#the smudge tool is my new best friend I use it on everything

[ministarfruit]

local alley cat gets beaten up (colourised)

[ghilenan]

If I may ask do you use a tablet, or pc when you do digital art? What app do you use? I’m looking to get into it myself and I just don’t know which things to use??

Thank you!

Hi friend! You've chosen a long but very fun and gratifying journey 😌

The short answer is: I draw on a display tablet (this one) and I mainly use Photoshop (for sketching and linework) and Paint Tool SAI (for rendering).

Here's the long(er) one:

Way back in the beginning, I used to draw with a mouse, then I got a 2-in-1 laptop (Toshiba Tecra M7), then a non-display tablet, and finally switched to XP Pen's display tablets.They're much cheaper than Wacom, and while I can't compare the two fairly (as I haven't used a Wacom), in my experience the XP Pen ones are well worth their price and they have everything I personally need. There are other brands to consider as well, of course (Huion comes to mind! One of my friends has it and I recall them being happy with it).

But even so, display tablets are still kinda pricey, so other options might be worth exploring if they're out of your price range for now. I wouldn't suggest drawing with a mouse if you can help it, but I found that non-display tablets are very intuitive and easy to get used to, so they're a great option to try out.

There's also those bigger iPads some of my friends draw on, but I've never used one so I can't really say much about it.

As for software, my chosen method is more a case of me being used to it than it being convenient (it's really counterproductive, actually 😂). There are many programs that I've heard good things about, Clip Studio Paint being the one almost everyone seems to be loving on these days. There's also Krita (I very much enjoy this one, and it's free!), Fire Alpaca (also free), GIMP (free), Procreate if you're drawing on an iPad...

In the end it's all about finding what's best for you personally. I highly recommend trying out whichever programs you can get your hands on, to see which one is more intuitive and comfortable for you, and when it comes to hardware, the most important thing, imo, is that it has good pressure sensitivity and minimal parallax in case of display tablets. Tilt sensitivity is nice to have too, but I spent years drawing just fine without it and I barely use it on my new tablet that has it.

If you have a store nearby that will let you test non-display and display tablets to see how you feel about them, do absolutely take them up on that.

OH! And if you do end up getting a display tablet, it'll almost certainly come with a drawing glove (to minimize friction and smudges), but I find them kinda uncomfortable, so I use SmudgeGuard 2. It's durable, fits like a glove (ha!) if you measure your hand correctly, super comfortable, very stylish 😎

I hope this helps at least a little! Lemme know if you have any other questions, I'm always happy to answer whatever I can 💜

[girl8890]

R Town | Ch.2

Suga x J-hope

4.6k

POV: Suga

Warnings: Small town!au, Angst, Pining, Jealousy, Loss of virginity (past tense), Anal sex, Prostitution, Vaginal sex, Cheating, Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm (past tense), Confessions.

Index | Ch.3

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

J-hope Hoseok. J-hope Hoseok. Hoseok J-hope.

No matter how many ways or the number of times I say his name, it always breaks a smile to my usual flat expression.

I have been friends with the town's hairdresser since before I could remember. Growing up right next to each other, and then being the heads of business right next to each other would make you think we were the best of friends. The type of friends that could tell each other everything. For the most part, we do... but not every secret of mine has been shared.

It all started during puberty. Our bodies were changing, and certain things began to look more attractive than before. Most kids in our school would gawk at the girls from the neighboring school, whispering about how they wanted to bury their faces in girls' boobs and find out how wet the girls can be on their dicks.

I, on the other hand, gawked at my best friend. I would never say anything to him, and no one else ever knew about these feelings I had for my best friend. I felt ashamed, for a while, about it. Thinking I wasn't normal, and that if my best friend ever found out then our friendship would be done for. And this secret still stands.

Even now, years later from my first realization of the love I have for my best friend, I still feel that I'll lose him with the drop of a pin. But I now know that my feelings are normal. I wasn't the only kid in our grade or the only person in town that preferred men over women. Even the town's richest man was rumored, and confirmed to like fucking guys and never wanting to touch a woman.

But what I have for J-hope isn't just lust and the need to fuck him. I want everything with and from him.

I want to see his happy smile every day, and take pictures of him doing even the most normal of things. I want to hold his hand and feel the electricity between us. Hold him close to me so I can feel his warmth radiate against me. I want to know what it's like to kiss his small lips and hear him whimper when I push the kiss to a new level.

I just want... him. But I can't have him.

My camera clicks when I press the button to take a picture. J-hope blinks a few times by the surprise flash, then smiles and giggles when he realizes I took a photo of him.

"Suga, not in the store." And I reply with a roll of my eyes. He says this every time, but I do it anyway.

Although he does have anyone and everyone in town come to him for hair cuts and such, during this time of day business is slow for him and me. That's why I usually come over, take it out food in my hand, and snap as my pictures of him as I can to add to my wall of candied photos of people around town.

Truthfully, it's mostly just J-hope. I don't want to take pictures of anyone else besides J-hope. He's just so pretty!

"Oh, come on. You like getting your picture taken as much as I love taking the pictures."

I smile a knowing smile, and I hear him scoff at me but it's ruined by his own knowing smile. He goes back to cleaning his clippers in sanitizer, and I watch from my seat across the room as his fingers craftily clean each tool.

I could watch J-hope paint a wall white, and I would feel like it was the most amazing thing to see. My smile grows even though the silence between us stretches. Watching him squint, and pull his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he makes sure each tool is thoroughly cleaned. Me giving his lips my extra attention.

It isn't until Juliet, his wife, enters the room that my smile falls altogether. She's dressed in a way too expensive purple sequences dress that undoubtedly J-hope paid for. She stops at the mirror near the stairs and wipes away whatever smudge she had on the side of her lips.

When she's done, she turns and starts heading for the door.

"I'm heading out. Don't wait up."

J-hope is stunned for a second by his wife's rude way of saying she's leaving, but the stunned expression eventually turns flat. Flat because this is usual for me to see with him and his wife.

Juliet will leave at random times of the day, and won't be back until very late. Leaving without saying where she's going, or how long she will be out. And sadly, in this situation, J-hope is too sweet and caring of a guy to say anything to his wife. One of the many reasons I hate her. For using his kindness and barely spending time with the person she's lucky enough to be with.

And another reason for my forever-growing hatred for the woman is her predictable next actions.

Juliet stops right before she exits the store. She turns around, plasters a sexy smirk on her face, and walks over to J-hope like she's on a mission.

"Baby, can I have some cash for tonight?" I watch with a heated stare as she leans forward, giving him a clear view of her breasts coming out of her dress, and squeezing his upper arm.

"Of course, my love." J-hope hands her some cash without a second of hesitation.

Don't take J-hope wrong, he isn't with Juliet because she is undoubtedly one of the sexiest girls in town. He's always been someone that looks into personalities instead of looks. But what I also don't understand, with this fact being known by me, is how he ended up marrying a gold-digging tramp like her.

I remember the day J-hope asked me to be his best man like it was yesterday. The straight horror of the news made my jaw drop, but luckily J-hope didn't take my expression as it was. In fact, as soon as I saw his smile brighten and his body starts to shake in excitement, my whole demeanor changed.

I squeezed out a 'congratulations' and 'of course I'll be your best man.' But even as I smiled and listened to J-hope go on and on about how excited he was to marry Juliet, I felt my heart break. Knowing that J-hope would be lost from me forever after they said I do's

And now I'm here. Forever in the cycle of anger as I watch J-hope fawn over his bitch of a wife, and she smiles her fake smile. Then I have to hold back my anger and hope my hands don't break the camera I'm holding as I watch Juliet hold J-hope's face still so she can kiss him passionately.

I hear J-hope whimper into her mouth, and it makes me want to cry that he's making those noises because of her. To watch him melt into her is pure agony.

Out of all the people on the planet, why did he have to fall for a girl like Juliet? I know most of my reactions to the things they do is because I'm jealous that he's with her and not me, but I would of been a little less upset about the situation if he married someone actually suitable for him. Someone who's as kind and as loving as himself. Not this she-beast.

When Juliet pulls her lips from his, their heavy breaths linger on each other's faces. She wipes her lipstick off his lips with her thumb, and then whispers into the space between them, "I'll see you later, baby."

As she walks away, she spots me. I watch her once fake smile turn into a cruel growl of an expression. Juliet has always hated me. I always suspected it was because she knew of my feelings for J-hope, but that would mean she would give a shit about J-hope. No. She only cares about the money he hands her, and the money he makes.

She probably hates me because I spent so much time with J-hope, and maybe one day I would knock some sense into him. Making him realize Juliet is in fact the worst person on the planet.

The second the front door shuts behind her, I'm going off.

"What the actual fuck was that?"

J-hop's once happy smile disappears, and I hate that I'm the one that made him look that way. But this also isn't the first time Juliet has done something like this. Take money out of her husband's wallet and leave.

J-hope turns to his hair styling tools and begins cleaning a tool that was already cleaned. Clearly not wanting to take part in this conversation, but he replies anyway, "What do you mean?"

I stand up out of my seat and walk over to him. Grabbing the comb he was cleaning for the second time out of his hand and I slammed it on the table. "You know what I mean, J-hope. She just left without an explanation and asked you for money. Again! Don't you ever get tired of this?"

J-hope sighs and rubs at his forehead. "Of course I do. But I also trust Juliet. She wouldn't do anything to affect our marriage."

That's the most untrue statement I've ever heard in my life. The whole ordeal with her and his money should affect their marriage. That woman has never lifted a finger or worked a day in her life. But she's smart and knows what she's doing. Taking advantage of J-hope without a second thought.

"That's bullshit!"

"No, it's not," J-hope's voice becomes sterner. He gives himself a second to breathe since he doesn't want his anger to bubble over. Another thing I love so dearly about the man in front of me is he can hold his temper. He's usually able to help me not lose my temper, but when it comes to someone taking advantage of J-hope, nothing can stop me from blowing up. "You just don't understand, Suga."

Don't fucking say it.

"You've just never been in love before" And he fucking said it. He fucking said, once again, words that are completely untrue. He really doesn't know how unsure they are, either.

Without another word, I leave the store. I don't look back to see J-hope's stunned expression for my hasty exit. I just want to get away. To get away from him just in case I decide to accidentally say something I'll regret. Like, tell him how much he's wrong about his statement.

Even though I hate to admit it, in times like these, like most people in this town, all I want to do is take my anger out on others. Not beat, or punch someone. But to fuck someone until I forget my anger, and forget that my best friend will never be mine. That's the biggest part of me. The part that loves J-hope unconditionally, won't ever be allowed to see the light of day.

With that last thought, I start walking toward the empty building next to the game store. The place where most of the prostitutes hang out and wait for a desperate guy like me to come along.

The sad thing about this isn't even me resorting to fucking a whore to get over J-hope, but it's the fact that I started doing this because he told me he was marrying Juliet, and I knew then that I would never have him in the way I want.

I don't know how I ended up getting to the building so fast, but I walked into the building with haste. There are grunts and moans, both feminine and masculine, coming from everywhere in the building. As I walk down the creaking hallway, a guy with bright orange hair walks up to me and says in a sultry tone, "Hey there big guy. Wanna take a spin on me?"

I just keep walking, not even sparing him a second glance. Although this may not help your opinion of me, but I only fuck one person in this place. One person that saved me from shutting down completely, and offing myself because that's how bad my heart cracked. The man who took my virginity, and "just so happens" to look very similar to the man I love.

Right when I turn a corner, I see him. Leaning against the tan wall smoking a cigarette and looking like he should be on the cover of Vogue instead of in an abandoned building that's being used as a whore house. He's wearing the usual tight black pants, but instead of wearing the usual black tank top, his chest is completely bare.

He inhales a drag of his cigarette and turns to me when he realizes someone has stopped at the end of the hallway. I watch his lips curve into a smile around the cigarette, and he exhales the smoke in my direction.

The thing is he doesn't even look like J-hope from the front. This guy has thicker lips, and his cheeks are too thinned out to look anything like the person I love. The only thing that matters to me, at this moment, when it comes to this guy is what he looks like from the back. Brown hair trimmed very high up on his neck, just like J-hope. A slender back with protruding back muscles, just like J-hope. And an ass that makes my mouth water, J-hope wins in that department, but the guy still does the job.

"It's been a while, Suga." He stubs the cigarette into the wall, then he starts to walk toward me. "What happened this time, baby?"

This is usually how it goes. I come to him in either a pissed or upset mood. Ready to spill my heart out. But not today. Today, I just want to fuck out my emotions into his willing body and forget the words still echoing in my head from J-hope.

You've just never been in love before.

"Not today, man. I just need you and I need you now."

The guy smiles and nods his head. Gesturing for me to follow him into a more secluded area. One thing you need to know about this man, is I don't know his actual name. I think he maybe is the guy Trevor that every gay man in this town is obsessed with, but I never asked.

The day I first met him, when I took his proposition the first time to fuck my feelings out on him, he told me to call him whatever name I wanted. To fuck him until the name I was calling him no longer hurt to say. And that's what I did. I guess I was really pent up that day too because afterward, this guy didn't even make me pay him. The first time, that is.

The guy brings me to a corner where we can barely hear anyone else in the building. Everyone is now just faded background noise. The only thing in this corner is dust, a table, and a cracked mirror right in front of it.

The second the guy aligns himself in front of the table, I shove his head down onto the table hard. Bending him over and hearing the guy giggle by my forceful actions.

With a knowing tone in his voice, he states, "This guy got you really riled up today. Getting me excited for you already."

His words are supposed to seduce me, and maybe if this was my first time with him it would, but right now I could give a shit less. With only a couple of motions, I thrust my condom-covered dick into him. Feeling that he's already somewhat loose from prior fucking he's done today, and the wetness he's able to create because of it.

We both moan and cry out the pleasurable feeling it feels to be joined together. Me fucking into him repeatedly now without any time to breathe, and holding him down by his hips.

I'm slowly feeling my frustrations melt away, forgetting my worries from before. But even as I completely forget my love life problems, I still call out J-hops name as I spill into this man underneath me.

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

After paying and leaving the guy behind in the abandoned building, I feel incredibly guilty. Not for having sex with a prostitute, or even leaving him as soon as I paid, but for thinking about my best friend as I did it. For wanting to only think of J-hope as I fuck a stranger, and J-hope not knowing I do this when my love for him gets to be too much.

If J-hope knew about any of this, I would have to leave town and never come back. If he knew I loved him more than just normal friends do, I know I would go dark again. As dark as I felt when I cut into my skin years ago, and the only dimming of light that was there was a whore that let me fuck my brain out with him.

