read on them. Figure out if this is your guy.” Cassie’s eyes followed Morgan’s gaze back to the discarded jar, “it’s different for everybody, but I like a mix. A little rock salt-any salt really-” she added quickly on review, “some chalk and some Obit ashes mixed in there. Helps with the ‘ashes to ashes part’ it’s not the main focus though. The main part is the words and the intent that’s there." Morgan seemed so enthusiastic and hopeful, she hoped she wasn’t setting her up for a loss. She could do it, hazy figure aside, but actually summoning something was still out of her wheelhouse. She just hoped she wasn’t about to be a let down. Cassie thought for a moment before answering, “maybe save it for when we actually ID your friend, or at least get some contact on line one.”

Morgan took out her phone and made notes as Cassie explained her salt recipe. There was a cemetery near the Traveler’s Rest, should be easy to come by the ashes. She didn’t trust her alchemy-brewed stuff to do the trick, not when it came to warding off whatever had come out of that cake. Morgan didn’t know much about what she was getting into, but she was aware she had passed the ‘in over your head’ signpost few miles behind packing up her life and moving to White Crest. 

She settled for a thumbs up at Cassie instead of the hug. “Too soon, got it,” she said, laughing it off. “But it’s not about the success. I mean, success would be great, obviously, but I’ve been at this--for good reason!--for three years now, and this is the first time I’ve gotten, like, help from anyone. Even if you have to go back to your very expert drawing board, I’m still appreciative. Really.” Something in her sombered at the truth in those words, three years banging her head against her laptop, three years trying to get out of bed, trying not to derail her life anymore than this stupid curse already had. Three years and now she was at the zero hour. Of course she was grateful for even the illusion of progress. What did she have left to lose this year except her life anyway? Her shitty jobs? But that wasn’t the right mindset. Think positive. Move forward. She pepped herself up and headed for the door. “So! Let’s go figure this out!”

Mulling over what Morgan had said. About this being the first time anybody had offered some actual help rankled a little. If you could kick them out it stood to reason there was a way to call them up. It might actually be useful for a few things. Maybe if they were lucky whoever she was trying to get hold of was actually still around, strange as that was to say considering, they could actually make contact. “Three years?” Cassie felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily at that information. “Well, least you’ve got it now, the help I mean. If at first you don’t succeed get mad and try again,” she joked. Even if this didn’t go down well first time around, she had a more than a little healthy curiosity at the idea of something like that actually working. “You must really need this guy for something.” Not about to pry, but you didn’t spend that time trying over something trivial. Following Morgan’s lead and heading outside and back out towards where her car was parked Cassie took out her keys and grabbed the duffle bag out from the trunk and draped it over one shoulder. She shifted the weight a little and used her free hand and lifted up a piece of the padding covering the spare tyre space. “One second. I just need a couple things.” Cassie grabbed up a few loose items and stuffed them inside the bag, “this might help identify Mr Mysterio. Get a better signal and figure out if this is your guy.” Closing the trunk over again she turning back to Morgan with a smile. “Okay, and we’re all set. Lead the way.”  

“L-lead the way,” Morgan repeated, hoping that repetition would rattle something into place. “To the ghost place, that--would make sense.” She began to walk in the general direction of the traveler’s rest. “But, it’s really interesting you should say that. Because, there’s my room at the Traveler’s Rest where I do most things right now, and there’s Al’s where I did the spell. Or I think I did.” Her cheeks were growing hot again. This had all seemed reasonable, even expected in the moment, but preparing to say it out loud, she suddenly felt like an idiot. “I’m working from scratch with this, but there was a spell on google that seemed to have a familiar structure to it, and I picked the right day, I checked the moon, and all that for maximum potency. But, there might have been...cake involved. And admittedly, that seemed like an interesting ask for a request from the beyond. I don’t know if I should take you to the spot where it happened, or if we just need to duck into my room so the muggles won’t stare at us since they’re supposed to be drawn to me and not the place?” Her voice rose higher as she spoke, struggling to maintain the very logical order of planning she had taken the trouble of going to. “Anyways, it’s...all the same direction. Just a little more--this way. And I can pull up the spell, if that helps.” 

“That’s where I live-well, I don’t live there. I’m staying there, or I have a room there anyway.” Cassie wasn’t staying here she reminded herself. It was temporary like everywhere else. “That works,” she looked back over at Morgan with a nod, “or if you wanted somewhere more out in the open, there’s Al’s.” That one was the least favourite option. She hated an audience to this stuff. Growing up it was something to be buried away, not broadcast in public. It was hard to get out of that way of thinking. Old habits died hard that way. “Not sure what the rules are for summoning ghosts in the diner though. Might be a no shirt, no shoes, ghosts, no service,” she joked. Cake? Wait, how did cake figure into it? Okay, that was a question for a little later. Not the time. There was her least favourite word in this kind of context; Google. Hypocritical as that was, she’d done the same thing back before she put her foot down with her parents and got someone that actually knew what they were doing to step in. Ray was a cantankerous jerk that first day, but he knew his stuff. Saved her getting fried anyway. “Google kind of sucks for anything with ghosts. First removal invocation I looked up there had a chunk of it missing,” she admitted. “I was twenty-two and stupid,” she made a brief grimace, “good thing I asked somebody else or I wouldn’t be talking to you. Looks like something might’ve worked, don’t think your friend has been hanging around here all that long. What did this spell on google look like?” Cassie asked, curious now. Maybe it was some sort of banishment circle gone wrong, like they’d copied it wrong, got the opposite effect. Who knew at this point. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s hard to call that living, huh?” Morgan said. “Home-sweet-not-home it is.” They continued the journey together, and Morgan told her everything she could about the spell. She had recognized one of the sigls as something she’d seen in an invocation book. She couldn’t remember what the book had said it was for exactly, but the sighting had given her hope. The plan had been to harness the energy of familiarity to reach out to other spirits who had that energy in common. So, her birthday, the land where the people she was looking for had lived, and a birthday cake, which commemorated the continuation of her family. A little fire, a few words, a little saliva to create a taste of life and boom, call made, familial tether climbed, ancestors summoned. She hadn’t noticed or felt anything different at the time. She had assumed she had done something wrong, or supernatural google wasn’t quite on par with her needs as she’d hoped. She showed Cassie a screenshot and went on. She was trying to get in touch with some ancestors. She had some unfinished business with them, funny, right? Only her magical department wasn’t so much in parting the veils or whatever as it was turning stuff into different stuff. As they neared the Traveler’s Rest, she fished around in her pocket for her old set of keys. She plopped them onto her pop socket and gestured. The keys shaped themselves into a metal cuff, a robot figurine. She made it float before coaxing the metal back into keys again. “Neat, right?”

Morgan’s things were splayed all over her room, two large suitcases worth, seemingly made larger by the cramped space. Morgan cleared a spot in the middle of the floor. “I have some Arizona Tea in the mini fridge if you want any. But why not first things first? How do we talk to my visitor friend?” 

They were keys. They were keys and then they weren’t and then they were in the air. Then they were keys again and that’s the moment life stopped making sense for a second.

Neat, right?

That was one word for it. Cassie couldn’t even nod, just stood there in stunned silence and stared at the keys in Morgan’s hand as she opened the door out and stepped inside. Talking about that kind of thing was once thing, but seeing it in front of her? Whole different ball game. “…Sounds-sounds, yeah,” she found herself saying, her voice sounding a little far away. Reality snapped back again with a bang and she remembered what she was even there for. Right, focus. The way Morgan had been talking and judging from the picture she saw it sounded more and more like a variation of a banishment circle. An inverted one maybe. First thing was first, making contact.

“Oh, that part’s easy,” right, get it together. The solution to that particular snag was simple. “One second,” Cassie dug out a pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled down the alphabet and placed it on the nearest flat surface she could find. “Just needed some quiet first.”

Thank you Stranger Things, Cassie stepped back and addressed the mystery guest, “if you want to just point to tell me what your-” she didn’t get to finish that sentence before the figure darted to the paper and the pen laying beside it. They jabbed their hand in an attempt to move the Biro and watched as they seemed to grow frustrated in their attempts. Wow, they really were weak. Usually most ghosts could conjure up just enough energy to move a biro a couple centimetre across a page for all of ten seconds. “Or, if you want, you can just point. If it’s easier,” seemed they took that as a challenge and the pen started to shift, “…Okay,” she gestured, giving the go-ahead and waited as they pointed over to each letter.

W.A.N.T….F.R...

Cassie turned back to Morgan once she figured out the gist of it. “They want to know what you want,” when they started up again.

L.E.T.G.O

Oh. Fuck. Morgan took all of her attempts to get in touch with the dead very seriously, it was kind of a matter of life and death at this point, but whatever she had hoped for at the end of each attempt, it didn’t look anything like this. Cassie was sitting with a freaking piece of paper from a notebook and a ballpoint pen, nothing special or consecrated, just practical. And it was moving. Moving all by itself. It was shaking, like the hand holding it was too upset or too weak to hold it together properly. Morgan shifted away from it on the floor. Seeing this invisible force want things, demand things, show--feeling made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to unpack. Wasn’t that what they had always been? And what did it really change about what she needed anyway?