It wasn't until I saw J-hope's smiling face again, after that day, that the darkness faded for a while. I don't want to return to that point again. It was toxic, and not at all how someone should feel about losing the love of their life to another person.

Instead of going home, to the place right next to J-hopes, I decide to take a detour into Jungkook's game store. I can't be by J-hope right now especially when I smell like sex and regret.

Jungkook, the game store owner, is actually one of my close friends. We haven't been friends as long as J-hope and I, but he's one of the few people in this town I can stand to be around. He's obsessed with gaming, and the man can take a joke unlike other people in this town.

I'm talking about you, Juliet.

As I walk into the game store, I'm surprised to see the place completely empty. Although it is late now, and half past closing for most places in this town, Jungkook's store is open 24 hours daily. But even if no one is in the store gaming, I would always find him playing one of his bright-colored game machines, but he's nowhere to be found today.

"Jungkook! You here?" I call out into the empty store and get no answer in return.

I remember that this place has an office in the far back corner of the store, so he's probably just back there. I begin to walk in the direction of the office, but right before I go to open the door, my ears pick up the sound of moaning. It startles me at first. Not thinking I would hear moaning from the other side of the door, especially feminine noises.

I knew Jungkook was straight, and a man that likes to fuck, but truthfully he's not a very outgoing guy. He's quite shy, actually. Smart, but shy. The kind of guy any girl wants on paper, but in truth would never go for because they would want all his time and attention. The only attention Jungkook wants to give though, is to his video games.

I knew I shouldn't have opened the door. Jungkook's sex life is none of my business, and he could fuck whoever he wanted to. But something about this situation made the gears in my brain start to turn. So, I cracked the door open. Only seeing a sliver of what was happening but seeing enough.

To my horror and disgust, I see Jungkook fucking into someone that's laying flat on his desk. And that someone is none other than Juliet, J-hope's "loyal" wife.

Juliet whips her head back and screams out in ecstasy as Jungkook thrusts into her again. I watch as she scrapes her nails down his back, and he grabs the edges of the desk to help steady himself as he continues to drive into her.

I should look away. I should leave the game store and go tell J-hope, but I'm so in shock by finding Juliet cheating on J-hope that I'm stuck in my place.

Jungkook pushes himself to his hands. Holding himself above Juliet, and then wraps his fingers around her neck. Holding her steady as he fucks her more ruthlessly, almost violently to be honest. But Juliet takes it, and by the noises, she's making, she's loving every second of it.

It wasn't until they both yelled out, "Fuck!" - them both cumming at the same time - that I finally wake up from my shock and shut the door. Running out of the game store before they had any inclination that I was that.

Holy fucking shit!

I can't believe I just witnessed Juliet cheat on J-hope. Not only is she a money-stealing bitch, but she's a cheater too. Honestly, even as I run down the street thinking about what just happened, and a couple of minutes have passed, I'm not that surprised.

I've witnessed Juliet flirt right in front of me, before marrying J-hope, with Taehyung. This is how I found out Taehyung was into men more than women, and how I found out Juliet didn't love anyone but herself and money. I wonder if she's doing the same thing to Jungkook since he is technically considered the second wealthiest man in town.

But if I knew Jungkook well at all, it's a lost cause for Juliet. Jungkook has no interest in a relationship. In fact, during a drunk night between me and him, he spilled all his sorrows to me about how he's been in love with someone since childhood. Just like me. And that she left this town when we were all children.

Jungkook's love life aside, Juliet is about to have a rude awakening. Out of all people in this town to catch her cheating, I'm probably the second-worst person to be the one. J-hope being the first.

But J-hope is about to find out.

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

I run into the store without hesitation. Calling out for J-hope right away. When there's no answer, I run up the stairs at the back of the store and bang on the studio above the store where he lives front door repeatedly. No more than a minute later, a startled J-hope opens the door.

"Suga, what's wrong? You almost gave me a heart attack."

I push myself inside his studio apartment, not caring right now about how I frightened J-hope. Any other day, I would actually hate myself a little for frightening him. But later, after I say my next words, I'll hate myself for different reasons.

"Juliet's cheating on you!"

J-hope's eyes go wide, and his lips part. Not at all expecting me to say this to him. "Juliet's, w-what?"

I calm myself by trying to control my breathing. Even though I'm angry, the last thing I should be doing is yelling at J-hope about how much of a slut his wife is... even though it's true.

"I went to visit Jungkook at his place, and I found him and Juliet, like... together."

"Together as in hanging out or-"

"Together as in she was having sex with him, J-hope!"

I've never seen the expression currently on J-hope's face before, but it was a toss between betrayed and confused. Betrayed by hearing his wife was caught fucking someone else, and confused by how this could have happened in the first place.

As the second's tick by, me not saying anything because I want to allow my friend to think my words over, his expression suddenly changes. It changes to one of content and understanding, for which I'm now sporting a very confused expression in return.

"I understand, Suga." Understand? Understand, what? "This is about earlier. Isn't it?"

"W-what?" What the fuck are you talking about, I wanted to say instead.

"Your mad about Juliet asking for money before, so you made this up to make me see her how you do. I understand your just looking out for me, but Juliet would never do that."

No fucking way. No fucking way is my best friend so blind by Juliet's beauty and fake love that he's actually thinking I'm lying right now. "I'm not lying J-hope! I caught them at-"

"Stop, Suga. Please. This isn't the way you should go about things. One day when your in love-" don't fucking say it. "-you'll understand. You'll understand that when you love someone so dearly, that you would do everything for that person." I do understand. "That seeing them happy means everything to you." I do. "And that you'll love them so much, that even the thought of them being with someone else is completely heartbreaking. So please stop this."

I do. I do. I fucking do know and understand this! The person I feel all that for is standing right in front of me. Standing there talking about how much he loves his wife while that wife is currently spilling cum out of her pussy!

I'm fuming in rage now. I'm fuming so hard I almost want to say-

"And you'll trust them," J-hope continues. "You'll trust them with everything you got because you know they love you enough to never lie."

That's it. My restraint is now severed.

"I LOVE YOU!"

J-hope's jaw drops.

"I love you and I should be the one your giving your trust in at this moment. Not the gold digging bitch you call your wife! She cheating on you, and your just going to allow it? While I'm here, pining after you for the past decade and hoping in some universe that you end up with me instead for her!" A moment of silence. J-hopes expression doesn't change. "I'm here, and I've always been here. Everything you just said I understand because that is what you are to me and so much more. I love you J-hope, and Juliet fucking doesn't!"

The apartment is completely quiet as I say the last words. My words now echo in my head as the silence grows, and the look on J-hope's face starts to register in my brain.

I nearly collapse on the floor when I realize every word I just said. I told J-hope I love him. I hold him I've loved him for years. What is wrong with me?

Before J-hope can respond, I'm running out of the apartment and down the stairs. I hear him yell after me. Hearing him say, "Suga stop!"

But I don't stop.

I run right out of his store, and right into my store next door. Ignoring the camera J-hope left on the front porch, flying past all my photos on the walls I usually admire when entering the store, and I go right into my bedroom at the back of it. I slam my bedroom behind me, locking it for good measure, and hide under my blanket.

Crying the second my head hits the pillow.

What have I done?

-

-

-

Index | Ch.3 (J-HOPE)

[joyfulhopelox]

Rosy Carnation

Pairing: painter!Min Yoongi x skater!reader (non-idol! au)

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Warnings: some talk about social anxiety, Yoongi is a bit harsh in the beginning but rest is just pure fluff

Word count: 6k

rating: pg

Summary: There was nothing in this world that Yoongi hated more than busybodies. Unfortunately for him one particular ditzy skater decides to break the peace by crashing into his life and offering him a rosy carnation

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner (thank you @mochi-molala for giving me the artistic approval for this think you didn’t realise how much it helped)

This is part 3 of my Love Blossom series and quite unedited, i tried but some mistakes may have escaped my notice

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

There was nothing more peaceful than being able to sit by the river in the early hours of the morning. Every day without fail, Yoongi would take advantage of the sleeping city and set camp by the riverside situated just on the outskirts.

The place was far from being secluded, its location sign-posted by the popular park that housed it. But he knew that during those hours no one bothered to visit, everyone was busy with their office jobs. It wasn’t that he was unemployed, it just so happened that his job allowed him to work from wherever and at whatever time. In fact, the more scenic the location the better for him. As a painter he had the freedom to choose his office, and his most prefered location happened to be by the riverside. The stillness of the morning, the sun just about to peek out from under the city skyline and the sound of the birds conversing amongst each other relaxed him. And if there was one thing that permitted Yoongi to paint without restrictions, was the tranquility of everything around him.

His normal spot, under a beech tree, was rarely used, the pathway that passed by it not being used by the general population. Sometimes he would spot the occasional cyclist passing by on their way to work, sometimes he would hear the scraping of the skateboards doing tricks in the skate park located behind the wall of trees that surrounded him. But no one ever bothered him, or was bothered by him. And it suited him and his needs just fine.

Yoongi disliked it when his flow was interrupted. Luckily for him, it rarely happened. No one threw him more than a glance as no one found the scene to be out of place. Sometimes he would be pulled out of his thoughts by the yap of a dog that got too excited at the prospect of a new human. Other times he would be questioned by the curious child that has never seen a painter at work. Those did not inconvenience him, the innocence and sincerity of the interference was enough to not disturb him.

However, what he miscalculated that day was the early start of the fishing season. One bad trait of being a painter working under your own schedule was losing track of time. And so when that one morning he trudged along with his canvas and his tools to his sacred spot only to find it occupied by fishermen he almost had a panic attack. He forgot all about that, and so unprepared, he did not know what to do or where to relocate. Pausing for a couple of minutes, his eyes scrutinising the men sitting on the riverbank in complete stillness, he contemplated on setting up his stool next to them. But when one of them yelled in glee at having caught a fish, he decided he’d rather not. Fishermen needed to be still because of the nature of their activity, that did not mean they were quiet people overall.

Disappointed and a bit frazzled, Yoongi picked up his canvas from where he set it next to his foot and left the area to scout for a substitute.

After what felt like a good few minutes of walking in circles, he found himself passing by a small public garden right in the middle of the greenery encompassing the riverside. He inspected it quietly, his eyes taking in the flower arrangements and the neatly cut grass. Has that always been there? Probably, it is not like he ventured out of his safe spot. But now, when forced to he realised that maybe there were other places where he could sit and paint in peace. Determinately, he walked into the small gated garden familiarising himself with the layout. There were some benches strewn across the space, all of them framed by vibrant rose bushes, some young oak trees judging by their height but what caught his eye most importantly was the small gazebo tucked away at the back of the garden gated by rows of variously coloured carnations. He decided that it would be the perfect spot, it would have to do for now. Not like he had any other choice. The morning was almost gone, the heat of the midday sun bleeding its way into the breeze. Soon the park will get busier and busier.

Dumping his belongings on the ground he sets off to unpack everything so he could get started. He felt strangely excited about this new spot he had found. Somehow, the novelty of the environment has given him the inspiration that he needed for today’s session. He normally shied away from new experiences, new people and most importantly unexpected circumstances, but this circumstance was more than welcome.

As he sat on his stool, paint brush in hand, the blank canvas staring at him, daring him to fill it with his vision he bit his lip. Suddenly so many ideas zoomed through his mind that he had a hard time deciphering which one sounded the best.

However, none of them made it on the actual canvas.

A skateboard zoomed straight past his feet,out of control, knocking into his carefully placed tools; acrylics and brushes scattered all over the ground in various corners of the gazebo. An exasperated yell and some harsh pants followed said abomination. Yoongi, who was too stunned to even form a sentence or comprehend what was happening around him, stared as you ran towards him at full speed.

“I’m so sorry, sorry sorry sorry” you repeated zooming towards him at breakneck speed. Still in shock Yoongi still couldn’t process what was happening around him. You were going to barrel straight into him but all he could do was blink, his brain still trying to catch up with the situation. One moment you were running towards the skateboard and the next moment found you laying sprawled at his feet.

“Ouch” Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times, and reality finally caught up with him.

He stared at the mess around him. His canvas was lying on the ground a few good feet away from him, its white clean surface now completely smudged with dirt and his acrylics and brushes were all scattered at his feet. The sight of his paints not only disorganised in such a fashion but also crushed and spilled all over the ground caused his stomach to drop. They were not the cheapest and they were also the only ones he had left. It was clear there was nothing to salvage, he had to go once more to the art store and buy more.

“Ohmygod i am so sorry!” The frantic voice was loud enough to make Yoongi wince.

You were not having a good day, and it showed. You started the morning by burning your toast. Then you forgot to grab your keys, which resulted in you having to beg your landlord for the spare in the early hours of the morning. To say they were not pleased was an understatement. You spilled coffee on your white top on your way to the park. And to top it all off you ended up hurtling towards an extremely handsome man.

You decided in the morning that you would try to learn that late kickflip your friends have been trying to teach you, but as a new skater you decided to practice in the garden just off the side of the skate park. One foot placement went wrong and your skate ran from under your feet flying towards the unsuspecting victim.

Luckily it did not hit him, however it scattered all of his belongings all over the dirty ground. It felt as if you were watching all of that happen in slow motion, when in reality it probably only took you a second to react. Trying to help and get a hold of your skate, you rushed to catch it in time before it disappeared into the row of carnations. But you miscalculated entirely the distance between you and the stranger, his foot halting your run.

And that is how you ended up there, on the floor, at his feet, covered in his paints.

You sprung up as fast as you could ignoring the tingling in your leg and started apologising profusely. However, the harshness at which you crashed on the floor combined with the speed at which you got up were a fatal combination. The blood rushed to your feet quicker than you could process and your knees gave out from under you. In an attempt to not crash onto the floor again you grabbed onto the closest stable object you could. Only, it happened to not be an object but a person. So with a clammy hand you latched onto the man in front of you.

Yoongi did not know what to do. You had grabbed onto him with such conviction that his brain malfunctioned. He hated to be touched, especially by strangers. And so when the fight or flight instinct kicked in he shrugged you off violently causing you to crumple on the floor once again.

“Ouch.” Your butt hurt and you wanted to be annoyed at him, but when you looked up to let your feelings known and your eyes locked onto his panicked ones, you paused. He looked ready to run off on you. “I- uh, am sorry” You tried once more to get up, this time as slowly as you could. You knew there would be a bruise later but it was not something you were unfamiliar with.

Yoongi did not respond to you. He couldn’t, his brain was still ready to shut down. He normally ran away from any human interaction, the nature of his job enough to facilitate such behaviour. Being faced with it and in such an unexpected way caused his anxiety to be at an all time high. And so he did what he normally does best; he retreated within himself completely ignoring your apology.

Silently he stepped away from you and crouched down to start picking up his belongings. With an anguished sigh he took in the mess that his acrylics had become. It was going to cost him a lot to be able to replace them but what other choice did he have?

Taking his silence as a sign of anger, you panicked. If there was one thing you could not stand was to see someone angry. Especially when it was directed at you. In an attempt to amend yourself to him you crouched down next to him and started picking up his stuff. “I am really sorry. I didn't mean to. It was just a new trick that i wanted to learn, and i am a newbie at all this and so i was scared to go to the skate park and try them. And I am a clutz and I knew this was going to happen at some point! The day has already started on such a bad note-”

You knew you were rambling, you were nervous. But Yoongi did not care about that. He just wanted you gone. He wanted his peace back, he wanted to get his work done and retreat back to his home and most importantly, he wanted you to get your hands off of his possessions.

Without looking at you, he harshly grabbed for the brushes that you had gathered in your hand. “Leave” he surprised himself at how resolute he managed to sound despite the slight waver in his voice.

“Are you angry? Oh my god you are! I am so sorry again, let me make it up to you! I really did not mean to destroy your work!” you get up once more rushing towards the canvas that lay a few feet away from the two of you. Picking it up you stare at the blank piece of material.

“Oh, are you an artist?” you turn to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Completely forgetting the incident from earlier you giddily walk over, the canvas extended towards him.

Yoongi could not believe his eyes, your brash behaviour in front of a complete stranger that has made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you was baffling to him. He contemplated for a second the thought of you being deaf, but then no because you had clearly heard him the first time. His anxiety quickly morphed into annoyance, if you weren’t going to leave he decided he would.

Taking a hold of the canvas you were handing over to him he pulled it out of your hands and stuffed it under his arm. Crouching down again he hurriedly stuffs his brushes and acrylics in his bag. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could before you had the chance to touch any of his belongings again.

“Hey, i-uh. Please don’t be angry. I really am sorry. Look you don’t have to leave, i will go” Yoongi paused, his hand hovering above his palette. Chancing a glance at you, his eyes widened a fraction. You looked completely frazzled. Not even looking at him, your eyes focused on your fretting hands. He could just about see a snippet of your face and the way your bottom lip was trembling slightly made his anger melt a little. Maybe he has been a bit too harsh on you.

“Yes” he offers offhandedly whilst placing his canvas back to where it was before.

At his change in tone your head snaps up and you gape at him. “What?” you breathe out in surprise. His soft but deep voice took you by surprise. It was extremely smooth and you had not expected it to come out of his mouth.

He did not offer you anything else, leaving you gawking at him, watching as he set up his canvas onto the easel. You were silent for a couple of minutes trying to understand what he had meant when it finally hit you.

“Ah! You are an artist! That is amazing, what type of paintings do you do? Is it nature?” you clapped your hands excitedly. “Of course it is nature Y/N, he is in the middle of the gazebo how dumb can you be” you muttered to yourself whilst shaking your head.

Yoongi glanced at you from his periphery. He wasn’t feeling as threatened by your presence as he had before, but that did not mean he was comfortable with you being there. He observed you for a couple of seconds watching as you muttered to yourself for the time being. He took it as a chance to set his palette down and tried to squeeze whatever was left of his acrylics onto it.

You realised a bit too late that you had started daydreaming whilst muttering to yourself and so with rosy cheeks you mutter another apology.

“You apologise too much.” Yoongi did not know where his courage had come from but he couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth. “I asked you to leave.” His harsh words caused you to flinch, but your eagerness to see him paint rooted you on the spot.

“Is-uh,” you took a deep breath in trying to calm your beating heart, “is it ok if i stay here and watch you?” You cringed at how voyeuristic that sounded. But you had to admit to yourself, the honey haired guy, with soft plump cheeks and pouty lips has caught your interest and you were not ready to part with him just yet.

Yoongi didn’t respond, he’s made it clear he wanted you gone, but he finally understood that the clumsy human that managed to wreck his set up was a stubborn one. He chose instead to ignore your presence and settle on his painting, giving you unspoken permission to do as you pleased.

Catching onto the meaning of his silence you beamed and sat yourself down.

Trying your hardest to be silent you bit your lip. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate you disturbing him any longer. Soon enough, you slipped into a daydream your eyes focused on the flowers behind the hunched form of the intriguing artist.

Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, his painting was finally finished. He had opted to use greens this time, the nature around him inspiring the concept behind this. However, he could not help but add the dots of red here and there, its fiery tumultuous colour breaking the tranquility of the greens. Just like you had thundered into his life just earlier.

“Woah” broken out of the daydream by the sound of his sigh, your eyes focused on the painting before you. You knew you were easily impressed but this painting was stunning. “That is so cool” you whispered in awe.

Yoongi blushed, he had been complimented a lot on his work, but there was something about the sincerity shining through your statement that frazzled him. He nodded in acknowledgment. He had enough knowledge to be aware that he needed to thank you for the compliment.

“Oh!” you sprung up suddenly the transition making him jump. “I am late!” You quickly picked up your skateboard. “Ah,” stopping mid run you turn back. Rushing to the bushes of carnations you pick one up. With confident stride you head back.

Yoongi watched you, once again his mind completely discombobulated by your abruptness. When you halt in front of him and push the flower into his hands he doesn’t know how to react. Instead he just sits there waiting for your next move, his mind once again preparing him to flee.

“It was nice meeting you….uh?” You realised you did not ask for his name, so as you urge the flower into his grasp you wait patiently for him to offer it to you. When after a minute of silence he doesn’t you try again. “What is your name?”

“So can you like...teach me how to paint?” you eyes brightened at the thought.

“What?” Yoongi sputtered. A week has passed since the first time you decided to literally crash into his life. A week of your mindless chatter. Even so, he had tried his best to ignore you and your childish view of the world. He was ignoring you, but it was not like he couldn’t hear you.

He was not expecting that request, and yet, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Your randomness and innocence has been taking his breath away from the moment he saw you. You were all over the place, clumsy and random. He did not want to sit and ponder at that thought, feeling the shiver of anxiety creep back in. Schooling his expression to a neutral one he shook his head and went back to his canvas.

“No” the harsh tone of his voice made you flinch.

Not noticing the effect his words had on you he carried on, “You’d do a very poor job of it, and it hurts to think you’d waste all this material for some doodles.” Not giving you a chance to respond he sighed and put his brush down. “Finally finished.” He sat and observed his work for a couple of moments. He was satisfied, it was not his best work but he liked the outcome. The blue colour scheme gave him a sense of peace.

Realising the silence had gone on too long he turned around to face you. You were unnaturally quiet, your face scrunched up as if in deep thought. He would have thought you’d gone into one of your daydreams if not for the shiny gloss in your eyes. He could not understand why his heart did that flip, or why his mouth formed into a frown mirroring your own. Had he said something wrong? Mulling over his words he decided that maybe his tone was too harsh but you spoke up before he could try to remedy it.

“Ah, i see, you are right” you sniffed trying to mask the tears in your voice. “I am quite clumsy, there is no way i can make something as beautiful as this.” You gesture to his work, the canvas a swirl of blues, it reminded you of the ocean. You did not know why his words stung, it’s not like he didn’t have a point. You were probably incapable of creating something like that. Stick figures were all you could draw, and even those tended to be lopsided.

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “Uhh-” he did not know what to say, it wasn’t as if he could take it back. He did not want to take it back, he wasn’t a liar. But maybe he could have turned you down a bit softer than he has. He may have been awkward in social situations and missed a lot of cues, but the tears gathered in your eyes were hard to miss. Even he could sense the sadness that overpowered the atmosphere.

“It’s ok, i need to, uh go. I’ll see you next time. Here” you quickly drop something next to his brushes and without a second thought you turn away from him and leave as quickly as you’d arrived.

With your back turned towards him, your feet taking you further and further away you could finally release the sob that has been threatening to surface.His words hurt. But you were well aware it was not the words that caused the tear in your heart. It was the unfeeling and harsh way he threw them at you. You contemplated whether or not you should chance a glance behind you, but decided against it. You did not think you could stand the sight of him stepping on the last bit of dignity you had. A rosy carnation.

Yoongi knew he usually missed a lot of social cues. For example when the curator asked him out for a coffee and he told them he stopped drinking caffeine because it caused insomnia. Or when the gallery director had wanted to shake his hand in greeting and he simply just stared at it. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with them, it was just that it took him a lot longer to process these cues than the average human being.

When you’d left him the carnation he simply threw a glance at it but did not give it a second thought as he carried on painting. He almost left it there when he packed up his tools- almost stepping on it. He saw it just in time, the rosy colour attracting his attention. He bent down and picked it up gently; the flower was almost wilted from the heat. Prepared to throw it away he thought of you and stopped. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your distressed eyes and the gleam of your tears weighing heavily on his mind. With a sigh he cradled the flower in his palm, he would put it in between the pages of a book and press it dry.

Yoongi had no clue why he kept visiting the gazebo to work on his paintings. His previous spot so rarely visited that he’s almost forgotten where it was. He tried to convince himself it was because fishing season has not ended and so he would have been bothered by the men setting up around him. He tried not to think of the fact that the thought of not having your voice there, or the noises of the skateboard you practiced with caused him distress. He told himself it was because after a month of having you there with him, you became part of his routine. Like the background noise of a radio in the morning.

He could not pinpoint when your mindless chatter and pleas to ask him to teach you how to paint had become comforting to him. Even at home when he would try to read, he would pick up a book and open it only to come across a rosy carnation drying in between its pages.

You had made it a habit to leave him a flower every time you came to see him. He did not ponder too long as to why, but he’s kept them all. He did not want to ponder too long on that thought either. So he ignored it, but deep down he knew why.

Your eagerness, your clumsiness, your childish view of the world were enough to melt the wall he has built around himself. Somehow, you chipped at that wall with determination just like you did on the first day you met. Ungraceful and uncoordinated.

He knew you’d wormed your way into his soul and just like the flowers he kept pressing for safekeeping, he’s ingrained the memory of you into his brain.

When you’d started to ask more personal questions he found himself answering without a second thought.

“So, uh, have you always wanted to be a painter?” You were sat next to him tinkering with the wheels of your skateboard, from time to time getting distracted at the way his long fingers were clutching the brush. You blushed, thankful he was distracted by his work.

“No,” Yoongi paused to bend down and pick his palette and you thought that was the extent of the information he was willing to provide. “My parents wanted me to be a lawyer.” With a new colour on his brush he squinted focusing on getting the lines just right, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

The silence that ensued settled heavily around the two of you. “Oh,” your voice did not sound too surprised. Yoongi glanced at you, you were gazing at him with such understanding that he found it hard to tear his gaze away. “Are they happy you chose to do what you love instead?” You carried on, trying out your luck.

Yoongi looked away from you, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say whilst your eyes were digging deep into his soul. “I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged as if to make a point. “I left home to move here and haven’t spoken to them since.”

The words, heavy as lead, echoed in your brain. But they were not unfamiliar. “I am sure they would want to talk to you. My parents died when i was young and i was raised by my grandparents.” Your voice sounded casual, but the slight change of tone made Yoongi raise his eyes to look at you. You were smiling at him, your face not giving away any of the pain you were feeling inside.

Yoongi may have been socially anxious, but he was observant, he couldn’t help it, it was the nature of his job. His eyes picked up on the way your chin trembled and his ears caught the slight waver in your voice. He didn’t know how it happened until he felt the corners of his mouth raising up. And with an uncertain smile in your direction, he managed to erase the sadness that clouded over your face.

“Pick up that brush” his tone softer than you have ever heard it.

“Huh?” You didn’t know where the change in tone had come from, but it managed to take you by surprise.

“Pick up the brush,” he repeated his head nodding in the direction of said tools. “And come here.” He stood up from his stool gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. The contact of his cold hands on your warm ones made you shiver, but in the heat of the summer it felt comforting. You savoured the way his gentle hands pulled you into the chair and handed you the brush he had been holding. Softly he guided your hand onto the canvas and your breath stopped.

His hands, the hands you had been observing ever since you met him, were smooth. His long slender fingers imprinting themselves onto the back of your hand. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way the pale skin of his slender wrist peeked from under the long sleeve he was wearing. The skin on the inside of his wrist almost translucent enough to allow his veins to show.

“Like this” he steered the brush onto the canvas, his voice so close to your ear it made you your heart skip a beat. When the bristles made contact with the material of the canvas leaving the mark of the acrylic on it, you knew. Just like the doodle he’s made, his mark on your heart would be permanent.

Yoongi didn’t know when he started craving your touch. It just happened. He carried on giving you lessons, finding it ironic how adamant he was at the beginning to refuse you. Little by little he started looking forward to his morning ritual of setting up in the garden, your clumsy self stumbling in the gazebo just as he was about to set his easel down. He would not even sit himself first, he would grab your hand allowing himself to revel in the way your smaller rough hand would fit into his larger one and sit you on the stool. Handing you the brushes he would sit next to your skateboard and watch as you tried to create something on the canvas, your brows furrowed in concentration.

How ironic that you would switch places. He would sit for a couple of hours watching your uncertain movements and listen to the small sounds of glee when you’d manage to get the brush to do what you wanted it to. His heart would pound in his chest when your tongue would flit across your lips subconsciously and the small smile gracing his lips would be a permanent fixture on his face. He did not care that he hasn’t painted in a few weeks. He was more than satisfied watching you.

When your painting session would end you’d end up talking for hours under the shade of the gazebo, the smell of flowers wafting all around you.

And you would always leave with lighter hears and the crinkle of a smile indented in the corner of your eyes and him with a rosy carnation cradled to his chest waiting to join the rest of the others.

When one morning you didn’t arrive at your usual time under the gazebo Yoongi noticed. He decided to wait for you for hours, but when the sun bled under the city skyline and the night settled in he decided it was time to go home. With a heavy heart and an empty hand he returned home hoping that the next day you would arrive and tell him about your day.

But one day turned into two, which turned into a week, which then turned into two- and before he knew it a whole month had passed.

In the beginning Yoongi would wait for you patiently, hoping that he would hear your yelps or even your greeting from afar. When that did not happen, he decided he would use that time to continue painting, maybe you’d arrive halfway through and ask him about it. When that didn’t happen either he noticed that instead of a smile on his face he now wore a frown.

After a whole month of not seeing you he became numb to the feeling. He decided that he would not let his mind ponder too much on your absence. But he could not completely block the way his thoughts would return back to you, and he could not help the wistful gaze he would throw the carnations around the gazebo.