“Um, okay,” she breathed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “That’s nice. Good to know. Sorry you’ve been...here, for so long. But I am going to need some information from you first before we can do that. Okay?” She squared her shoulders back and tried to adopt the kind of voice she used on her freshmen college students. “Now, who are you? What’s your name?”

Watching Morgan move away from the sheet of paper as though it was contagious Cassie realised, she had forgotten how this kind of thing might look to an outsider. What was grade school stuff to her was the stuff of nightmares to somebody else. She recognised that weird waxy looking shade Morgan had paled to and Should’ve just asked them to point. Tell, don’t show this time.

Cassie offered Morgan a look of encouragement as the mystery guest responded, Floor’s all your,s and looked over to their guest who listened and inclined their head as if they were studying her. They folded their arms over for a few moments before answering as thought they were a few moments away from doing the opposite and b an ass. Cassie shot them a look and looked at Morgan again then as the pen began to move again. A lot less stable than before as they slowly spelled the words out.

S.E.A.N…B.A.C.H.M.A.N

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. They had a name. “This your guy?” Cassie asked. She still didn’t understand what she did, but recognising that whatever it was it had worked somehow.

...E.T....G.O…C.A.L.L.E.D…H.E.R.E…..A.P.O.L.O.G.I.Z

Cassie frowned at that last message and now it was her turn to look at the figure, Sean, she corrected herself, her head inclining. 

“Ooh! Sean! You’re Agnes’ nephew, right? Your dad was named Abel?” Not who Morgan was looking for, not even close, and she shook her head at Cassie in a sheepish universal signal of ‘close but no cigar.’ Still, she felt an electric rush of excitement. This was more direct contact than she’d gotten...ever. Ever-ever. The rest of his message was a lot more puzzling. Who was apologizing? Sean hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not that she’d dug up yet. “We’ll get to that Sean, but I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt? If she...kept a secret book of magic maybe? Or if you saw her, or heard maybe…” Fuck it. “If you heard of her doing something bad enough that might make someone curse our whole family?” She felt cold all over and out of breath just from asking. She’d been nosing around ancestry sites and state records for so long, she had picked up her whole life, she had pestered Cassie in the middle of a shop, all for this, all without putting her finger on the big, awful magic button of a reason. And having to ask it out loud now, even in the most common sense of ways frustrated Morgan. It was a reminder that there was a chance the answer might be no. Maybe the afterlife had turned Sean’s memory to custard, or he just hadn’t been the kind of kid to overhear rumor. “Anything, Sean?” She pressed. “Be honest.”

Success? Cassie looked over expectantly and clocked the expression on Morgan’s face and felt her shoulders slump slightly. No, crap. That had to sting. So close, she actually had somebody here and judging by the look that passed her features they’d missed the mark by a few miles.

I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt?

 Y.E.S

The pen continued to move and while Cassie had next to zero to compare this it seemed like who Morgan had got hold sounded like they were a family member. Close, right? Cassie sat back and kept watch and listened as Morgan reached out to Sean. Her eyes darted up again at Morgan’s words at the end there. Eyebrows raised in concern. Cursed?

…O.W…D.A.R.E...

 “Just answer the question and you can be on your way. Come on, man.” It was round about then that Sean decided to have a temper tantrum and managed to tear the paper a few centimetres in his answer. It seemed to take it out of him. She saw him fade further and stop .“I think he wore himself out with that one.” It was a while before he summoned up the energy to fade back to view again.

…T.E.L.L….Y.O.U….N.O.T.H.I

The light on one of the bedside tables clinked and the TV switched on and off for a second at that outburst.

….R.E.L.E.A.S.E….ME…

What a baby. “Spooky. Very good,” Cassie shook her head and spoke in a deadpan tone. “I know you’re pissed but don’t be an ass, Sean, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Morgan clenched her fists in her lap to keep from shaking. This was getting very real, very quickly, and somehow not at all fulfilling in the way she’d hoped. The paper was making noises all by itself, and it was one thing to look away from the screen when things started getting weird in The Conjuring, but something else entirely when the jump scare was right in front of your face. There was nowhere to go from this. Morgan looked behind her and saw the TV flickering, like some five year old on a sugar high was going crazy with the switch, and the tables were rattling louder without anyone being there. Morgan’s eyes had been stretched open long enough to tear up. She was sure if she closed them she’d make up some excuse for what she was seeing, she’d try to tell herself that this was wrong and definitely impossible. But the only thing scarier than seeing this happen, was to never see it happen. Fuck. 

“Sean, you asshole! Cut it out!” She screamed over the noise. “You tell me what you know!”

But Sean was not remotely interested. Morgan felt down in her pocket to the salt stash she had and threw it near the paper. 

“You wanna stay here forever, Sean?” She asked. “Because I don’t give a shit if you’re stuck with me forever, okay! You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already!”

Cassie shot Sean’s general figure an exasperated look and turned to Morgan and frowned in confusion. Where was he getting this idea he wasn’t free to go here? She really wasn’t about to enlighten them any time soon. Looking at Morgan just as the ‘I want to speak to the manager theatrics’ flared up again she saw Morgan glance around looking rattled. Crap. She knew that look. Cassie saw the clenched fists and shot her a worried look.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cassie reached over but paused when she realised then that it wasn’t all fear there. There was some anger bubbling under the surface and stopped, sitting back down beside the paper. “Just some grade school level theatrics. He couldn’t blow the fuse on a lightbulb,” Cassie shot Sean a glare. Was it really so hard for the douche to just give Morgan what she wanted so they could just drop kick him back to the beyond like he wanted here? “And if you do, I’m going to have some words you’re not going to like.” Turned out the reassurance really wasn’t needed here. Morgan was holding her own. More than; she was outright making demands, tossing salt she didn’t even remember she had on her at the paper. Fast learner.

You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already

“What she said,” Cassie shrugged and looked for a second at the salt Morgan had just tossed in Sean’s general direction, “and if she thinks about throwing any more of that there’s not a damn thing I’m doing to do to stop her. I’ll tell her where to aim. Your call.”

S.K….C.O.N.S.T.A.N.C.E…L.E.A.V.E….M.E

The pen moved, with urgency then, spelling out a name. Now, that wasn’t to hard, was it?

Morgan came back to herself with Cassie’s agreement, what she said. Oh. Shit. She’d really let loose there. Threatened her ancestor, even if he was kind of a dick, wasted some salt aiming at whichever part of the air had looked most threatening. Cassie, for her part, didn’t seem too upset about her seasoning the ghost, and Morgan didn’t know what to make of that, except that she would have to explain a lot more about her situation than she’d had to in a long time. But that could wait. Hopefully. Sean was telling them about...someone named Constance. Morgan couldn’t remember how she fit into her family story off the top of her head. Was she Constance’s mother? Her daughter? It was right on the edge of her recall, but she couldn’t reach it. But it was better than nothing. 

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Fine, go.” She still had some salt in her hand and threw it again. “Fuck you anyway, though. And tell Constance I’m coming for her.” She turned to Cassie for help, holding her sweater close around her chest, flushed with embarrassment.

Cassie watched as Morgan threw the remainder of salt in her hand towards the paper again, but something strange happened in the seconds before the salt even went airborne. Cassie didn’t get the chance to even start to send him away. There second Morgan uttered the word go the ghost that was formerly known as Sean zapped out like an old television. Blipped back to the void as if being pulled back somewhere. “That was new,” was all she could manage then with raised eyebrows. “He’s already gone,” she clarified, shaking herself out of it. What the hell was that?

“Okay,” she spoke again eventually as the quiet descended. “I have no idea what you did,” she admitted, still processing, “but that’s uh, that’s different.” Understatement, the air shifted, she felt that much. Swore she heard a faint popping sound as they went. “Did you get what you wanted? Sort of anyway? A name is a start, right?” Cassie shifted back and let out a breath. “So, um, walk me through what you did here, with the circle. Maybe we can get somebody else.”

Morgan flopped back on the floor when Cassie said he was gone. She didn’t know how she could tell, and without anything to tell by she almost didn’t believe it. This...this was good, right? This was progress...in that it was more ghost she’d spoken to in her whole life, certainly more than she had gotten out of any of her magic experiments. She would have to find out who Constance was, what she had to with all this. Agnes had been the one everyone talked about, but maybe she was just the baby monster. Oh god, if this was going to turn into a Grendel’s Mother situation-- Morgan put her head in her hands and breathed out long and hard. One thing at a time. “I um...I can send you the stuff. I have the webpage saved, but I don’t know if I can do it again, without some meaningful date and a new moon, or maybe not, maybe that was bullshit…” she was mumbling, half in a daze, as she pawed around the messy floor for her computer. She pulled it up and sent it to Cassie’s account on the town social media network. Handy, that. She stood up and dusted off a whole lot of nothing off her jeans. “I got something alright!” She said, scrambling to put her smile back on. “Thank you for helping on short notice. You’re really nice, and I’ll find a way to make it up somehow. Maybe when, um, the adrenaline is a little, uh, less, we can figure something out.” Or not. Cassie seemed like she might make a good shortcut through the mess, but she might also be fast-tracking herself into the danger zone. But if it meant not running from herself anymore, maybe it would be worth it anyway.