As the months of summer wilted into the chill of autumn, the day he decided to stop waiting for you was the day you once again stumbled into him.

Running as fast as your leg permitted you halted a meter away from him, your breath coming out in harsh pants. Yoongi faltered, the grasp he had on his brush slackening, the tool clattering to the ground. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. Instead his eyes took in the way your form trembled with exhaustion, stopping at the wrapped up parcel you had under your arm.

“I am so so so sorry” you rasped, the effort causing you to cough. Looking up at him, your gaze met his dark one. He did not look upset, or even disinterested. He looked concerned, then you realised the state you came to see him in.

Yoongi took notice immediately at the lack of skateboard, this time replaced by a crutch. The way you were favouring one leg over the other concerned him. Had you been in an accident?

“I am so sorry,” you repeated, taking him back to the first moment he’s met you. Your clumsy self apologising incessantly and rambling in nervousness. “I fell one day whilst on the way here, and i broke my leg. I did not mean to stop showing up i promise! I had wanted to come see you as soon as i left the doctor’s office but the injury was worse than i could have suspected and- and” your voice wavered, trembling in exhaustion, still not having caught your breath.

Yoongi got up without a word, his silent form approaching yours. When only a few inches were left between the two of you he places both of his hands on your shoulders halting your apology. Looking up at him your gaze softens, his eyes were glossy but his mouth curled up in a smile.

“You’re ok” he repeated over and over as if to reassure himself. Your eyes now mirroring his own watery ones you nod.

In a flash he hugs you tightly, your crutch clattering to the ground and the parcel under the other arm making a dull thud as it hit the dirty floor. You gasped in surprise, your arms not knowing where to settle themselves. After a couple of seconds your brain catches up and relaxes and you melt into his hug. Despite his hands being always cold, his hug is warm and inviting.

You think back to the first time you met, how his cold words told you to leave him be. The drastic change in his attitude and demeanour make you smile softly. You burrowed your head in his shoulder inhaling his scent. He smelt of oils and acetone with an undertone of something floral, and you gasp. Carnations.

As if remembering something important you pulled yourself away from his touch, the cold autumn air making you shiver at the loss of contact.

Yoongi is confused for a moment, his eyes widening in panic. Has he made the wrong move? Has he read your intentions wrong? His heart clenches at the thought of you not returning the feelings that bloomed in his chest. But when you offer him a reassuring smile and bend down, grabbing onto his arm for support his emotions settle.

“This is for you” your hands were shaking. Handing over the mysterious parcel, you waited patiently for him to take it.

He glances at it uncertainly, but when you push it towards him his hand wraps around it. With as much skill as he could he opened it with one hand. Tearing the paper away he gasped. The corner of a canvas is sticking through the whole.

Looking at you in surprise your nervous eyes urge him to carry on. So he does.

The paper now completely teared open, his eyes settle onto a familiar flower painted onto the canvas. A carnation.

You watched him open your gift. You had tried your hardest during the time you were stuck at home with a cast on to practice and after weeks of painful frustrated tears, you’d finally managed to get it right. You had wanted to convey your feelings in a way that he would understand without feeling the pressure to conform to societal norms. To show him how much his effort to accommodate you and include you in his secluded life meant to you.

“Did you know,” you were whispering, “that rosy carnations mean admiration?”

Yoongi finally got it, realisation dawning over his features. He looked up at you, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his chest. You were still smiling at him a tear now running down your cheek. “I wanted to convey my admiration for you in a way that would be permanent.” The hand on his arm tightened as if you make a point. “So i tried my best to do that.”

Yoongi smiled, not the uncertain smile you were used to, a full smile, the gums of his teeth showing, his features softening.

“A painting is not eternal, but with the artist the painting it over and over again it can be.” His free hand cups your cheek gently. “So stay with me.”

Main Masterlist

[pedrosbish]

the king

summary: the new ruler of Mand’alor, Din Djarin, needs to marry in order to be fully accepted as the king and you happen to catch his eye (*fem!reader)

warnings: angst, swearing

word count: 1.7k

taglist: @over300books​, @mouthymandalorian​, @ordinarymom1​, @zapsalis-d​, @goldielocks2004, @whore-for-anime​, @ilikethoseodds​, @withasideofmeg​, @theamuz​, @obsessivelysearching, @bellreads03​, @parkjammys​, @ajeff855​, @persie33​, @thatonedindjarinfan​, @jedi-jesi​, @pinkninja200​, @boomtownboy​, @chaemaire​, @softly-sad​, @liltangerineart​

CHAPTER SIX

The silence that followed Din after Paz broke the news of Bo-Katan’s threat to return to claim the throne of Mandalore was overwhelming. The air within his helmet seemed not enough and too stuffy, too warm, as his lungs and mind begged him to remove it, to leave Boba’s throne room to escape into the vast desert plains of Tatooine. 

He was fully aware of Bo-Katan’s ambition to claim the throne, to take over Din’s place as ruler. If you had asked him to give it all up a few months ago, when he was completely new to the idea of being a king, he would have gladly given it away without another thought. But now, when he had gotten to know the people of Mandalore a bit better and sat more comfortably on the throne, he couldn't. 

And he knew that keeping the throne would mean losing you. 

The Mandalorians were creatures of habit, a people built on the Creed and with following it meant that most traditions were viewed as too important to lose, to change. He used to be one of them, following it and living by it until Grogu and Bo-Katan and her friends came into his life and made him question everything about his covert, made him question the idea of not allowing others to grow close to you. 

He knew that if he told his people of his plan to make you his riduur, their new queen, there would be an uproar and he would lose the respect of his people which is something that Bo-Katan wanted as equally as taking back the Darksaber and the throne. 

The thoughts swirling within his mind made his body feel light, made him feel sick to his stomach as he nodded his head at Paz, the com link fading into nothing. Fennec’s eyes on him didn't help the feeling either, as she stood in the corner with her arms crossed, her lips set in a thin line before leaving the room. He stood there in the middle of the room, for how long he doesn't know, before shaking out of it, only now noticing Boba behind the throne, pouring himself a drink. 

“I don't know what to do.”

The hiss of Boba’s helmet has him averting his gaze until he remembers that he can look. The man, so withered with trauma and guilt, looks at him over his shoulder, the usual frown on his face a little deeper now at overhearing the news. He sips at his drink as he sits on his throne, a hand under his chin to keep it propped. 

“You Mandalorians,” he starts as he gazes intently at Din. “Follow your religion to a fault and you think that it protects you. But it doesn't.” Boba sighs and takes another sip of his drink before setting it on the ground and crossing his arms. “You're lucky to have found that feeling that only a few of us have the privilege of experiencing in this galaxy. At the end of the day it’s just a chair that you sit on but that-” he points at Din’s chest, where his heart sits beating. “That is a feeling that you can't find anywhere else.”

“But my people, they would never accept it.”

Boba chuckles, slapping his hands on his thighs before standing. “Fuck them, kid. You're the king, so make them accept it.”

Din’s thoughts continue to swirl through his mind at Boba’s words, that feeling following him even to his ship as the two of you ready for your departure. With one last pointed look in his direction, both Fennec and Boba wave you off as the ship take off into the sky, the two suns glaring in the distance until they disappear behind the ship.

The journey back to Mandalore is silent, with the two of you being too scared to speak, to ruin the energy still fizzling but slowly dissipating between you since last night, both of you trying to hold onto it before it goes away completely. The time passes slowly and Din nearly sighs in relief as the plant comes into view and he glances back at you to let you know that you're nearly home, only to find you passed out in the chair, hair falling into your face and quiet snores escaping your open mouth. He feels his heart clench at the sight before he squashes it down and turns to navigate the ship. 

Paz greets the two of you as you walk down the ramp, the moonlight lighting the ground, and he barely glances at you as two guards lead you home. He doesn't miss the frown on your face as you glance back at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on his al’verde as he tells him of his new potential riduur who he has to court in public. 

Din lies in his bed that night, unable to get to sleep his mind wanders to thoughts of you, the look on your face when he barely acknowledged you as the two of you disembarked from the ship and the guards led you away burned into his mind as he attempts to close his eyes. 

The light seeping through the open windows has his stomach filling with lead and it deepens further into his chest when one of the maids knocks on the door to bring his breakfast. He barely touches it and instead decides to get ready for the day, heading to the throne room for the first meeting of the day. The council talks of Bo-Katan and her threat, informing Din that marrying this daughter from one of the tribes is the best solution, even if temporary. 

The Mandalorian is nice, telling him of her duties in the tribe and letting him know that her family is grateful for considering her as his riduur. She greets the people as the two of them walk through the huts and out into the fields past them, Paz and another trailing behind them quietly. She tells him of what she would do to help him rule, promising him as many foundlings as he wants to ensure the continuation of the throne. But she's not you. 

All of it filters through one ear and out the other as your house comes into view. You are there, crouching as you plant herbs in the bare patches of dirt below your windows, rubbing the back of your hand across your forehead and leaving a smudge of dirt on it. A chuckle escapes his lips at the sight and the woman he’s courting follows his path of sight, a frown forming on her face under the helmet before she loops an arm through his. 

The action has him looking down at her, the smile that was on his face disappearing as he remembers that he should be focused on her. He turns his visor forward, eyes on the growing crops in the fields in order to not let his attention sway back to you. It's only when he hears your door slam shut does he glance back at your house, the toppled over pots and discarded tools sitting on the ground making his heart clench painfully within his chest. 

That night he turns in bed, restless, and the idea of you feeling hurt making his eyes snap open as he sits in bed, duvet resting on his legs as he swings them over and reaches for the boots sitting at the bottom of the bed. The sun lays on the horizon, painting Mandalore in colours of orange and pink even in the late hours of the night, a perk to the warmer months on the planet. 

His feet carry him to your house and he knocks on the door, fully expecting you to ignore him so when you do open it, he sighs in relief. A frown works its way onto his face when he sees the red around your eyes which are purposefully not looking at him and he almost reaches out to you but draws back at the last second, hands curling into fists at his sides. You stare silently at him, small sniffles escaping you and he feels a lump forming in his throat as you wordlessly step to the side to let him in to your home. 

“Cyar’ika-” he starts and his stomach drops, twisting in on itself when you hold a hand up and a quiet plea for him to stop comes out of your lips. He takes a step forward and you take one back, his eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears at the look on your face when you finally manage to drag your eyes up from the ground to look at him. “I-I don't know what to do.”

He can see the gears turning in your head as your eyes dart around the room, your hands fiddling with your tunic, as slow tears roll down your cheeks. He wants to go to you, to hold you in his arms, but he knows that it isn't something you need or want right now. You wipe away your tears before looking at him once again and he feels like the wind is knocked out of him at the determined yet dejected look on your face. 

“Your people, Din, need you more than I do.” He finds himself shaking his head at your words and he takes the steps to stand directly in front of you, cradling your cheeks in his hands. His heart leaping when you close your eyes at the touch, sighing softly before looking up at him, your hands resting on his and gently prying them off of your face. “They deserve to be ruled by one of their own, you deserve to marry one of your own.”

“But I love you.” he whispers as he places his forehead on your own, his hands gripping onto yours. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my riduur.”

You nod, hands holding onto his equally as tight. “I know.” Hands drop his and he desperately wants to take them back into his but he squashes down the feeling and watches, instead, as you take a step away from him. “But you have to choose whether you want to rule over your people properly or have me.”

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket, SE03, Ep1

I’m here! The final season continues from where se02 oddly left, right in the middle of a conversation! XD.

-Tohru’s crushed heart (scarf): Excellent symbolism!

Tohru, burdened with trying to lift the curse of teen & adult sohmas, is now also troubled by trying to help Arisa’s romantic life is sad for akito! Too much for compassionate selfless tohru. Unable to help, protect & erase the pain, tohru crumbles. Freezes. Her white scarf (heart) flies away, gets crushed by cars & becomes dirty. But here comes a boy ( who thinks himself a monster) picks it up, cleans & returns it back. He thinks nothing of his deed. nothing heroic abt saving a scarf, really. But do we need to be heroes to save others? kyo saves tohru by being kyo. Not the zodiac cat & not the menacing monster. Her heart is saved by him, shown much care & returned back. Mind you, the heart (scarf) is not brand new after the delima. It’s not very clean after being crushed, some marks remain, but these are marks of growth!!! you walk away after hardships carrying minor scars of victory. This scene solidify kyo’s role in tohru’s life as an equal companion. Not a heroic prince charming. It is the little things he does that shows who he is. kyo isn’t abt big soft words, he doesn't say the best things. he is a man of action. His care, love & compassion comes so very easily & naturally to him thro actions. This is what yuki meant by saying he’s jealous of kyo. Yuki over thinks his steps & doubt everything before he acts. Kyo acts spontaneously then doubts himself later. He saves the scarf (heart) then tells her directly to buy another one if she feels it’s not clean. He failed to see how this trivial action meant the world to tohru. Tohru smiles lively cuz her heart is back to her.

Why is the scarf scene so important? (aka furuba’s best usage of symbolism yet!)

It symbolizes tohru’s toxic flaw that she must overcome! It represents tohru’s tormented heart over other ppl’s pain with severe neglect to her own problems & issues. Arisa’s love life shouldn’t be tohru’s delima, nor Akito’s complex or Kureno’s or the damned curse. Tohru toxically chooses to bear other burdens’ until they crush her.

Hana can’t come to save tohru from pain each time tohru indulges in it. Tohru must realize her own flaw & grow up beyond this toxic type of kindness. Feel & help others, but don’t use them to escape your pain & don’t indulge in their own struggles & neglect yourself. There is a reason hana’s knowing of tohru’s pain is thro “magical” waves, to symbolize that this can’t become a norm, not real. You can’t depend on magic to grow. I love that!

The white scarf bearing smudges of the tires even after kyo washed it shows that kyo’s love & care can’t magically heal all tohru’s pain. It parallels kyo’s words from se01, ep,24 when he said tohru didn’t heal all his pain, but he feels better simply cuz she stayed by his side. Tohru now is feeling better cuz kyo chose was there for her. Love doesn’t magically heal you, kids! But it sure puts you on the path! Also, this once again adds more depth to the (tohru/kyo) equal give & take dynamics.

This scene deconstruct the image of Tohru represented as an angelic mother throughout 2 seasons. Instead, It paints her as a real flawed girl with much need for growth. Exactly, like how we have learned by now that kyo isn’t a horrible monster nor a prince charming saving the day, but a flawed boy with much need for growth. However, these two push each other forward in a subtle way through daily situations! Excellent writing!!

-Kureno. (aka. who tohru should never become):

The harmful kindness: Kureno is someone who hurts himself & hurt many others (akito, arisa, shigure, & consequently the rest of the zodiacs) by giving the harmful types of kindness to akito, by completely erasing his own needs, desires & living for the sake of someone who would be far better without him. Kureno is who tohru might have become if she selflessly continues fighting solely for the sohma’s sake & trying to break the curse while ignoring her own life. She’ll become as miserable as kureno & the zodiacs will become dependable on her.

The destructive pity: Kureno pities this tormented child (akito) & chooses to stay with her until her tears dry. This pity is destructive cuz it is done while he wishes to be miles away with Arisa & it encourages akito to stay as she is. Look, a child whose mom hates her deserves pity. But an adult woman needs to learn to build relationships based on mutual affection & respect. This talk of pity reminds me of kyo & kagura. Kagura pitied the cat zodiac. The relationship was doomed cuz kyo refuses pity. It doesn’t matter if her pity turned into love later. Kyo doesn’t want that from her or anyone. There is NO equality there. We know tohru came to love kyo for all the times he was there for her & all the times he pushed her to improve, to complain, to want things! she said so in se01, ep, 24. But we also know that young baby tohru pitied the cat when her mom told her the zodiacs story. what if kyo thinks tohru’s affection is pity???? that’s a big NO for him & for every person. I really want tohru to be as far from any kurno’s traits as possible!!!

-Akito, the pitiful woman:

Akito was born a girl, forced to be raised as a boy by her mother’s demands? where is the father?? she was hated by her mother. why? she also hates her mom. (hate your child & they’ll hated you). So, akito is doomed by her mom. Akito tries to prove that she’s loved by the zodiac “she specified the male zodiacs” interesting! we saw how she hates both Isuzu & kisa & doesn’t give a damn abt kagura. This woman, forced to pose as a man, actually desires to be treated as a woman. As for the other zodiacs:

No worries abt hatori leaving cuz he’s 24/7 attending to her health.

Ayame makes tea exclusively for her & hatori.

she thinks Ritsu is too timid to attempt leaving.

Hiro’s a baby, momiji is hated cuz she can’t break him.

Kyo is destined to be locked. but Why she cares abt the cat anyway?? She publicly hates him & feels disgusted by him.

She used to control yuki but can’t anymore.

she uses intimacy to bound those who “can” leave her the most: kurno! & shigure? she sleeps next to shigure in the valentine ep. hatori remarked: don’t let akito catch cold. We saw the sexually charged rage in se02, ep10. So, she isn’t faithful to kureno. They don’t have a relationship. She doesn’t even have a relationship with shigure, either. to her, sex is a tool to tie them both to her?

It is ironic that the person who said she despises woman & accuses Isuzu of seducing hatori is herself seducing others. Except, tragically, kureno isn’t with her for herself, but cuz he pities her. We saw her slapping & embracing him. Next scene; her bare shoulders & his unbuttoned shirt clearly implies they got intimate which is what akito does to feel secure in kureno not leaving her. Kureno is not even interested in her despite submitting to her advances, needs & orders. He does it out of pity. Truly the most tragic form of physical affection: sex for pity. wow... how tragically pitiful is the abusive ruler of the zodiacs who looms over them & demands respect & eternal bonds. How can she find someone who’ll love her for herself, if she doesn’t learn to show good sides of her? Yuki wasn’t loved for who he is in school, but for being the “prince”, he showed his real character & got himself true friends & soon a lover!!!  Kyo, was feared & pitied for turning into a “monster”, but once he showed his kind & harmless self, he got himself true friends & a girl who loves him for his actual personality! Who will love akito for who she is if she only shows a spoiled child, horrible family head or a pitiful woman? What does shigure love in her? he doesn’t seem to pity her nor pamper her much, does he?  perhaps we’ll know more abt the real akito later.

Side notes:

Akito’s mom reminded me of kyo’s dad. Abused children, who are hated by their parents, don’t let go of the hurt easily. they’ll always try to either get their approval, show them they were worthy of their love, or they’re NOTHING like their parents think they are. eg: Kyo’s biological father’s hate has destroyed kyo. Kyo have kazuma & tohru & he still wonder why they love him. It took kyo 17 years to actually promise to call kazuma "dad” one day in se01 finale. You need time to heal the wounds inflected by the ones who should love you the most. Being loved by others doesn’t magically heal you! You need to take few steps forward.

Isuzu is Ren’s clone! finally understanding why the severe hate from akito towards Isuzu. I’ll wait for more Ren/Akito content before analyzing their relationship.

Ren is so sexy. ngl, the scene of the zodiacs touching her belly after she just *conceived* akito is so creepy~ ew! 

Hana picked up tohru first before kyo, cuz this show isn’t exclusive for romantic love as much as it isn’t exclusive for friendship. There is balance. 

Tohru needs her own future, so does Arisa & hana! Learn to accept the limit of what you can do as a friend, tohru.. forever loving furuba for steering away from “friends stay together forever~yay” anime trope! Furuba is abt independent & individual adult life! building your own future! Epic writing!

Forever fascinated by how much the little small ordinary daily life things has really built kyo-tohru love! It feels so real & very uniquely built! Excellent writing!

Arisa is stuck with an adult man trapping himself in the most unnecessary love triangle. Kureno’s cage is self made, no curse. A very sheltered boy/man not living in the real world. Only two options for kureno if he continues this path: he’ll hurt akito, or akito will hurt him. We know the answer from the trailer, don’t we?

Arisa letting go of kuron is growth! Let go & live, girl!

There is a subtle theme of learning to let go in furuba~

Yuki is the biggest kyoru shipper!

Tohru intentionally hitting kyo with scarf’s pon-pon is my fave side of her! intentional flirting shows change from her little girl’s good girl attitude to her own type of a feisty woman! after all, she’s nearly 18!

The way the camera moved when kyo spotted the scarf was so good!

The director is obsessed with flying!! did he work on attack on titans? cuz the Ren-akito flying fight reminded me of Titan Eren strangling Titan Annie in AOT se01 finale! but chibi version! XD. I’m sorry for akito’s pain, but I was distracted by laughing! XD

look, if you plan to dramatize a situation, know your budget & your skills. Obviously, the director knew the scene is badly done, hence, the wide far away, dim lit shot to hide as much as it can. Couldn’t he do without it? let akito strangle her to the ground without flying!

oh well~these over-the-top shots are now a furuba trade mark~ just praying they stick with one weird shot per season.

[skylarmoon71]

Tadashi Hamada Fanfiction -(Short Story) - Chapter 3

When you brought lunch for your brother he wasn't where he usually stayed. You entered. His lab, seeing his bag but not him. "Luke." your call was heard by someone. You heard a voice and a crash. Tadashi's head peeked from behind the table, rubbing his forehead. He bumped it when he heard you call. "A-Are you okay?" you rushed to his side. "I'm fine, I was looking for my screwdriver, Luke left to use the bathroom, he told me it was somewhere here but his lab is messier than mine." That was the truth. If you didn't clean every once in a while who knows what would grow there. You plucked his hat off, resting it on the table. "Let's see about that bruise, then I'll help you look for your screwdriver."

"Alright." he said with a low laugh. He moved to take a seat on the couch, and you walked to the small fridge in, pulling out an ice pack. "It's a good thing I leave some of these here for when I get muscle pains." you were making your way back to Tadashi, unfortunately you didn't catch sight of the very tool he was looking for, hidden under a sheet of paper. You stepped on it, skidding. "Waoh!" the ice pack flew from your hands and you stumbled forward.

"(Y/N)!" Tadashi reached out grabbing you and the both of you tumbled to the couch. You winced, and Tadashi grunted at the impact. When you finally gathered yourself you opened your eyes. You were face to face with him. You pulled in a slow breath.

"S-Sorry.." you apologized. "I-It's okay." he replied. That was the first time you'd seen Tadashi look unsure. His breathing was just as unsteady. You were the one who pulled back, eyes downcast, tugging at your shirt. Neither of you looked at the other, clearly both embarrassed at the incident. That's when Luke walked in. You didn't know he was even in the room until you heard him start talking.

"Hey, what's with you two?"

"N-Nothing!" you blurted.