[mysticsparklewings]

Roses in Your Eyes

Oh look, a not-Inktober thing! So after my first dive into The Realm of Gouache, I really wanted to play with the medium a little more and try doing some different things with it. More accurately, I wanted to try using the gouache more opaquely, since last time I took a more transparent/watercolor approach. Full disclosure, I actually had the sketch for this done before the gouache set even arrived to me. My original plan was to do the rose part of the "glasses" in the watercolor style from my In Bloom Le Plumes piece, maybe the leaves too, and then do the hair and possibly the skin in the more opaque gouache style. That was the plan so that I could try to get the most out of both sides to what gouache can do. But after I got the gouache and swatched it out, I wanted to try something a little more experimental before I jumped into this drawing so that I'd have a better handle on what I was actually working with. So that's where the first gouache painting came in. So it was after that when I made the decision to commit a little more closely to using gouache in it's more opaque form. The concept for the drawing is something of a play on the phrase "looking through rose-colored glasses," (or whatever the full version of that phrase is, you know what I mean). The original expression, as I'm sure we all know, means seeing something as being better than it actually is, usually because of personal bias. This idea takes it to a bit of an extreme; the glasses aren't just tinted in a rose color, they're straight-up roses. Instead of just viewing something as better than it actually is, the person is willfully ignoring or otherwise blinded to seeing things as they really are entirely. And possibly hurting themselves in the process, if the roses have thorns. (I didn't draw any but they could be there, unseen.) A couple of other notes on the drawing design before I move on: I went with buns in the hair since I usually draw loose/down hair and wanted to mix it up a bit, and to "close off" the drawing I added the leaves at the base of her neck, which also kind of double as a shirt-collar in terms of appearance, which I thought was neat. The leaves and the bit of vine across the nose, as may be obvious, are supposed to represent the frame and bridge of glasses. I transferred the lines from the sketch to piece of Strathmore mixed media paper since I didn't think I'd be using enough water or watercolor techniques to warrant breaking out some 100% cotton paper, but I wanted something thick enough to handle paint, and I thought the smooth-ish texture would suit the gouache based on what experimenting I'd already done. The roses for the eyes had no lines, and admittedly I probably could've gotten away with even fewer lines than the ones I did transfer since the gouache is opaque. I actually had a fair number of hairlines drawn in that got totally covered up since that was way easier than trying to carefully work around them. Anyway. For all the gouache parts, I started with a darker base color, since it's usually recommended that you work from dark to light in gouache, and then I'd go back in with 2-3 lighter colors on top to add shading/depth. The main issues I ran into were when the gouache color wasn't totally opaque, such as the rose base color (which is actually called "Rose," believe it or not) which gives me mixed feelings because on the one hand, it can look kind of interesting in giving you less structured, more unpredictable shading based on how you layer it, but also...well, it's not as opaque, so you have work with it slightly differently compared to the more opaque colors. The other issue was that I really struggled to have enough paint on my brush, particularly when doing tiny details, to get the full opacity and smooth color that I wanted, without leaving a glop of paint where it didn't need to be. Especially in areas like the hair that had a lot of fine tapering lines. I'm not sure how much of the problem is me and how my is or isn't my brushes or what, but this is something I occasionally have issues within acrylic painting too, but it felt way more prevalent here. I did manage to fix some areas that got away from me by layering darker colors back on top of the lighter ones, but then you also have areas like one of the loose hair strands around her chin that got away from me and I had to make noticeably longer than it originally was in order to fix it. (You can probably guess which one it was without me having to point it out for you.) I also had an "issue" in that it was seemingly very easy to mix up way too much of custom color, but that's more of a me problem than a problem with the paint. (And admittedly the above aren't necessarily paint-specific problems either.) Speaking of which, I'm still not sure if my "Titanium White" and "White" got mixed up or not, but since I suspect they did, I used the one I felt like looks more like the mixing white to do so. (Although admittedly I probably could've tried some mixing tests with both to see if I noticed a difference there whatever, perhaps some other time.) And I specifically avoided using black, since I thought it would be too harsh in mixes. For the hair, I just used one of the pre-mixed browns for my darkest and then used lighter colors and made my own lighter mixes to go over it. For the leaves, I actually mixed some of the Prussian Blue into one of the greens to make it darker. I think I may have benefitted from going a little lighter on how much of the blue went in, though. The roses were actually one of the more fun parts since they didn't have to be so precise or specific to make the look work. I started with a base of the Rose/hot pink color, mixed a lighter pink to make sections that probably should've been a little less light in color and slightly larger in shape, and then a slightly lighter pink than should have been lighter to layer on top of the already lighter pink parts. Partly because of some the issues I mentioned earlier and partly because I was just kinda going for whatever with only a minimal plan, I did have to go back and forth with the lights and darks in some areas on these, and I still don't think they look quite alike enough, even though I never intended to make them perfectly symmetrical. I also decided to not totally abandon gouache's watercolor properties with the background, since at this point I was thinking I didn't want to leave it plain white, but I also didn't want to do anything too complicated or intense that might take away from the rest of the art and the concept behind it. So I watered down some of the pink I used for the roses' base color and just kinda went over the background to my heart's content until I was happy with what the textures were doing since I knew it was unrealistic to expect to be able to get the background totally smooth trying to work around the rest of the drawing. Now, originally I was planning on painting in the skin with the gouache, however, I made the grave mistake of not thinking about it until after I'd pretty much finished with all the other painted parts, and I really did not feel like trying to paint around everything. And, honestly, I really did like the contrast of the white skin against the other colors. I did acknowledge that I could have mixed a gray from the gouache and shaded the white skin with that, but it felt like too much of a risk and still like too much of a hassle, so I conceited that I could bring other mediums into this since I'd already done my gouache-exclusive test piece. I grabbed a couple of very, very light gray Copic markers and added some very careful, very subtle shading to the skin. And you guys haven't seen the first time I used this mixed-media paper just yet (it's coming down the pipeline, I promise!), but for the second time I'm kind of in love with how it handles alcohol markers and I really need to try a more marker-heavy illustration on it sometime.   After all that though, it was still missing a couple of things. I ended up breaking out my white uni-ball Signo gel pen to line around the girl just so she really would pop off the background, opting for it instead of the white gouache because, again, that seemed like too much of a chore to try and do. And my white Sakura gelly roll tends to be a little more transparent compared to the Signo, and I really wanted the stronger, stark white look. Then after some thinking, I added the rose lines in the background using a pink and a green Sakura gelly rolls and the stencil I've toyed with using on other projects before. And overall it, it has its faults (especially if you look at it too closely), but I really like how the whole thing turned out. It has almost a surreal vibe to it that I think drives home the initial concept really nicely, and just, in general, it's very sweet colors but has a more eerie feel to it. (At least when I look at it, anyway.) It also very vaguely gives me Luna-Lovegood vibes, so of course, I like it for that alone. I'm not sure what I'm going to make with the gouache next, as so far it seems its planning requires a slightly different thought process than I'm used to, but I have some ideas and all this has succeeded in doing is making me want to use the gouache more.  This definitely isn't the last we'll be seeing of it, that's for sure! ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[musutofu]

【 I, My, Me, Mine 】

♡ pairing | Toga x ᶠᴱᴹ Reader ✑ word count | 3.9k ✎ genre | angst ✗ warnings | knives, blood, character death, identity theft ✮ A/N | the Toga origin story literally no one asked me to write

The harsh white light that glows overhead, filling the quiet room with equally muted tones has settled painfully in Toga’s head. With every second ticking past she can feel a pounding against her eyes like a prisoner beating against their cell walls. But perhaps that isn’t all attributed to the headache that’s steadily scraping against her skull. There’s always been another person inside her; smaller, weaker, easy to ignore. The pain of their nails scraping incessantly inside her head has long since become a sort of white noise, only recently has it spiked to a volume that impossible to ignore. To her credit, Toga had tried to pretend she didn’t hear the little niggling voice in her head spike in volume all those months ago, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Every time she gets her mind to quiet, to become sweet and docile–the girl everyone thinks she is; the girl she should be–she does something that has her mind screaming out at an earsplitting decibel.

It had started as a soft hum that now buzzed through her head like a fitful swarm of wasps, stinging and stinging until her mind is swollen, overflown, with thoughts of her, her, her. At times, Toga just wants to slap her hands over her ears and scream at the top of her lungs, willing everything else to silence. But that’s not what sweet and docile girls do, especially not in the middle of a classroom. But this accursed room is always when that little voice gets bigger, going from a lisping child to a lumbering beast with just one glance at her. Knowing the cause should make it easy to ignore, easy to contain her mind that’s threatening to detach from her will completely. And it would be that easy if she weren’t so magnetic. It’s a Herculean task for Toga to know she’s there, in the same room with her, to know she could look up and see her. Then not do it. It’s a sort of masochistic game she plays with herself, resting to see just how thin she can stretch her mind before it breaks. She’s getting close to the answer if the pain still galloping through her head like a herd of wild stallions is any indication.

Toga looks for a distraction that doesn’t involve the paper sitting in front of her. She’s in no mood to deal with mathematics and the margins of her worksheet is already filled with the aimless scribbles of her restless hand. To stop from tapping her pen and drawing attention to herself, Toga takes to poking at her pencil case. The gel like material gives with each prod, mutilating the pastel character decals printed on it and warping the overhead lights to a less offending brightness. After a particularly hard jab the unzipped opening gives way like a belly split up the middle, but instead of entrails the rest of her school supplies spill onto her desk. Amongst the pens, pencils, and erasers is an innocent looking box cutter. The sweet Hello Kitty design is as unoffending as it can get, but Toga is more interested in the blade still sheathed in the pink plastic.

With a steady glide of her thumb the blade emerges from its sheath, catching the painful light on the edge. It’s a new blade, never used, never tainted. Toga has plans for this particular blade. Her wrist flexes carefully, working to not flash a refraction of the light across anyone’s unsuspecting line of vision. If she’s caught her blade will most likely be confiscated with a lecture on being more diligent when it comes to her studies as the only replacement for what could barely qualify as a weapon. This wasn’t a weapon, not really. Knives were weapons. This meager blade could only offer her a taste of what she wants. And taste she does and the blade finally catches on what has been the object of her thoughts for these past, seemingly endless, months. The clean blade offers her a mirror-like surface to spy on her from like the Evil Queen looking through her magic mirror. The fairest one of all is on full display for her eyes only, working as studiously as ever on her math problems like all the other students around her.

Toga greedily absorbs everything she can about her in this moment. Mere drops compared to the monsoons she’s been gifted with in the past but it’ll be enough for now. It has to be. There’s only a few minutes left of classes for the day and she doesn’t work her part-time job today. Toga’s sure of it. Just as she watches her now, she watches her always. Wanting so badly to know about her; her likes, her dislikes, what makes her happy, what makes her sad, everything. It’s more than a wanting, it’s a necessity. She’s like a drug that invaded her mind and clouded her thoughts with nothing but the next time she’ll get her fix and Toga is a blissful addict. A fang catches on the plush edge of her lip, biting down to muffle the nearly erotic noises that are threatening to bubble to the surface.

She isn’t doing anything. Not really. But it’s all the small intricacies that make her entire being. Like each thread of a tapestry. Alone they don’t seem important, but what would the artwork be without them but an idea and an empty loom. Toga tastes her own blood, bitter and metallic on her tongue as she presses the tip of her pen against her mouth. Her lips are parted in the way Toga imagines they’d look if she were making a lewd noise, but only a sigh escapes those petal soft lips as she stares down at her desk pensively, pen catching between her teeth in thought. Toga spares a look down at the risk of missing even a second of her to see the pen so similar to the one being brandished so erotically between your lips. There’s only the faintest hint of chipping on the cap. Because she don’t chew her pens, she simply bites. Holding it in place then releasing. Toga wonders how it would feel to do such a thing to her. To set her fangs against the delicate skin of her neck and feel her sink into submission before releasing her. Her thighs snap together beneath her desk.

The sound is caught in the cushion of the final bell. No one notices Toga’s slip up, her debauched display that breaks her facade as a sweet and innocent girl. She’ll be glad to be rid of this place if only until tomorrow. Her mask can come away and be replace with a more convincing one. Their blood tastes different on her tongue. Toga hums hauntingly at the thought of her blood. Perhaps today will be the day she finally gets more than a menial sample of the liquid ambrosia flowing through your veins. She stumbles against the back of lockers at the thought of how her blood tasted on her tongue. It had been a simple happenstance during the time the both of you were assigned to clean the classroom. A clumsy slide of her hand against a stack of papers had split her delicate finger open. It was a small sliver, only a single pearl of blood beading at her fingertip but Toga had been unable to stop herself. Facade forgotten in the face of what she craved most in that moment. She had laughed so abashedly at the feeling of her tongue laving at the small cut. Toga has played it off as a gesture between friends, a worry that she might get dust in her wound if it wasn’t attended to immediately.

Because she was her friend. Toga had made it so. Anything she could do to her closer to her was done in a heartbeat. At the thought of her already slinking so far away from her, Toga’s chest tugs like there’s a string tethered from her heart to hers. She rushes through shoving her belongings in her locker and runs through the emptying halls just in time to see her dropping her bike lock into her book bag. The bike in question is an eclectic collection of stories that Toga knows by heart. Originally a somber black beneath the chipping teal paint, her father had painted it to be a unisex color; a bike shared between all three of his children. Her brother, though younger, was large for his age and able to ride it with ease. There are marks of him in the Hero trading cards pinned ever-so carefully to the back tire spokes. Her older brother is evident in the sawed off handlebars; an act of rebellion to remove the silver and white streamers that originally resided there. Her only addition was the faded and ripped flame decal slapped in the center of the guardrail; a act of solidarity with her older brother’s more rugged intentions for the communal mode of transportation.

Toga watches as she mounts the bike, carefully of sitting properly with uniform skirt–although a pair of shorts always resides beneath the pleated fabric–and kicks off the wet pavement. She wonders why she bothered to ride her bike to school in the first place. Winter is waning, but still hanging on to the last dregs of cold weather. This morning had been deceptively warm only for the clouds to fall heavy and break open with bursts of icy white just as the first bell rang. The snow has mostly melted in the afternoon snow, but there’s always the chance of small puddles icing over as the sun begins to set. It’s why she follows her, Toga insists, although it isn’t that at all. It’s an alibi for if she’s caught, but only if. She knows the route she takes home as well as her own, knows the people that linger on the way there. Toga steps into a thicket of bushes a few blocks out from campus and crouches in the fading light. Here she strips off her uniform, folding it into her bag and replacing it with something entirely new.

The woman that runs the food cart she passed everyday is clumsy and susceptible to the easy smiles and coquettish laughter that Toga has to offer. The day she caught the woman with an open wound was imminent, but took longer than expected. It had taken weeks to get even a few drops of her blood and it tastes oddly greasy on her tongue, much like the food she sells. The woman and her cart have been missing this past month, the cold keeping them at bay. Toga can only hope today isn’t the day she’s fooled into returning to her normal routine just as she was fooled into riding her bike. Toga can see her up ahead, small in the distance, but just a glimpse of you is enough to have heat spreading through her already ruddy cheeks. She wills her out of her thoughts and takes in a deep pull of the brisk air, fading out of existence as she walks the same path she’s taken so many times. Hopefully her familiar face will be enough to lure her into the trap she’s set out, but only time will tell.

A safeguard presents itself as she passes a group of children tossing chunks of ice and snow at each other. One child goes down with a wail, fat tears leaking down his flushed cheeks in an instant. Toga can small the blood and see the plan formulating. She makes a stop, ignoring the way her new body groans and lurches under its heavy weight, crouching down to assist the child. The cut isn’t terrible, just a few centimeters long and shallow, but there’s blood to be tasted, an identity to be borrowed. She soothes the cut with a maternal kiss and tastes the tart of his blood on her tongue. After a moment the tears stop and he goes back to playing. Toga ducks into a shaded store front that’s been closed for the day, taking off the woman’s clothes to become a child. With another long pull of frigid air Toga fades out of existence, only appearing again once she’s standing directly in her path. As expected, the worn tire treads don’t take well to the ice hidden in the deepening shadows and she goes flying over the flaming handlebars to land heavily in a snow back. The slush cushions her fall and Toga mourns the painless landing. There’s not a single trace of her blood in the air. Soon there will be. Very soon, Toga reassures herself. Disappearing long enough for her to start to come to.

For a moment, Toga thinks she’s missed a delicious taste of your exquisite blood, that her senses failed her. But as she moves closer to her prone, but awakening form, she realizes the red-dyed snow is the result of a Crimson Riot trading card stuck in the pile of snow like a throwing star. The Hero’s namesake color being drawn off the paper by the watery bed she’s attempting to rise from. Without bothering to remove her closes, Toga uses her last dregs of blood to nearly triple in size. The child’s clothing tearing in favor of the delivery man uniform she dons inconspicuously. It had been a lucky break that Toga had witnessed the poor man’s first workplace injury as he sliced his palm open along with the box of packages he was delivering. There’d been enough blood for her to maintain this form for at least a few hours, but with his burly build and long legs Toga won’t need all that time. She leaves her bike to be found by the next passerby in favor of turning for home. A place where no one would dare call her anything less than sane. The voice in her head rejoices at the promise of having her all to herself. No one could stop her from being her true self when it’ll be just the two of them.