Safe to say neither of you looked at the other for the rest of the evening. You liked Tadashi, you really did. He was smart, kind, funny, goofy. Everything you wanted, you were just afraid your brother would go all protective. If things got weird between all of you it would kill you. You loved hanging out in the lab, and you're new friends. So, you did what you thought you had to. You ignored your feelings. It was just a little crush anyway, it would go away eventually. At least that's what you tried to convince yourself.

~~~~

Through one of your many visits you stopped by Tadashi's lab. You sort of expected Luke to be there too but he wasn't. Tadashi however was on his knees, screwing in some bolts in a red square that resides on his floor.

"Hey Tadashi." his head lifted. "Oh, hey (Y/N), gimme a sec." you took a seat, watching as he finished up doing whatever it was to the red machine. He stood with a victorious smile. You giggled at his appearance. His hat was twisted in a weird angle, a few dark smudges of grease on his forehead and forearms. His red shirt had a bit on it as well. He looked to see what you were giggling at, and started laughing himself when he saw his state.

"Very funny (Y/N), laugh it up but this is the price us geniuses have to pay."

"It's a good thing I prefer sports." you ever the opposite of your brother. Where he strives in technology, you mirrored in sports. You were an active athlete, and you loved it. When you got done with your practices you always came by to see him because you knew if you didn't pull him away from his experiments he'd work through the night.

Your training bag was right at your feet as you reached down to get a few of your wet wipes. When you got them out you moved in Tadashi's direction. Without a word you started wiping the grease from his forehead. Tadashi watched you, not saying a word. You seemed to be in your own little world. You readjusted his cap. "That's better. " when you looked up Tadashi was gazing at you, you took a step back, cheeks darkening.

"Oh crap I'm sorry! I-I just I guess I'm just so used to taking care of Luke and I-”

"It's fine (Y/N)." Tadashi assured, seizing your ramblings. You were glad, you really liked hanging around Tadashi, you would hate it if you ended up making things weird.

"Why did he decide to make that necklace, I never really asked him?" Tadashi asked. Your head lowered. "It's not really something he likes talking about." Tadashi immediately regretted asking.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me if it's personal I was just curious."

"It's okay, it really isn't that bad it's just, our dad used to get really sick when we were younger. One time he had a stroke and Luke was with him. My dad recovered but Luke was terrified. He thought our dad was gonna die. After that he buried himself into technology, he insisted he'd find the cure for every disease. Our parents are fine now, they live on the other side of town, not too far from our apartments. I guess My dad was my brother's main motivation. "

"I understand, I know what that's like." you could tell there was a deeper meaning behind his words. But you didn't question him. If you recalled before he said he lived with his aunt. He never really mentioned his parents. It must have been painful for him to talk about. Whenever he was ready he'd tell you.

"So anyway what are you working on." a shift in the subject seemed like the best choice. The light returned to his eyes and he moved to the red machine. "This is my newest invention." The red machine didn't do much, so you looked at Tadashi expectantly. He chuckled.

"Ow!" he yelled. Nothing happened at first, then you heard the sound of something inflating. You stared in amazement at the white marshmallow looking robot growing right before your eyes.

"It's black orbs blinked. "Hello. I'm Baymax, your personal healthcare companion."

It waddled forward, and you were fighting the urge to just run over and attack it with hugs.

"I'm still filling in it's programming, but very soon, he'll be the perfect nurse robot. He's gonna help a lot of people." Tadashi's eyes shone, staring back at the ball of cuteness.

You couldn't take it anymore. You ran into it hugging Baymax tightly.

"You're so cute!!" you cooed. Tadashi seemed surprised, but started laughing when Baymax wrapped his plump hands around patting your back. "There, there." he spoke.

You giggled, wishing your brother would make adorable inventions like this.

When you pulled back, Baymax's head leaned to the side. "We're satisfied with our care Baymax." at the instruction from Tadashi, Baymax waddled back to the red box, stepping into it.

He started to deflate and you sighed. "I'd get one just to cuddle." you said. Tadashi's eyes moved back at you.

"I had no idea you like cute things, maybe I should design all my inventions like that so you'd stop by more often." your face got red at that. 

"Q-Quit kidding around. "

"I'm serious." you looked at him, taken aback by the warmth in his stare, directed right at you.

You gulped, taking an unsteady step backwards as you looked down fiddling with your fingers.

"T-Tadashi I-" when you raised your head he was directly in front of you. Whatever you were about to say was lost on you, he was just standing too close, admiring you.

"If I'm being honest with myself, you're amazing (Y/N)." Tadashi's words caused your heart to hammer.

"(Y/N) I need-" your brother froze at the entrance, watching you and Tadashi standing a little too close. His expression changed and you stumbled back, grabbing your bag as you rushed out.

You sped past Luke before he could say anything.

[acaseforpencils]

Lars Kenseth: Part Two.

A couple of months ago, Lars posted on social media that he had switched from working digitally to using traditional tools. That very rarely happens—in fact, it’s usually the reverse! So I asked him if he would be willing to do a follow-up on his 2018 Case, and give us an update on his drawing tools!

Bio: Hey there! I’m Lars. I draw cartoons for The New Yorker, Alta and Air Mail. I started cartooning professionally in 2016, and promised I would only stop until our nation’s deep psychological wounds have healed. So, never. By day, I write comedy for TV, usually my own stuff. Currently, I’m developing an animated half-hour TV show called I Hate Mondays for Amazon.

You can always pick out my cartoons because I draw people as neckless blobs. They go by as many names: lozenge people, weeble wobbles, egg people, potato people, thumb people, etc. I know them only as my children. That’s not to say that I don’t have my favorites...

Find this print here!

Tools: A bit of a prologue here. I grew up with Microsoft Paint and Corel Draw and every other god awful digital drawing platform from the ‘90s. And while I was no stranger to pens, pencils and good ol’ paper, I just kept coming back to digital formats. Weirdly, it felt more native to me— AND, if I screwed up, I could always hit undo. So, MS Paint led to the Adobe suite which led to Procreate on my iPad, and that was how I drew everything I did for The New Yorker. Then the pandemic hit. And long story short, I decided to dip back into the ink well, as it were. To try my hand at the analog drawing, now that I had the time. And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I’ve experimented with a lot of different tools, but I’d say my go-to drawing implement is my Koh-I-Noor Radiograph pen. I have a few different nibs - a .25 and a .35 - and that’s pretty much how I do all my inking. It’s kind of a challenge, to be honest, and I can’t say that I’ve mastered it. But if you’re patient with it, you get great results. I use Koh-I-Noor Rapidraw ink, but I think I might switch it up to their Ultradraw line. Rapidraw is supposed to dry quickly, which is nice, but it also means you’re more likely to get a clog in your pen, which has definitely happened to me.

I’ve become obsessed with charcoals. I love the dark, moody atmosphere you can create, which, juxtaposed with my dumb, whimsical looking thumb people, makes for a funny contrast. It’s surprising. And comedy is all about surprising people. I currently use 2B, 4B, and 6B charcoal pencils for shading and a mono zero mechanical eraser for highlights. For highlighting bigger areas, I use kneaded rubber erasers, which have been my friend ever since I picked up the Blitz Cartooning Kit when I was in 4th grade. I also use charcoal sticks, which I apply via paintbrushes. That allows me to get those nice overall light grays that are great for therapist offices, hospitals or cloudy days.

Another tool I have that comes in handy — these little two fingered gloves I got on Amazon. They’re made of... spandex? Something like that. Just search charcoal drawing gloves. I use one on each hand, and it really helps with smudging. I’m a smudgy kind of guy as it is, so I probably shouldn’t even be in this medium, but too late!

Tools I Wish I Could Use Better: All of the tools I just mentioned? Haha. It’s true though, I’m still only just getting to know charcoal. Still, even though I’m not an expert, if I had to choose one tool to be better at, it’s the Koh-I-Noor pen. It’s just so finicky, haha. That said, the quality of line you get is really nice. So I’m sticking with it for now.

Tools I Wish Existed: Honestly, I don’t think I have a good answer to this question. The thing that I like about drawing on paper as opposed to digitally is that you have to get really creative if you screw up. And that’s okay. You’re going to make mistakes and smudge and maybe even make a catastrophic mess. That’s part of the fun, if you ask me. It’s not about having the perfect tool for the job, it’s about coming up with ways to wrest the look you want out of the tools you have. Sure, sometimes it can feel like getting blood from a stone, but in the end I think it makes you a better artist, which is a big reason why I went back to drawing on paper to begin with. When you’re digital, you have a million different off-ramps to get to where you need to go. No mistake is fatal. And while that’s scary when you start out drawing outside of a digital platform, you get better with practice. So I embrace every screw up. It’s okay to start over. Because you’re not really starting over, you’re taking another step towards being a better artist.

Find this print here!

Tricks: I don’t know if this is a ‘trick,’ exactly—it might not even be a good idea—but one I’ve been doing is using my x-acto knife to scrape off areas that have become too charcoal heavy. I use a light touch, brushing the blade against the area I want to lighten up, but being careful not to slice the paper. Or your finger. Be careful out there.

Misc.: If you work digitally, I would encourage you to experiment with analog drawing utensils. At the very least, it’s humbling. Given how depressed most artists are, maybe this is bad advice, haha. But, in my opinion, it’s healthy to knock yourself down a peg or two! Especially if it’s in the service of making yourself a better artist.

Website, Etc.

Instagram

Website

Twitter

Find this print here!

[thebalkanwitch]

New Moon in Gemini!

Solar Eclipse!

 

Sit back (lay down actually 😆) and take it all in.

This energy is all over the place and the best advice I have is to ride the wave(s).

 

I felt compelled to CLEAN.

Serious, deep cleaning.

Move furniture and reorganize my closets type of CLEAN.

 

This was confirmed when I tuned into my good friend @truenorthwitch ig live this morning and she said CLEAN!

So that seems to be the overriding message today: Cleanse. Smudge. Purify. Rest.

 

Generally, we tend to manifest and set intentions during the new moon. Because this particular lunar phase falls on an eclipse, most people would recommend that you do not “start” anything at this time. I don’t like to tell people what to do (I can only give my opinion based on my personal experiences), and my advice has always been and continues to be FOLLOW YOUR GUT.

If you are called to clean, then CLEAN. If you are compelled to perform a ritual, then do the ritual. Listen to yourSELF and do what feels right. I understand the logic behind not wanting to attempt to harness this wildcard (eclipse) energy but who am I to say you can’t? Honestly, isn’t that what drew so many of us to witchcraft in the first place? The freedom and ability to practice however we choose to practice? To explore and feel our spirituality in a manner that relates to us and feels completely genuine? I know for myself, I was raised in a religion that had many rules and I constantly felt riddled with guilt and forced myself into a box that wasn’t true to me… but that’s another story for another time 😅

The point is, cleaning is always a good idea.

Rest is always a good idea.

Taking a moment to be still and open to receiving any messages is always a good idea.

So if you’re not sure what to do today or feel like you WANT to do something but are hesitant to perform any rituals, my suggestion is to CLEAN. Throw open your windows (it thankfully cooled off here and there’s a lovely breeze so hello perfect timing!), change your sheets, vacuum/Swiffer/sweep/dust, refold your linens/towels and clean your bathroom and kitchen. Especially your kitchen. Initially, we think of bathrooms as the grossest place in our homes, but think about it: the kitchen is exponentially worse, especially if you eat or handle meat (nobody gets salmonella from toothpaste spatters on their medicine cabinet mirror 🤣). So, clean the fridge and sweep the corners. Light some incense and clear out that stagnant energy! We are toward the end of Mercury Retrograde as well so be mindful of typical retrograde affects increasing during this time.

 

 

Keywords: clean, rest, receive

Be mindful of: mercury retrograde mishaps

Use: Cleanse (please note, there are multiple ways of cleansing your space/altars/tools; white sage is not the be-all end-all of smudge sticks). You can use rosemary (smells amazing), cedar/pine (also love the smell), basil, mint (seriously, all these smell incredible). There are also liquid alternatives if you’re not a fan of smoke or need to be discreet. Florida water, lemon/rosemary water, vinegar, etc are all fantastic alternatives to sage. I like to put a little vinegar and water in a spray bottle and go to town. It cleans everything and the smell disappears quickly.    

 

[yegarts]

“I Am YEG Arts” Series: Hunter Cardinal

The magic of collaboration and connection starts with an encounter. If you’re an artist reading this, you likely have goosebumps. If you’re the artist who said it, you’re Hunter Cardinal, a sakāwithiniwak (Woodland Cree) theatre artist, hailing from Sucker Creek Cree First Nation. Though his name has been on the lips of Fringe Theatre fans since 2018, he’s most recently gained attention for his and his sister’s newest co-endeavour, Naheyawin. With clients including the Legislative Assembly Office, Naheyawin offers sustainable, Indigenous-based solutions for businesses and institutions working to improve diversity and inclusions and reinvigorate the spirit of Treaty into their organizations.

Regardless of whether he’s writing a play or teaching a workshop, it’s the questions Hunter asks that change the approaches people take. Those skills, paired with his belief that storytellers tell stories for those who need them, help us value our shared histories. Playwright, actor, and myth architect, this week’s “I Am YEG Arts” story belongs to Hunter Cardinal.

How did you first get involved in the YEG arts community?

I got my start in high school at Strathcona Composite High School! Through the different musicals and training opportunities during that time, I found myself surrounded by incredible teachers and artists from this vibrant community. This often results in me getting to work with people I’ve looked up to for a very long time—something that never gets old for me.

You describe yourself as an Indigenous myth-architect. What does that involve, and what’s the significance of the title?

Myth-architecture is an extension of the teachings we’ve gained from our Elders, who have told us that storytellers tell stories for those who need them. Myth architecture begins with a question that feels important but is without an answer and challenges us to craft a narrative that provides some sort of response. Often, this looks like “completing,” “expanding,” or “setting up” a pre-existing myth. With the play Lake of the Strangers, for example, we completed the myth of Mista Muskwa (The Big Bear) as we tried to answer the question: Why should we heal when there is so much darkness?

Looking back on your success as a first-time playwright with Fringe Theatre, what advice would you give aspiring playwrights?

I would encourage people to use everything they can about themselves and who they are as a person when crafting a story. So often we’re encouraged to leave who we are and whatever we’re bringing with us ‘at the door’ so that we can perform at our best. However, in my experience, the personal is highly universal.

Tell us a little about how Naheyawin came to be and what one of the highlights has been for you.

Naheyawin came from the ways in which my sister and I wanted to combine our passions—storytelling and system thinking—and be of service to our communities. The word Naheyawin, which can be said to translate into ‘the act of being Cree,’ was inspired by a phrase in our family.

That phrase is “When the people forget, the language remembers,” which reminds us that we can look to aspects of who we are—like our language—for guidance and tools to help us with the challenges we’re faced with today. What this looks like today is providing Indigenous-based solutions for the improvement of diversity and inclusion in businesses and organizations across Turtle Island (North America). This can take the form of webinars or us working with organizations on the unique challenges and opportunities they have to better incorporate Indigenous ideas or peoples into their work. I would say a highlight for me is whenever I get the opportunity to facilitate a webinar. I am so honoured to take part in the journey of learning that folx embark on—and so inspired by their open minds and hearts during our time together.

When you’re working with Edmonton businesses or community groups, what do you help them understand about Indigenous spirit.

For me, the most important thing is recognizing the gaps in world views of Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples. We often forget that Indigenous peoples have an entirely different way of looking at the world, so when we are talking about certain things like art, land stewardship, or Treaty—though we are using the same words, we are relating to them in entirely different ways. So recognizing these gaps gives us the opportunity to build those metaphoric bridges that lead to a deeper understanding and innovative solutions.

Did you always want to combine your passions for your work and your culture into your artistry?

Combing my culture into my work was fairly recent for me. I was raised with regular, but not frequent, exposure to things like smudging, going to sweat lodges, and visiting family up north at Sucker Creek First Nation. But it wasn’t until I was struggling with a role for a small project that was exploring Chekhov’s Three Sisters that I saw the utility of my culture and identity. For the entire process, I felt like the worst actor in the whole world (an all too familiar feeling)—every choice I made felt awkward and contrived, and nothing felt authentic or realized. When debriefing with my director at the time, he drew a connection between my character’s love of Latin and my love of Indigenous languages—and then everything changed for me. I felt like I had permission to use parts of myself that I otherwise would have ignored because I didn’t think it would be useful or appropriate (kind of tragic when I think about it). I then explored using parts of my identity as an Indigenous 20-something male as the backbone of my role as Hamlet at the Freewill Shakespeare Festival and felt like I could bring something very unique and grounded to that role.

What role has mentorship played in your life? Is there a piece of advice that you carry with you?

Mentorship has guided me entirely through my career—so it would be difficult to pin down just one piece of advice. But if I had to pick one, it would be the late Brent Carver sharing with me that in order to be fully present in a scene, an actor cannot leave themselves at the door. The bits of your life, emotions, etc., that you carry with you throughout the day can be fuel for creating beautiful, authentic, and singular moments on the stage. In that teaching, I walked away with the feeling that I am more than enough, and every single part of who I am and where my life has taken me is valuable.