She stays docile in Toga’s arms the entire trip there, eyes opening for only a few minutes before closing again. The bruise on her head is darkening with the coming of night and Toga wonders if she has a concussion. It makes no nevermind to her. She always admired how she was rebellious in small ways; wearing bright colored shorts beneath her bland school uniform and refusing to wear a helmet when she rode her bike. It’s all so endearing and Toga wants to know why she does these things, how it feels when she does it. She wants to know everything. And she will. Her parents make no move to stop her as she caries her trophy over the threshold, dropping grey sludge in the entryway as she returns to the form they gave to her. Toga was born to be a predator. They made it so. Now they must reap what they’ve sowed in her. The fierce, feline appearance; a mane of wild blonde hair, restless golden eyes that split down the center, insatiable fangs that ache for her next taste of blood. Toga is only doing what’s expected of her as such a natural born predator. She’s the meek prey, still weak in her arms. Toga can do as she pleases with the spoils she’s won. They don’t even venture to ask who she is. And if victory weren’t so palatable on her tongue she’d make them see, she’d tell them exactly who she is.

The goddess that’s bewitched her looks degraded on her bed. Simple linen sheets of a soft orange like the fading sun cushion you. White pillows spreading out like wings beneath your head and shoulders. She’s the perfect picture of divine grace and Toga can’t wait to feel just as angelic. But first she has to see. Her limbs are cold and pliable under her hands, like a freshly dead corpse. Her clothes fall away piece by piece until only her underwear keeps her celestial innocence. Clothes don’t matter anyway. Toga has a uniform exactly like hers, so does every other girl in their class. She has to unwrap her before basking in the full glory of her. Toga maps out the skin she’s never seen before. Poking and prodding warmth back into her body as she takes in the hidden marks and scars she hadn’t known existed. It’s exhilarating to run her finger over the constellation of beauty marks sitting high on the soft expanse of her thigh, to feel the slightly raised texture of the scar just above her hip bone, to marvel at the pattern her waistband has left in her skin. Toga drinks in every part of her like she’s just traversed all the earth’s deserts without a drop of water. It’s a miracle there’s anything left of her body for her to wake up in.

Watching her wake is like a dream as her lashes flutter to life to reveal the dim light of her eyes. She’s confused but placated by the wide smile Toga affords her, fangs glinting like pearly blades in the soft light. The voice is thundering through her head again, louder than ever before. Begging her to take, to claim, to possess, to be. Because that’s what all this was about, Toga become closer to you. They say the closer you are to your friend the more similar you act. Toga wants to be closer than close to her. She wants to be so close that no one can tell where Toga ends and she begins. Her head lolls back against the mountain of pillows, hazy eyes still trying to become acclimated with her surroundings. The subtle movement stretches her throat in an enticing arc and Toga’s fangs almost pulse with the need to consume and duplicate. Even with her so close the taste of her blood is fading from Toga’s memory. She needs more. And she’d have it. She’d have her.

The soft column of her trachea rises and falls with each erratic breath she takes. Toga leans closer to feel the air on her face, to fill her lungs with it. She is her. Toga inhales with her every exhale. Two sides of the same coin. Two bodies for one girl. But there can only be one. Toga profs at her ribs, slipping a hand under her shirt that’s become much too large after returning to her normal but incomplete body, prodding at the ladder of bones just under her own skin. They’re different in ways Toga can’t explain and she hates it. She hates her. She loves her. She is her. She speaks in fear as Toga’s nails rake heated welts across her skin, trying to claw her open. To see why they aren’t the same on the inside either. Blood rises through the tears in her skin and the cloying scent of her blood soothes Toga. Her tongue is like molten lava against her cold skin as she likes over the drops of blood spilled forth by her own hand. The taste is almost orgasmic and Toga drops her head between the valley of her breasts, whining as the taste being to leave her mouth. It’s not enough.

Toga activates her Quirk, finally seeing herself as she should be. As her. Gone are the blonde flyaways and vertical pupils. Her fangs have receded back into her gums and her body has become something it isn’t. Something it should be. She’s become her and Toga loves it.

“Look how beautiful we are. Look how beautiful I am.” Toga growls in that seductively sweet drawl she’s always spoken with. It’s the voice of an angel. The voice that first afflicted her with this curse to be as one with the goddess she worships. But there can only be one her. Toga forces her to look in the mirror. To see her. There can only be one. And Toga wants to be it. She deserves to be it. Not the weak angel who won’t say a thing to calm her worshipping prophet. She doesn’t deserve to be herself. What type of deity knows forgiveness but not mercilessness? Toga knows of the harsh other half. A thing she could never know of. But that’s beneath the mask of sickly sweetness. Toga knows of both sides. She is what Toga should be, what she appears to be. And she hates it. The reflections she watches her through, the routines she’s stalked her through; they’re her own. Toga is the real her. This girl is an imposter that must be dealt with.

The grey sludge beginning to drip from her shoulders reminds her to remove the imposter carefully. To protect and preserve. To collect then dispose. Her blood is Toga’s blood and she needs it. It’s hers. She stole it! Toga throws her back on to her mattress. The pillows are just pillows, the sheets are just sheets, the girl is a corpse living. The knives Toga wouldn’t dare bring to school are easily accessed her and she approaches her with one of her favorite blades, a needle, and blood bag. The cold blade is placed on her sternum, for later she promises, and the needle is stabbed into her arm with precision. Toga coos in time with her whining as the blood she stole is returned to its owner at a slow gush. It takes a few bags until her lips are pale and her eyes a dull. She looks like a cheap imitation as Toga glows with elation. The real her. She lifts your cardigan from the other discarded clothes on the floor. Tugging it over her head, ruffling the buns atop her head, to mimic the imposter in an act of poetic irony. When Toga looks in the mirror the only person she sees is herself.

Toga presses her nose into the cuff of her cardigan that’s slowly been stretched out of shape after years of wear. Even still when she sniffs the soft fabric Toga swears she can smell her. Just the faintest hint of her magnificent blood. But there’s no blood left to speak of. It’s all gone. Gone and used until she can’t turn into herself anymore. She’s left in this purgatory between as she appears and as she sees herself. Her untamed blonde hair doesn’t stay in the buns she made look so dainty and polished. Her bangs are choppy and uneven after being hacked down to length with her Hello Kitty box cutter. And her fangs still ache for the taste she’ll never have again. Toga misses her. The her she used to be. Maybe a new friend will help fill the void aching behind her ribs. After all, Mr. Stainy has blood to spare.

[saintdracopotter]

11 hours as a couple

Harry sighed at the magnificently designed silver and gold invitation to Blaise and Ginny’s wedding. He shook his head but he picked up a pen and a sheet of paper to write his RSVP anyway.

He was in the middle of writing ‘no plus one’ when a sharp knock sounded on his front door. Harry waited a moment to see if whoever it was would assume he wasn’t home and sod off, but the knocking only got louder and more persistent.

“Ugh, okay. I’m coming.” Harry was ready to tell the person on the other side of the door to fuck off, but when he saw that it was Draco Malfoy, his words disappeared and he just stood there with his mouth open.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Close your mouth. You look like one of those statues on top of fountains who spit fountain water out of their mouths.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut, but he didn’t respond in any other way.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s bloody freezing out here.”

Harry nodded and moved aside to let Malfoy in. Malfoy walked into Harry’s house like he lived there, heading straight for the kitchen where he started opening and shutting cabinets like a madman. Harry closed the door and went after Malfoy.

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?”

“I’m looking for alcohol.”

“And why are you looking for alcohol in my house?”

“I need to talk to you,” Malfoy said, finally turning around to look at Harry. “Didn’t you get the invitation? It’s so insensitive, isn’t it? The way they’re flaunting their happiness?”

“Who? Blaise and Ginny?” Harry asked, and Malfoy rolled his eyes before going back to searching the cabinets.

“Yes, obviously, Blaise and Ginny. Ah, yes! There it is. Scotch.” Malfoy promptly set to work fixing himself a drink while Harry stared at him.

“Why are you so upset?”

Malfoy took a drink before saying, “Why aren’t you upset? You were with Ginny for nearly two years.”

Harry shook his head. “Ginny and I are friends. I thought you and Blaise were still friends as well.”

“We are. And I do want Blaise to find love and happiness, but not until I find it too. It will be horribly embarrassing to show up at their cute little Christmas wedding by myself. Which is why-” Draco stopped his sentence when he caught sight of the papers on Harry’s kitchen table. He glared at Harry’s RSVP, snapped his fingers, and the paper vanished.

Although Harry was impressed by that wandless magic, he still exclaimed, “What the fuck, Malfoy? I’m going to Blaise and Ginny’s wedding. I don’t care that you’re pissed off, Ginny’s my friend and I have to go even if that means going by myself.” Harry stared defiantly at Malfoy, but Malfoy seemed unmoved.

“I never said not to go to the wedding, Potter. I was going to suggest that we spare ourselves some shame by going together.” Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Harry, and Harry recognized it as a challenge.

“I’m listening,” Harry said. He sat down at the table and wandlessly pushed a chair back for Malfoy to sit in. Malfoy didn’t appreciate Harry’s neat trick with the chair, but he sat down nonetheless.

“All we need to do is pretend to be a couple for their wedding day. We get to the ceremony at noon and leave the reception at eleven at night, so that’s only eleven hours. When they get back from their honeymoon we can tell them we broke up because we weren’t a good fit or something.”

“What about the other people at the wedding? Like the Weasleys and Hermione and Pansy? Are we going to keep pretending around them while Blaise and Ginny are on their honeymoon?” Draco shrugged and took another swig of scotch. “Yes, I suppose. But we won’t be around them together, so it won’t be as hard.”

Harry nodded. He thought over the plan for about a second before he said, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will. It’s an ingenious idea. Now, let’s get to work on our story. Who do you think made the first move?” …

Malfoy- no, Draco, Harry was supposed to call him Draco today- arrived bright and early at Harry’s house on Christmas Eve morning.

Harry shook off his nerves, took one last look in the mirror, and went to greet his fake boyfriend for eleven hours at the door.

When Harry opened the door and saw Draco, his jaw practically hit the floor. Draco looked handsome, but no, not just handsome, stunning. Gorgeous. His hair was styled off of his face, but he had used nowhere near the same amount of styling gel he used in first and second year. He wore midnight blue and white dress robes which brought out the blue hints in his eyes.

“What did I tell you about closing your mouth?” Draco said. When Harry’s jaw didn’t move, Draco put a finger under Harry’s chin and shut Harry’s mouth himself. He smirked as if he was rather pleased with himself. “Come on, Harry.”

After a moment, Harry followed Draco into the lounge.

“You remember the story we agreed upon, yes?” Draco asked as Harry got the Floo powder.

“Yes. Wait, sorry, I don’t remember our first kiss. When was it again?”

“October. We were standing under a lamppost. You leaned in first, then me. Remember now?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I think I got it. Let’s go.”

…

Draco and Harry’s fake relationship was first put to the test when the usher put them in the seats next to Neville and Luna at the ceremony.

“Oh, Draco,” Luna said, and she threw her arms around him. “I’ve missed you.” She realized Harry was sitting next to Draco and exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, I’ve missed you too.” She looked back and forth between Draco and Harry for a moment. “You two came together?”

Draco nodded. “We’re dating.” He took Harry’s hand in his own, and Harry had to convince himself that his heart was only beating so fast because he was scared of the plan not working.

Luna smiled. “That’s wonderful. Your auras really compliment each other, you know that? I’ve always thought you two would make a happy couple. Isn’t that right, Neville?” Luna said, turning to the man next to her.

Neville looked up from the wedding program, confused. “What?” He caught sight of Draco and Harry’s intertwined hands and his confusion grew.

“I said, I’ve always thought Draco and Harry would be good together. Isn’t that right, Neville?”

Neville’s brow furrowed. “Uh, yes you have. I just never thought it would actually happen.”

Luna nodded and smiled before turning back to Draco and Harry. “I am absolutely thrilled for you.”

Neville was frowning, but he congratulated them anyway, “Yeah. I’m glad you guys are happy.” Neville’s words were obviously supposed to be a statement but they came out more like a question.

Feeling oddly like he had to defend himself and Draco, Harry said emphatically, “Yes, we are very happy. Draco makes me smile everyday.” Harry glanced at Draco, who was looking at him with a slightly surprised expression, and gave a little smile that he hoped would inspire Draco to play along.

For some reason, Draco blushed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, that’s, uh, yeah, it’s true. I’ve- I mean, we’ve never been happier.” Harry thought that was strange, as he’d never heard Draco speak so inarticulately before. He thought Draco might be nervous, so he squeezed  his hand. Draco blushed again and looked away.

“That’s nice,” Neville said. “When did-”

“Oh, Neville, the wedding will start soon, let’s watch for Ginny.”

…

Draco and Harry had gotten to the reception space while it was still fairly empty, and Draco took one look around the massive ballroom, said, “Lovely color scheme,” and then dragged Harry to the restroom to talk.

Draco fixed his hair in the mirror (Harry didn’t think it needed fixing) as he asked Harry, “How do you think it’s going?”

“I think it’s going well,” Harry said. “But the reception is going to be the hard part, isn’t it? We’ll have to talk to Blaise and Ginny, Hermione and Ron, and Pansy, and they’re going to be the most skeptical.”

“Yes, Granger did look a bit alarmed when she was walking down the aisle and saw us holding hands.”

“We’ll manage. Is there anything you think we need to review before we go out there?”

Draco smoothed down his robes and shook his head. “I think we’ll be fine.”

Suddenly, someone pounded on the door to the restroom, shouting, “Oi! You’re not the bloody Minister of Magic, are you? What gives you the right to hog the restroom?” “Shit,” Draco said. “We have to make it look like we were kissing in here or something.”

Harry frowned. “What? Why?”

“Why else would we be in here together for an extended period of time?”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Okay, well, what do people usually look like when they’ve been snogging in a restroom?”

“Um, their hair and clothes are messed up.”

Draco looked horrified. “There’s no way I’m messing up my hair or my robes. How else do people look when they’ve been caught snogging?”

“Their faces are red.”

“Well, shit, I don’t know how to make my face red. Maybe we should just- maybe it’s not-” It was clear to Harry that Draco was panicking, so he just acted on the first idea he had.

Harry put his hands on Draco’s arms and leaned in to kiss him. The moment his lips touched Draco’s, Draco froze. For a second it was rather awkward, but then Draco noticeably relaxed and kissed Harry back. His hands moved to circle Harry’s waist and Harry’s hands slid up to cup Draco’s jaw. They both melted into the kiss, and soon enough they were snogging for real. Then the knocking on the restroom door returned and they broke apart.

“Well, our faces are red,” Harry said. Draco didn’t reply, he just stood there with his lips still parted and eyes wide. Harry kind of wanted to kiss him again. Instead he grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the restroom.

…

The eleven hours were nearly up, and Draco was still thinking about that kiss.

For the most part, the day had gone exactly according to plan. Everyone, including their closest friends, believed that he and Harry were a couple. Initially Draco found that odd, but as the day went on he realized his very not-fake attraction to Harry must be apparent to the people around them. The only thing that had not gone according to plan this day was the kiss that Harry and Draco shared in the restroom. That perfect, infuriating, mind-blowing kiss which Draco was reliving in his head over and over until Harry approached him and shook him out of his reverie.

“I’m sorry, what?” Draco said.

“I asked you if you’d like to dance.”

Draco stared at Harry’s outstretched hand for a moment, but then he set his hand in Harry’s and smiled. “I’d love to.”

When they were out on the dance floor, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as if they’d been designed for this specific purpose, Harry pulled Draco close and spoke into his ear.

“Today was fun. More fun than I thought it would be.” “Yeah,” Draco agreed, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say. Luckily for Draco, Harry did know how to say what he wanted to.

“I’d enjoy being your boyfriend for eleven hours again sometime. Maybe even for longer than eleven hours.”

Draco pulled back from Harry just far enough to answer him with a kiss.

[187days]

Reflections On My Spain Trip

They say that after traveling one should sit with the experience for a bit before writing anything down, so- aside from tweeting about it a couple times- that’s what I’ve done. Now, though, it’s time to write...

I think it was a fantastic trip, overall. For me, it was a chance to return to a country I'd visited when I was in high school, to share my favorite things with my students, and also to see new things with them. For Mr. W, I think it was largely the same. And, for the students, it was just a massive experience. They’re small town kids. Most of them had ever been to foreign countries before, and none of them were really used to traveling in cities. But they all embraced the adventure wholeheartedly; they took in all the opportunities to learn, they tried everything, they spoke in Spanish... I’m very proud of them for that.

We flew into Malaga, a beautiful beach town on the Mediterranean with perfect weather (at least while we were there). It’s a slow-paced place, and we were free to wander around, hang out at the beach, listen to live music, etc... until dinner that evening. That’s when we met our tour guide, Laura, and the other two groups we would be traveling with. Unfortunately, our students didn’t really gel with the others (ours were a little older, more capable of speaking Spanish, and- how do I put this?- markedly less privileged), but they didn’t really mind. And Mr. W and I did get on well with two of the other teachers, which was nice. 

In the morning we traveled from Malaga to Granada to see La Alhambra, which I was super excited about because I’d never seen it before. I think that was one of our students’ favorite sites, too, because it’s so stunning. We had a great tour guide, as well. She was really good at explaining things in an engaging way. Lunch in Granada was also amazing; we were seated on the rooftop of this cool little restaurant that made awesome tortilla espanola (I assume they made awesome everything, but that’s what I ate). 