What excites you most about the YEG arts scene right now?

The community. Edmonton has such a thriving scene here—and I would attribute that to the wonderful people that make this such an incredible ecosystem. All the success I’ve been fortunate to experience was all given to me (freely, without question) by those in this community—the roles, experiences, training, and connections.

A lot of the themes in your work seem to focus on the benefits of talking and listening—the richness of understanding. How have you seen that turn into meaningful change.

Talking and listening—whether as an actor, artist, or just a human going about their day—allows you to take a moment to connect with whoever or whatever is around you. That moment of reflection can also allow you to ground yourself in who you are, the values you enter a space with, etc., while at the same time allowing others to be different and unique themselves. I find that this moment to remember that you are connected—yet distinct—can really help folx become a more rooted ally, actor, or person. Often this can be done by asking yourself things like: what or who brought me here? How? What is my goal? What or who is around me?

Why do you choose to live and work in Edmonton?

I’m living here because this is where my friends and family are! When I’ve travelled or lived in other cities, I have always missed the sense of community here. Plus, the cost of living here is much more reasonable than Toronto or Vancouver. Also, I have a great connection to a local farmer for some very high quality, grass-fed beef.

What kind of city do you hope to help Edmonton become?

I hope this city becomes a place where folx feel connected to the larger stories that we’re connected to as Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples. The richness of our shared histories makes me so excited to be here, and I really hope that people feel that in the future when they think about their connection to this place. Not only that, I hope that they feel a sense of wonder at the futures that await us.

Want more YEG Arts Stories? We’ll be sharing them here all year and on social media using the hashtag #IamYegArts. Follow along! Click here to learn more about Hunter Cardinal and Nahayawin

About Hunter Cardinal

Hunter Cardinal is a sakāwithiniwak (Woodland Cree) theatrical artist hailing from Sucker Creek Cree First Nation and currently based in Edmonton, Alberta. Holding a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Acting degree from the University of Alberta, class of 2015, Hunter has performed across Canada and off-Broadway in New York. Recent stage credits include Titus Bouffonious (Theatre Network), Lake of the Strangers (Naheyawin and Fringe Theatre) and Hamlet (Freewill Shakespeare Festival). He is humbled by the steadfast support of his community, with notable achievements to date including the 2020 Elizabeth Sterling Haynes Award for Outstanding Performance in a Supporting Role in a Comedy for his work as Fink in Titus Bouffonious, the 2019 Elizabeth Sterling Haynes Award for Outstanding New Play given to Lake of the Strangers, his first play co-written with his sister and dubbed Edmonton’s Best Actor by Vue Weekly in 2018.

[yikesharringrove]

Happy Trans Billy Week!

Day 3: Bakery/Chef!au

@transbillyhargrove @blurbwitch

Harringrove

-

BIlly is ftm, Stevie is mtf

-

“At least just try her stuff. She’s really good!”

Robin was trying to sell Billy on her friend, again.

He had been working his ass off opening this cafe, had been interviewing professional bakers around the city for it. And Robin wanted him to hire her friend. Who baked for fun.

“And she’ll work in house! You would just have to pay her a salary, not give her a cut of everything sold.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“But then I would have to buy all the shit for her to bake everything.”

“But you’ll make bank on her stuff. She makes these little doughnut things, but they’re double fried and made with like, puff pastry.

“So not a doughnut at all.” She slapped his chest.

“Fuck you. People would pay like, five whole dollars for one ‘a those. At least just try.”

“Fine. Have her bring me some samples of stuff on Monday. I want cookies, coffee cakes, specialty pastries, crossiants, and whatever that not-doughnut thing is.” Robin grinned at him.

-

Robin came in on Monday trying to awkwardly bring a giant box into the cafe.

“Stevie couldn’t make it. She had a doctor’s appointment or something. But anyway, here’s what you asked for.” She placed it down on a table, pointing at everything.

“So she made chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, snickerdoodles, and teas cookies, croissants, coffee cake, carrot cake, chese cake, that doughnutty-thing, actual doughnuts, brownies and lemon bars. I think she didn’t sleep for like, four days.”

Billy was impressed. It was a good spread.

“She also made me bring a loaf of sourdough in case you’re doing like, toast stuff. I said you weren’t, but I think she feels bad for not being here.”

They tried everything.

And unfortunately, is was all fucking delicious.

“Fine. She’s fucking hired.” Billy made a list of everything he wanted to sell, thought maybe the delicious not-doughnuts could be a bit of a speicality, new flavors every week. “I’ll need a comprehensive list of ingredients, and she’ll probably have to check out the set up we got here.”

Billy hadn’t really wanted an in-house baker, but he hadn’t ripped out the ovens, proving drawers, coolers and counters in the back, so he supposed it would work out okay.

“And tell her I want an in person meeting within the next few days.”

-

Billy was scrubbing out one of the ovens in the back when he heard the bell above the door.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” He called.

“Um, I’m Stevie Harrington? I’m Robin’s baker friend? You said I should come see the space?” Billy got up with a groan, stretching until his back popped.

“You tellin’ me, or askin’.” He pushed open the back door, smirking at the girl standing on the other side of his counter. She was tall, had much fucking dark hair, falling almost to her ass and big round eyes.

“Telling. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday. That appointment was important. Billy shrugged. “I have a list of ingredients for you. I figured how many of each item per day, and broke it up into waht I would need weekly and monthly, since I don’t know how you’re planning on ordering everything.” Billy nodded at the neat handwriting.

“Your stuff was good. I was thinking for those double fried things, we could do a new flavor every week. Make them a bit of a specialty.” Her cheeks went a little pink.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you liked everything, and decidded to give me this opportunity.” He smiled at her.

“You’re talented. Come see what I got.” She followed him to the back, her eyes going wide as she looked at the industrial ovens. “This place was a bakery, so we’ve got everything you should need.” The old owner had passed away, didn’t have anyone to leave the bakery to.

“Oh, this is perfect. When’s opening?”

“We’re four weeks out. I was planning on ripping all this out, so it has to be cleaned, but everything else is ahead of schedule.” Stevie opened an oven, peerinf inside.

“They’re not too gross. The old owners tool good care of everything.” She took of her jacket, was left just in her pretty dark blue dress. “I’ll help you clean.” She smiled at him as she took the cleaning supplies from him, getting to work scrubbing down the oven.

Billy played some music as they worked, chatting lightly to one another.

“So, how’d you end up in Seattle?” Billy had shot straight up here after graduating hisgh school, didn’t want to leave the west coast, but wanted to go somewhere different. Stevie had mentioned being from a small town in the midwest.

“Just kinda needed a fresh start. Robin and I moved out here together about six years ago, now. She went to University of Washington, and I jsut wanted to live somewhere interesting for once. Plus, it’s just better for me here.” Billy nodded.

“Me too.” She smiled at him. She had put her dark hair into a messy bun to keep it out of her face, and Billy had gotten her an apron to keep her dress neat.

“What made you want to open a cafe?”

“Well, I mean, it’s Seattle.” She laughed. “But I also just liked the idea of running my own business. Building something from the ground up. And I like the vibe of cafes. They’re just in between places. You can come alone and just hang out.”  Billy had gotten many comfortable mis-matched chairs and placed them amoungst the tables and chairs. He wasnted it to be cozy. He had bookshelves on one wall, thought he could even have a take-a-book-leave-a-book kinda thing goin’ on.

“I think that’s really nice.”

-

Stevie started coming over everyday to help him clean out the kitchen. Somteims she would drag Robin, but more often than not, it was just the two of them, scrubbing everything out, listening to music and talking about random things.

But one day Stevie didn’t come in, didn’t call Billy to let him know, didn’t send Robin with a message.

Billy thought he was frustrated that his employee was missing, but really, he was just worried.

She looked tired the next day when she came in, her hair up in a messy ponytail, was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt.

“I’m so sorry. I promise that will not happen again.” She had gotten right to work.

“Look, I don’t mind if you need personal days, just call me. Let me know.” She nodded at him, her eyes were bright. “Are you okay?” Her lip trembled.

“I’m sorry. I just, sometimes I have such bad days, and I can’t stand to look at myself, and I don’t want anyone else to look at me. And you’re always so nice to me, and I, I didn’t want you looking at me with your pretty eyes. I knew I would fucking fall apart.”

She was kneeling on the floor, fucking crying as she scrubbed at the proving drawer. Her make up was beginning to run just a bit.

Billy grabbed a fw paper towels, sitting down next to her.

“You wanna talk about it?” She shook her head.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” She wiped at her esys, smudging the dark makeup underneath. He took the paper towel from her hands, wiping up streaked makeup.

He was staring into her big dark eyes, noticed the soft honey gold in them, the forest green.

“Is it okay if I kissed you?” Her gaze dropped to his lips.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Billy leaned in, kissing her softly, keeping it slow and chaste.

He pulled back, dabbing at her eyes again.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I’m sorry, that probably wasn’t the best timing, I just, I really like you.” Her lip trembled.

“The reason, the reason I was feeling so bad yesterday was, was because everytime I speak to my parents on the phone, they call me their son.” She swallowed hard.

“The last time I spoke to my dad, he called me his ungrateful bitch of a daughter. I get it, Stevie. I really do.” Stevie whimpered, another tear slipping out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t, didn’t know if I could tell you.” He smiled at her, wiping her eyes one last time, kissing her cheek.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell anyone anything.” She gave a watery laugh.

“Thank you, for being kind to me.”

“You’re a good person, Stevie. You deserve kindness.” She smiled at him, pulling back to take a deep breath. “And I meant what I said. I really like you. I’d like to take you on a date, if that’s okay.”

She nodded vigorously, ponytail bouncing.

“Oh, yeah! I had the biggest crush on you since I walked in here. I mean, Robin’s been trying to set us up for like, months.” BIlly raised one eyebrow, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Are you serious? Is that why she was so insistent on me trying your stuff?”

“Well, and that fact that I’m a damn good baker.” He laughed. She was grinning as she moved back to scrubbing the drawer. “She’s gonna be so smug. I can already hear her. Stevie, I TOLD you that you would love him. He’s JUST yout type.” Billy grinned iwder.

“And what is your type?”

“Beefy assholes that’re way smarter than me.”

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia AU)

Not Broken Masterlist 

Jaehyun X Reader

Y/N is a burlesque dancer living in Seoul. Jaehyun is one of the most powerful mafia men in Seoul. How will Y/N survive when Jaehyun suspects that she is involved with a rival gang?

Reasons to read this story: Ten's a cross-dressing madam so..... yeah read it ya freaks.

Trigger warning for this chapter: mentions of non-consensual touching. 

Bold means it’s being said in English

A/N: This story will be released in several parts and each part released will have its own trigger warnings. It’s a slow burn story but there will be smut in later parts. Jaehyun won’t actually be introduced in the first two parts, but I hope you’ll read anyway. This story is actually inspired by my year preforming as a burlesque dancer in Seoul. The burlesque group was actually an inclusive group that frequently featured drag kings and queens.

"Kakao!"

I opened my eyes and groaned as I looked at my phone.

8:37pm. I'm late.

"Fuck"

Kakao alert from Jungwoo: "Dude, where are you? The Madam is gonna be here soon. If you're late again, she's not gonna let you preform."

I grabbed at my aching head as I read the message.

Why does it hurt so bad?

I looked over at my nightstand and saw the answer in the form of several empty bottles of soju. I could barely remember anything from the previous night, but from the looks of my bedroom, I seemed to have been by myself. I stood up to grab some water, ignoring the message from Jungwoo. Apparently he must have seen that I read it since my phone soon started vibrating and spewing out kakao talk notifications at an irritatingly fast pace.

After chugging a full bottle of water in an attempt to sooth my throbbing head, I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth and washed my face. In the mirror I saw that I hadn’t even attempted to wash the eyeliner from the yesterday off before passing out. What was originally a subtle thin black line had now smudged over the entirety of my lid and the concave of my under eyes. I looked trashed, no, dead was a better way to put it.

I roughly rubbed the smudged mess off my face with a washcloth. I didn’t bother applying a new face of makeup since I knew that I'd be expected to put it on at the venue anyway.

I quickly gathered up my make up supplies and shoved them into my backpack. I grabbed the tote bag containing my costume along with my phone and left the trashed one-bedroom apartment, not bothering to change out of the black sweatshirt and torn jeans I woke up in. It wasn't unusual for me to fall asleep or "pass out" in my day clothes.

It wasn't that I didn't have any pajamas to change into, it was more an issue of being too drunk to care. Right now, my reasons for not putting on a new outfit was that I was too hungover not to mention the fact that I was very late.

I walked down the halls of my building, choosing to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Although anyone who stepped foot into my room would believe that I must have lived in the ghetto, my building was actually quite nice. I just happened to be a very messy person and it must show in how I present myself because my neighbors often go out of their ways to avoid me. The only person in the building who I'm actually close with is the doorman.

"Goodmorning Hyuck." I say as I grabbed my headphones out of my bag.

"Hello, Miss Y/LN." He greeted me as he held the door open for an elderly couple as they exited the building.

I chuckled at his formality. As the elderly couple walked out of sight, I turned to the short male.

"How do you do?" I said mockingly to the uniformed doorman.

Donghyuck looked up at me and rolled his eyes.

"You know that I have to keep up appearances when I'm on the clock,” He scowled.

“Hey, do you have a show tonight?" He asked.

"How can you tell?"

"Well you said good morning to me and it's nighttime so... I just assumed that means you're planning on staying up."

I looked at him sheepishly. Donghyuck knew about my nighttime activities, yet he still treated me with the same respect he gave to all the other people living in the building. That didn't mean that he didn't use casual language with me every chance he got. His reasoning being that we've drank together so many times that it shouldn't matter that he's a few years younger than me. I don't mind, in fact, I think it would be weird if he spoke politely to me since I've never been polite to him a day in my life.

My eyes buldged slightly due to the sudden realization that I only had an hour to get from Hongdae to Ittaewon.

"I gotta go. I'll see you later DongFuck!" I yelled as I ran out the door.

"HEY!!!" He screamed back at me.

I ran to Hongik exit 9 and into the sea of people trying to get to where they needed to begin their own nighttime activities. As I stepped onto the subway, I noticed that some people were already drunk. I spotted some drunk ajushi's yelling at this blonde girl asking if she's a Russian prostitute. I roll my eyes and walked over to her.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up at me and nodded. The old men started directing their comments at me instead of her.

It's better that they act this way towards me. They're comments will be justified if they talk about me.

The girl snuck away without giving me another glance and I started to feel relieved until a hand landed on my shoulder. I kept still but my eyes glanced at the screen displaying the stops.

Only 3 more stops. I just have to cope for 3 more stops.

The hand moved toward my chest and I continued to stay still. 

If I move away, they'll just keep doing it to the other girl. 

The hand felt slimy, coated with a thick layer of sweat. It was disgusting. I tried to brush the hand away to prevent it from sliding further south, but my attempts were futile as the man continued to touch me.

It wasn't until the old man caressing me grabbed at my necklace that I turned to face him and pulled my fist back.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I ran out of the subway gripping on to my broken necklace and bags. When I had punched the stranger he fell back taking my necklace with him, breaking its clasp in the process. The only thought in my mind was to get as far away from the subway exit as possible. It was my fourth year living in Seoul and I knew how things worked. The man could have had his dick out, but there was no way that the police would believe a foreigner like me over him.

After arriving at the venue, I greeted the girls at the door and quickly found the bathroom to collect myself. My hair was sticking out of my ponytail and slicked to my face with sweat. I checked to make sure I still had all my things, most importantly, the necklace.

I looked down at the green emerald pendant. It was about a 3 centimeters long circle wrapped in a gold-plated setting, strung on a matching gold chain. Everything about the necklace was beautiful except for the broken clasp.

"Oh my god Y/N! You are so late."

I jumped at the sudden voice.

"Sorry Snoopy."

It was Jungwoo. I hadn't noticed him come in despite the loud clacking of his heels.

"I guess it's no big deal. To be honest, I'm pretty sure that the Madam hasn't even noticed that you weren't here earlier. She was just going crazy backstage looking for her wig. You should have seen her. It was so funny."

Jungwoo started speaking in a high pitched voice trying to imitate the madam.

"Where's my hair? Where's my hair?"

We both started cracking up at the impersonation.

"Come one!" Jungwoo said as he grabbed my hand, still laughing.

"You're the only one who’s not even close to being done with makeup," He continued.

As he walked me out of the bathroom and towards the dressing rooms, I examined his costume. He wore a long burgundy red velvet dress with long white sleeves. On his head, he adorned a long brunette wig. It seemed to be a very cheap wig as it was already starting to knot into a rat’s nest. Overall, it was a very modest outfit compared to the blue latex mini skirt with neon green tassel pasties he wore during our last show.