That evening we headed to Sevilla, which is one of my favorite cities. The other two groups opted to do a river cruise thing after dinner, but we decided to stay on land and have a wander. One of our boys, amusingly, found a Dunkin Donuts and ran in to see if it was any different from the ones here, but otherwise we stayed away from American things. The only bad bit: I discovered that in the summer (I’d only ever been there in the winter), Sevilla is full of horse-drawn carriages. For those of you who haven’t been following along at home, I have a severe allergy to horses (the kind I need an epi pen for), so I had to be pretty ninja in avoiding them. Bless my students for their patience, and for looking out for “los caballos” every time we went somewhere new.

I got really nervous the next day when we went to La Catedral de Sevilla and ALL the carriages were lined up right outside. Buuuut I had an allergy mask, Benadryl, and a guide who convinced the ticket folks to let me cut the line and get inside quickly. So, y’know, I managed. And I got to climb La Giralda again. That’s the old minaret that’s now the cathedral tower. In high school, me and one of my idiot friends actually ran to the top. It was too crowded- and I’m too old- for that this time, but the view was as amazing as I’d remembered it being.

After we climbed down, our group decided that we wanted to get away from the super touristy area around the cathedral (and away from los caballos!), so Laura took us on a search for awesome tapas. She asked random locals on the streets to give directions to their favorite places, and we did our best to hit all of them. The hands down best place, according to our students, was called La Gitana Loca. But there was also this gorgeous restaurant on some random side street- low lighting, artwork everywhere, and a flamenco stage that they let us climb on for pictures- that served us fabulous oxtail stew. That may not sound good, but IT IS. And the waiters were so nice! One of my students said that if we’d been at home, she’d have figured they were being nice to get a good tip, but there is no tipping in Spain, so they were genuinely being that nice to us. I said it’s because good travel manners go along way; we were speaking the language, appreciating the food (and the rest of the culture), behaving politely... All of that is important, and it has a big impact on one’s interactions. 

So that was a great lesson. 

From Sevilla, we travelled to Madrid, with a stop along the way in Cordoba to visit La Mezquita. Cordoba is a fun place to wander around- all narrow streets, white walled buildings, and little shops- and I think we all bought a lot of souvenirs there. I got my oldest nephew a chess set similar to one I’d gotten my brother back in high school; he gave his away to another friend of ours years ago- with my blessing- so I figured it would be a cool thing to get. 

After few hours on the bus- during which Mr. W and I chatted with Laura and our James Bond-y (so our students said) driver, Alfonso- we reached Madrid. This is my favorite city in the world; it’s a treasure trove of history and culture, the site of some of my best high school adventures, the home of my favorite soccer team (Real Madrid)... It’s always going to have part of my heart, you know? 

We arrived during Pride, and there was a metro strike (if you want a fun teaching moment, take kids who have never ridden a subway ever onto a jam-packed one in a foreign country), so it was crowded, chaotic, and totally awesome. The structured tour time was pretty cool; we went to the museums (I loved that way more than Mr. W because I love art and got to geek out about it to our students), the monuments, the palace- and it’s all beautiful. There was one day when we were exhausted because we’d stayed up super late eating junk food and playing games, so that made the pace feel a little rough. No regrets, though. And that night we had a really cool dinner at this place on the outskirts of the city that teaches Spanish cooking- the chefs had the students cook and serve all of us teachers- and we all perked up.

Our free time was the best because, with Pride going on, there were all these cool events everywhere. Our group actually got one whole day free (the other two groups went to Segovia), so went to Santiago Bernabeu so Mr. W and I could get our Real Madrid fix. Then we went into Plaza Mayor, and Mr. W and I found a table where would could sit, drink some tinto, and people watch while the students explored (with boundaries and using the buddy system) on their own. I think we all loved that.

We spent our final day in Toledo, which I only had vague memories of from my high school visit. I don’t know why it didn’t stick with me more because it’s amazing. Nothing else looks quite like the old city. I love, too, that inside the Cathedral’s sacristy there are a bunch of Greco paintings just kind of there. I think the students’ favorite part was the damascene workshop (I think it was Mr. W’s favorite, too, because he could buy knives there). I did remember that from my previous visit; I still have the damascene jewelry I bought back then. I bought some new bracelets, and an icon of La Virgen for my friend who is a priest. Then we had lunch near Puente de San Martin. The restaurant served us lamb and potatoes, and it was delicious. I think that’s my favorite meal. 

I did have some killer gazpacho back in Madrid that night, though, after a final wander around the city. There were mounted police out (there were lots of police in general, but, y’know, I’m not allergic to them if they’re not on horses), so I was a bit twitchy and irritable- and I’m sure I annoyed our students- at first. But we found a concert in Puerto de Acala, we danced, we laughed, and then we had that awesome dinner. So it was a good way to end our trip.

Wv flew home the next day, and went back to our little lives. I’ll close by saying again how proud I am of our students, and how happy I was that I was able communicate in Spanish myself. I hadn’t studied it since AP class my senior year of high school; the other chaperons had all studied the language in college- and Mr. W is a native speaker- so I was worried about my ability to keep up. It was difficult to follow conversations, at first, but after about half a day I acclimated. I probably said a few things incorrectly, and I know I spoke more slowly than anyone else did, but I did it. Woot.

[hello-dental-smile-blog]

8 Teeth Whitening Products that could add an instant WOW to your smile!

Hot dude alert! You were parking your car when you got your eyes fixed on this super cool guy you could spend hours staring at. Your eyes fix, your heart races, and you know you two are meant to be.

  You look at the rear view mirror, quickly fixing how you look, and this guy approaches to come and talk to you. Butterflies in stomach! As he slowly leans down on the car window, you can’t help but think it is a weird dream. But then, he opens his mouth…

  YELLOW, STAINED TEETH.

I know plenty of girls who have been attracted to hot guys only to reject them because of their bad oral hygiene.

Now that we know how important it is to have clean looking teeth for both guys AND girls, what can we do to clean up and brighten our teeth?

Most celebrities having magical smiles spend time and money to gain that perfect white dentition. What if you could get your hands on the secret formula they use? Here’s how. You are about to witness few of the top products that could whiten your teeth within no time. Check them out…

1. The Dirt powdered toothpaste

Don’t be fooled by the name because this little box has nothing less than magic sawdust for your teeth. If you are habitual of having tea, you must have brown or black stains on your teeth, making you cautious while smiling in public.

You do not have to run to the dentist every time you want to remove these stains because the Dirt powdered toothpaste is just the right thing you need. Giving you nice, squeaky clean teeth, the Dirt powdered toothpaste is a must-have product you should always keep in your bathroom cabinet.

Check it out here

  2. Sensodyne Pronamel

Sensodyne Pronamel is your ultimate go-to toothpaste if you are looking for a cure to sensitive teeth, and you want whitening as a plus. The acids in your diet can erode the enamel of your teeth.

To whiten your teeth, you need to have a stronger enamel layer, which is what it gives you. Giving you a minty breath, as well as good protection against acid erosion, Sensodyne Pronamel is a perfect way to start your day.

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  3. Smilebriter Teeth Whitening Gel Pens

Who could have thought of something as convenient as gel pens merging into a product that gives you pearly teeth? With Smilebriter Teeth Whitening Gel pens, you can have the perfect Hollywood smile in a matter of few weeks.

Smilebriter Teeth Whitening Gel pens are easy to carry and you can use them anywhere you feel like. All you need to do is apply some gel on your teeth for a few minutes, and you are left with a minty-fresh breath, and teeth that could sparkle all day!

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  4. Miswak Club Natural Teeth Whitening Kit

If you happen to know a little bit about how toothbrushes came into being, you must know about the natural ingredient called miswak. This little stick is grown from Arak tree, and if you are into using natural products free of any pesticides and chemical, go for Miswak Club Natural Teeth Whitening Kit.

You do not even need water to use this gift of nature! Whitening your teeth, as well as massaging your gums to make them look healthier and shiny, Miswak Club Natural Teeth Whitening Kit is everything you needed!

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  5. Melaleuca Whitening Tooth Polish Paste

What could be better than a toothpaste that not only brightens your teeth but also gives them a shiny finish? Melaleuca Whitening Tooth Polish Paste gives you a glossy layer that can make your smile a million times brighter! If you are prone to caries, like some people naturally are, this is your ultimate solution.

Giving you the glassy professional finish, Melaleuca Whitening Tooth Polish Paste protects your enamel and whiten your teeth like no other!

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  6. Crest 3D White Whitestrips Dental Whitening Kit

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  7. Arm and Hammer Truly Radiant Whitening Booster

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The post 8 Teeth Whitening Products that could add an instant WOW to your smile! appeared first on Dental Smile Solutions.