"What's your act tonight?" I asked.

"Wonho and I are doing a titanic theme tonight. You would know this if you actually came to our last practice."

Jungwoo was one of the burlesque queens. There were many in the group as they made up almost half of the dancers. Since Ittaewon was filled with foreigners, the queer scene was thriving here and it really showed in our burlesque group.

"What happened to your necklace?"

"Oh I broke it on the subway." I replied hoping Jungwoo wouldn't inquire further.

Luckily for me, he didn't.

"Want me to fix it for you?" He said as he examined the jewelry in my hands.

"It's just a broken clasp right?"

"You would fix it for me?" I asked as I hand the necklace to the feminine male.

"Yeah of course! My costume jewelry breaks all the time. Damn the heavy things. This should only take a few minutes. I'll go get my tools."

Without another word, Jungwoo left, allowing me to get started on my makeup. Tonight I was supposed to be the final act, as per usual, which meant that my costume was the most extravagant. 

For my makeup, I applied gold lipstick along with gold eyeliner, and a glitter highlight. The theme of my act was, you guessed it, gold. Even my costume was brimming with gold detailing. All fake of course, but it was still dripping with elegance. I quickly wrapped my hair into a hairnet and put on my white-blonde wig.

I had been preforming for around two years now. I found the group through a friend who had ended up leaving Korea. I quickly proved myself to be one of the best dancers in the group although some people liked to focus on my lack of attendance even though my acts often recieved the most praise out of every show.

It's not that I thought I was better than my fellow dancers. It's just that I happened to do quite well for myself as a dancer. Through dancing alone, I've been able to pay for my apartment in Hongdae, pay off my student loans, and my other debts, all while being able to afford a few luxuries here and there.

I began to take off my day clothes before I was interrupted when a familiar face entered the dressing room.

The Madam.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" I sneered at the short figure that approached me.

"Haven't you ever heard of coming on time?" The figure snarkily replied, taking a drag from her cigarette.

The Madam, or Madam Ten, as some of us called her, was the leader of the group. She directed the show, organized it, taught choreography, and had final call on every detail of our preformances. 

The thing about The Madam, was that she wasn't exactly a madam. Like Jungwoo, she was a drag queen, but she committed to the role more. None of us had ever actually seen the older out of drag. Some assumed that she may have identified as a woman, since anytime anyone said differently, she would scoff and often would reply with the same two answers.

When it was a woman addressing her as a man, she would say something like,

"Darling. When you refer to me as a he, you are merely pointing out the sad truth that even a man can easily be prettier than you."

When it was a man, she would walk up to the poor soul and say something vulgar, such as "You won't be calling me a he when you are screaming my name later."

Madam Ten was roughly in her 50's yet she was still dripping in womanly charm and beauty. Her face was wrinkled from all the years of smoking cigarettes, but she had more knowledge about seduction than all of us, so her age rarely mattered to the men around her.

She wore her hair in a sort pixie cut. Her red dress draped to the floor. She had an array of colorful scarves wrapped around her neck and shoulders. Heavy jewelry adorned her fingers and neck. Her ruby lips wrapped around the long black straw that was encasing the end of her cigarette.

"On a normal night, I would have given your act to Eunwoo as punishment for your... tardiness."

I raised my eyebrows.

"But...?" I questioned anticipating her to continue her explanation.

"But despite Eunwoo's ability being equal to yours, in my opinion even better..." She continued, snarkily mumbling the last part.

"He's lacking your certain assets, which I believe our special audience members would prefer tonight." She cooed, not even trying to be subtle about staring at my undressed body.

"Special audience members?" I asked as I turned away to find my costume.

"It seems as though our venue has been...reserved for a private party this evening."

"The whole venue?" I gasped.

"Yes. And it seems as though I've had to make some last-minute changes to the show tonight in order to appeal to our audience's specific tastes."

"What kinds of changes?" I inquired, continuing to dress myself.

"Sadly, tonight is going to focus on the more traditionally feminine tonight. It's such a shame that men nowadays are still so afraid to explore their sexualities." She rested her hand on her face as if she were genuinely contemplating something.

I started zipping up my costume before I realized what she was implying.

"Jungwoo's not going to be allowed to perform tonight is he?"

Madam Ten walked up behind me and pulled the zipper of my costume up the remainder of my back.

"We are all expected to make sacrifices sometimes."

This wasn't fair. Jungwoo worked harder than me at everything he did. It wasn't fair that I should get to preform while he's expected to roll over just because some last-minute guests didn’t want to see a drag queen preform burlesque.

 And what about the Madam? Madam Ten would never change the line-up for a show just to appease the preferences of some rich snooty straight assholes. In the past, whenever an audience member complained about the less conventional dancers, it would end with her having the source of the complaint swiftly thrown to the curb. The Madam often referred to these men as lacking taste or ability to appreciate the real artistry of burlesque, but tonight she's acting as if her submission isn't even something to be questioned.

Whoever could afford to rent out the whole venue must have a lot of both money and power to cause the Madam to act this way. Who could these guests be in order for the Madam to choose to compromise the show's integrity?

"I should go talk to Jungwoo." I commented as I turned to leave the room, but Madam Ten stops me, grabbing my hand.

"I already sent him home." She explained reaching into the pocket of her dress.

"But he did leave me this to give to you."

She turned me so that I was facing the full length mirror and wraps my newly fixed necklace around my neck. I was unable to examine the fixed clasp, but it's ability to stay on my neck reassured me of it's functionality.

Madam Ten started walking out of the dressing room, motioning for me to follow. She walked towards the backstage curtains. Once we arrived Madam Ten slung her arms gently around my shoulders and brought her lips closer to my ears.

"Tell me Y/N, are you familiar with NCT 127?"

My eyes bulged upon hearing the name. NCT 127 was one of the most infamous Mafia gangs in Seoul. Specializing in drug trade and weapon imports, NCT 127 was known for it's ties with the police, making it the gang untouchable. Besides that, most people don't know very much about the group. People know that it exists, but most of the group's actions completed with such secrecy that no one outside of the group is completely sure about the how far their reach is. Some have specified that they have so much power in Seoul that even the president had been accused of being in the leader's pocket.

I turned to face the Madam.

"It seems as though they will be making up our audience this evening."

Madam Ten lifted back the curtain ever so slightly revealing the faces within the crowd. Missing, were the familiar faces of our loyal regulars, only to be replaced with more intimidating facades. Tough looking men wearing dashing suits littered the tables and bar areas. Many were sitting down in an organized manor, but even more were standing in small groups, wondering around, probably to get a drink, or worse, to harass the waitresses.

It was in this moment that I felt somewhat relieved that Jungwoo was sent home. I couldn't even imagine how these men would treat a man in drag if this was how they treated the female staff.

Cat calls made up most of the noise in the room, yet it seemed as though they were all coming from a small group of men seated at the main table. 

It was normal for us to seat astonished guests at the table closest to center stage. This way, whoever was deemed important enough to be seated there, could have the best view of the performers. Also, since the stage wasn't elevated, the performers would often walk into the crowd attempting to raise audience participation. Sometimes it would be asking an audience member to help remove an article of clothing. Other times it could be a full-on lap dance, depending on how wild or trustworthy the audience was that particular night. Either way, audience participation was always centered around this table.

Seated at/surrounding the table were five men. They all looked to be in their early or late twenties. Although everyone else in the room seemed intimidating in the conventional "thug" way, these men were intimidating in different way.

"Handsome, aren't they?" Madam Ten cooed almost as if these men were celebrities' whose presence should be appreciated, instead of ruthless mafia members who intimidated their ways into the audience, but I couldn't disagree.

Each of the men varied greatly in image, yet to say that any of them were less that godly would be a obvious lie.

Two men were standing up at their seats trying to control their obviously drunk colleague who kept making passes at the waitresses as they walked by. The drunk one was short but still very handsome with his golden bleached blonde hair and charming laugh. It seemed as though he would have no trouble picking up women if it weren’t for his brazenly drunk behavior.

As a waitress went to check on their table, the blonde man had slapped the poor girl's ass as he spoke to her in English.

"What do you say me and you get out of this overpriced bar and get ourselves a real drink?" He said as he put his hand on her waist and pulled her closer to him. The poor girl let out a small shriek.

I recognized her as one of the new girls on staff. Really innocent and sweet, but she normally did well when dealing with drunk costumers when they got out of line, but this time our customers were irregular compared to what she was used to.

The girl froze.

"Come on baby. Don't you wanna have a little fun? What's wrong?" The blonde asshole continued.

"Mark, Stop making a fool of yourself and it down." A tall brunette grabbed him and plopped the blonde back into his seat as if he weighed nothing. "She probably doesn't even speak English." He continued as he whispers something into the waitress's ear and hands her what appeared to be four 50,000won bills. As she quickly moved away, I put two and two together and figure that he was probably asking her to forget about his friend's indiscretions.

"I wasn't even...hiccup...speaking English Johnny." The blonde drunkenly continued mumbling in English as he tried to get up to follow the girl, only to be set back down again by the third standing party.

This third party stayed silent but nodded at the tall brunette previously referred to as Johnny.

Huh. It seemed like maybe this guy is either the strong silent type or he doesn't speak English. Whereas the other two seemed to be American like me. I noticed how the two spoke English in an accent very similar to my own along with the mentioning of their English names.

"Maybe when you were working with the Dreamies in the Canadian unit, getting drunk and harassing waitresses was acceptable, but now that you're working for the big boss, you have to keep up appearances. Okay Newbie?" Johnny lectured.

I started mentally cursing myself for assuming that the two English speakers were from America, not even considering the option that they could be from Canada, only to have my thoughts interrupted by the Madam.

"They might have used their power to influence the program of tonight's show, but I cannot tolerate any ruckus they make." Madam Ten gestured toward Mark.

Madam Ten started walking towards the doors leading out to the audience, but before leaving, she glanced at me and raised one ring covered index finger towards me, as if queuing me to stay put while she dealt with the unruly audience member. Then without waiting for me to confirm that I understand her silent request, she started to approach the three men, hips swaying ever so seductively.

Even though Madam Ten may have let the Mafia gang intimidate her into going with whatever changes to the show that were demanded by the irregular guests, I was relieved to hear that she still wouldn't tolerate disruptions within the audience.

I lifted the curtain up again and watched as Madam Ten made her way to the bar where the noisy blonde and his silent colleague had wondered off to.

"Hello boys," The Madam greeted the two suited men in a strict yet somehow still flirtatious manner.

Both men raised their eyes to meet the Madam's.

Stressing a smile, she continued. "It seems as though you are making my staff feel uncomfortable."

Madam Ten placed a hand on the lapel of the silent man's jacket hoping to incite a response.

"When young boys don't know how to play nicely, that's when they get placed in time out."

Mark looked up at the hand places on his hyung's chest and scoffed, further proving that the comparison of him to a toddle might not be that far of a stretch.

The third man looked at the madam with kind eyes and smiled. For a split second I was relieved that the situation didn't seem hostile. That was, until the third opened his mouth.

"Well what happens to old bats when they don't know when to fucking shut their traps?"

I couldn’t help but let out a gasp.

The third man had black hair with vibrant blue highlights. Despite the obvious fact that he was a member of the most ruthless gang/mafia in Seoul, he had somehow been born with an extremely innocent looking face. One could even allude his facial features to that of a baby rabbit. Yet he spit out his response like venom proving that one shouldn’t judge a bunny by it's adorable features, but by how hard it bites.

Madam Ten's jaw dropped, her confident facade having been completely shattered. Anger visibly erupted from her foundation covered pores. I watched her as her hand balled up into a fist, but before she could raise it even an inch, Johnny inserted himself in between the madam and his formerly silent colleague.

"Doyoung! How could you say that to such a beautiful young lady?" Although he was speaking to Doyoung, he didn't break eye contact with the Madam for even a second.

"Don't you realize that we are guests in this lovely establishment and should be thankful that we are blessed to have such a beautiful hostess?"

Johnny grabbed the Madam's hand melting away her fist as he planted a kiss on her ring covered fingers.

"Normally, I like to kiss a woman's hand without being obstructed by the presence of rings." Johnny looked up at the Madam while Doyoung rolled his eyes at his colleague's over the top mannerisms.

"Do any of these rings signify that I should address you as Mrs. instead of Miss?" Johnny slightly inquired as he winked at the Madam.

Ugh Barf. There is no way that the Madam is buying this.

An annoyingly long string of giggles escaped from Madam Ten's mouth.

"You can refer to me as Madam Ten, and no, there is no Mr. Ten." She responded as she wrapped Johnny's arm around hers. 

"Instead of playing with such immature young boys, you should accompany me for some drinks in my private room before the show," Madam ten stated shooting a glare toward Mark and Doyoung.

Before Johnny could even respond, the Madam started leading him to her private quarters backstage. Realizing that he may have laid on the charm a little too strong, Johnny glanced towards his colleagues giving them a desperate "Help me out of this" look, only for it to be returned with a smirk from Doyoung and an empty concerned look from Mark.

Once Madam Ten and her new boytoy left my vision, my eyes followed the two  men as they returned to their original table.

Still sitting at the table were two other men. 

Both men were wearing navy blue pin striped suits, and both were sitting silently, but that was about the only thing they had in common visually. One was leaning so far back in his chair it seemed as if sliding down one more inch would end in him slipping onto the floor, yet he seemed perfectly relaxed in his posture as he rested his left foot on top of his left knee. The other man was sitting up so straight that physical therapists could use a picture of him as a guide for perfect posture.

His hair was styled in a side swept undercut. A style that suited the man's angular face. He was handsome, but he didn't have any strange features that stood out. No piercings, no crazy colored hair, no flashy jewelry except for a Gucci watch on his left wrist. Even though the watch was flashy in of itself, it still would have probably been considered to have been one of the plainer Gucci watch designs.

He was dressed like an accountant. The most attractive accountant in the world, but still it was hard to describe how little he stood out. Which is almost sad because when examined, some would probably place him above the rest of his colleagues in terms of visuals.

Upon closer inspection, I was able to make out that the slouching mean's hair was a dark shade of purple that looked almost black under the dark lighting of the room. Two small loop piercings adorned the ear that I could see, and bold purple eye makeup was smudged around both his eyes. Well, at least I thought it was makeup. With how dark the room is before showtime, it's possible that he had two black eyes, but it doesn't seem likely that a man can look so mesmerizingly gorgeous with two black eyes.

Compared to his striped suit seat neighbor, he looked like a rebellious teen. In fact, he looked the most like a gang member out of all of them.

God, I wonder how I didn’t notice him before.

The way they dressed was so professional looking that it would be understandable to forget that these were horrid men that committed violent crimes on the regular.

I looked up at a clock on the wall and realized that it was almost showtime. I started heading back to my dressing room for a drink before the show, but as soon as I passed by the Madam's personal quarters I heard muffled voices. After realizing that nothing too adult was taking place, I couldn't help but press my ear against the door hoping to eavesdrop on the unlikely duo.

"Ummm I..I.. Umm don't you think that we should get back before the show starts?"

The confident flirt that I watched shamelessly flirt with the Madam earlier had dissipated and been replaced by a scared baby deer being hunted by a hungry lion.

"Come one lover boy, this won't take long at all."

Eck! I could almost hear her wink through the door.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden voice.

"Isn't it considered rude to eavesdrop?"

I suddenly jumped back and let out a small shriek. I turned towards the voice only to see the purple haired an from earlier leaning on the wall right next to me with his arms crossed,

"Oof," He said as he brought a finger to his ear as if responding to my scream.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He took a step closer towards me before resting an arm on the wall above my head.

"I heard that one of my colleagues needed to be collected from backstage, but that doesn't explain why you are here....Unless....Perhaps you were hoping to hear something besides conversation."

He looked down at me and smirked causing my face to flush. Even in heavy stage makeup I could tell that he noticed the new blush on my cheeks. I just stared at him, terrified, or maybe mesmerized, probably both.

"Okay so I guess you aren't actually as perverted as I originally suspected. It's okay though. I like good girls, but judging from your getup, you must have a bit wild side."

I looked down at the floor and realize that I was wearing my burlesque costume. Even though I have worn much more revealing clothing in front of hundreds of audience members, there was something about this guy that made me feel like I was naked in the most uncomfortable way. His eyes burned holes into my body.

"Yuta, did you find the boss?" The man with the undercut hairstyle from before walked around the corner and stopped when he saw us.

Yuta rolled