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[mysticsparklewings]

Dancing Beads

I'll be honest with you guys, I've had a rough past couple of days. Heavy anxiety hanging over me like a thick fog, making it difficult to think straight, let alone work. That's why I submitted a WIP shot of this drawing earlier in the week. It was technically finished, but I just didn't have the stamina and focus to get it ready to post on Wednesday, and I pretty much knew that I wouldn't have it in me to make something else new to go up today. That said, I am feeling a little bit better and I hope that means I'm coming around the bend and will be truly back and ready to rock in another day or so. In the meantime, let's talk about the artwork, shall we? This is sort of an extended OOTD (Outfit Of The Day) drawing in a similar vein as this first OOTD drawing I ever did, OOTD: Witch Socks. I say extended and cut "OOTD" out of the title this time because of A. This drawing was done over 2-3 days and B. I obviously was no longer wearing the outfit by the time the drawing was finished. And also, secret reason C. I didn't actually wear this outfit out of the house; I just liked the way the colors worked together and thought it would make for a cute drawing. And honestly, even for someone like me who enjoys dressing eccentrically, I think this would've been a little too far over the edge to wear out and about anyway.  (I promise it looks a lot more socially acceptable in the drawing than it did in person) It's funny though, my last OOTD drawing was heavily inspired by the socks I was wearing that day, which looked like witch boots (hence the title it had), and this time my funky socks are once again a key point, but this piece got named after the pose and a different accessory. ...And I just noticed that this OOTD also has a pose where my head is in-profile facing the left...huh... Anyway; the key player here is the little plastic shiny red bead necklaces. They aren't much here in the drawing, but they're what set this whole thing in motion. My mom was cleaning out her purse and found them, remembering that she'd meant to give them to me when she initially brought them home from something they did at work, and since I was right there I just slid them on until I could put them away properly. (I have something of a small collection of bead necklaces like this for reasons unbeknownst even to me.) And at some point I was just feeling really good and kind of cute/kooky that day, and that's more or less where the idea to draw my outfit was born. From there, I'm not really sure where the pose came from other than the very loose/swinging nature of the necklaces and I wanted something fun and dynamic. And I swear I've tried to draw or seen this pose somewhere before, but if I did it must've been something I never posted because I sure can't find it in my gallery.  (Although it was at this point that I pretty much knew what the title for this was going to be ) And to be fair, I'm not sure the proportions/anatomy came out exactly right. At first, I thought the legs (or at least the calves) were too short, but then I re-evaluated and decided the arms were too long, so I shortened them and I feel like for the most part that fixed/evened things out. I just really didn't want to have to re-draw the feet because I felt like they (especially the one on the left) came out really good the first time. Weirdly enough, the hands didn't give me a ton of trouble the second time around, as I worried they might. And I also didn't have that much of a struggle getting the profile of the face right, which is unusual because of all the ways to draw a face, that's usually the one I have the most trouble with.  Then again, I guess I shouldn't be that surprised since a while ago when I was last drawing people more consistently I did do more profile faces and hands than usual, but I don't know. It's just kinda weird to not have that much trouble with them when in the past they've been main problem areas for me, at least during the sketching phase. Either way, as far as the actual drawing part goes, I think the most difficult thing this time was the bodice area because I wanted to get the proportions pleasing to the eye, but the tank top to still have reasonable folds, and the overall flow to work with the rest of the piece. But even that still wasn't too bad. The beads also took a while, since I was indeed fully committed to drawing every individual bead, but that really wasn't difficult, it just required patience. Little did I know, the difficulties would come in transferring the sketch to where I wanted it. I think I've gotten my fill of alcohol markers, given three of my most recent drawings were little kitties done almost exclusively in those, and so that combined with just not having done much with colored pencils in general lately (other than as smaller detail things or using water-soluble ones more like paint than pencils), I decided to do a bit of a return-to-form and make use of an extra piece of toned gray paper I've had waiting around to be used since like March, and do some good ol' colored pencil work. The joke was on me because I was very quickly reminded why I haven't used the gray paper a ton, especially compared to the toned tan paper I have; for reasons I can't figure out, it's incredibly hard to see through the paper to transfer lines, even with my lightbox on the brightest setting! So after several minutes of disappointed pondering, I dug out a charcoal stick I've had sitting in a "junk" art supply box (of which I have two; they're just boxes where the random stuff I don't really use or reach for very often that I don't have a good way to organize ends up) for the last half of forever and scribbled on the back of where I'd already transferred the lines once onto a regular piece of white paper (having hoped the black ink lines would be easier to see through the gray paper, which they were, but it still wasn't enough) and then used a mechanical pencil with the point shoved in to transfer the lines onto the gray paper. It's a very round-about way to do it, but it worked. And I went with the charcoal this time instead of trying the gelato trick that I learned with my Fly By the Moon piece because I thought the gelatos might not work all that great with the colored pencils, and I also thought they might make more of a mess trying to transfer onto regular paper instead of onto canvas. This ended up being a good choice also because the charcoal I was able to mostly erase/lift after I touched up the transfer in a few places and then I went back in with proper ink lines to make sure I wouldn't lose them once I started coloring. The lines finally taken care of, I could finally get to the fun part: coloring. And after some behind-the-scenes swatching experiences made them seem better than I had previously remembered, I decided to use my Schpirerr Farben colored pencils. Though I did make the mistake of using my white Prismacolor as a base for the skin. Not that it was a mistake because a white base wasn't needed (it was, and for everything else I used the white from the Schpirerr Farben set as a base), but because the Prismacolor pencil being wax-based, where the Schpirerr Farbens are oil-based, there was a conflict of texture in the layering. Kind of luckily though, I went too dark with the shading on the skin originally and had to work in more layers to fix that, and in that process, I think I managed to get the texture thing mostly under control. I did purposely use that in the hair though, since hair normally has...well, you know, noticeable texture. Otherwise, coloring was a pretty basic colored pencil experience (for me, anyway). I'd put down a base, then the base color, then work on the shading, and as I did certain parts I'd go back and adjust others based on what felt right. I have to say, I think the main drawback to the Schpirerr Farben pencils is really that they only come in 72 colors. I was able to do some mixing and shading and things to get the colors to where I needed them to be (the purple-y blue and red-orange colors on the socks, in particular, I had to mix to get), but I was really missing the wider selection I get from Prismacolor (150) or the Faber Castell Polychromos (120). Which isn't a huge deal, but it is a point for having multiple sets of pencils (or if you're the brand and not the consumer, making larger sets/adding new colors), even if you're loyal to a particular set/brand. Especially if the pencils play well together; the more you have, the wider color range you have to pick from. Other than that, I can confirm they do still layer and blend really nicely without much fuss (as had been my impressions back when I first talked about them). They're just soft enough that it always surprises me when I go to add a layer and the color goes on better than I thought it would because I figured I'd reached my limit on layers already.   Considering they've recently branched out and made a watercolor set recently, I'm not sure as to how much stock I should put in Schpirerr Farben possibly returning to their pencils and making more colors...Does the watercolor thing mean they've closed the book on the pencils and want to focus on other supplies now, or does that mean there's hope that they'll continue to innovate on their products, including potential upgrades to the pencils? I'm not sure. Either way, once I finished coloring the figure in, I went back over the ink lines where I'd gotten colored pencil over them and they'd faded/washed out as a result, and then did the white outline with my white gel pen. Then I left the drawing alone overnight because it was missing something, but I wasn't sure what and I couldn't think of anything that night. When I came back to it the next day, I ended up deciding on something slightly complicated; A soft purple PanPastel background with one triangle shape masked/blocked out, and one triangle done in washi tape. This would end up evolving from the second triangle just being bigger to it being a slightly different kind of triangle and going in the opposite direction. And also I changed my mind on which washi tape to use about three different times, finally settling on this metallic-printed on for a little more intrigue when you see the piece IRL. (Even though here on the scan it just looks dark and borderline out of place ) Then to "blend" the metallic into the drawing as a whole better, I added the little dots in the background around the head with a gold shadow gelly roll, since in-person the color looks really close to the metallic print on the tape and the dots kind of tie in the "beads" theme a little better. (Again, this doesn't translate as well into the scan, but I kinda knew that was a risk with both things when I put them down.) And I did go over a few of the beads on the necklaces with the same pen to tie everything all together. Then I signed it with my white gel pen, and I felt much better about calling it finished. And you know, it has its flaws and all, but I am pretty happy with how it turned out anyway. It's a little more simple and there's not a ton of deep meaning or impactful influence behind it or anything, it's not terribly experimental, but it's still a fleshed out, polished drawing. And I really enjoy that, as it gave me more room to just kind of hone in on and practice skills I'm already fairly comfortable with, and sometimes that's just what you need in art, you know?   I'm not sure what I'll end up making to post next--I've got some ideas, of course, (never a shortage of those around here ) but I've been a little too muddled to settle on anything just yet, so we'll just have to wait and see. For now, I'm trying to focus more on being gentle with myself until I seem to be back up to snuff to really buckle down on stuff. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram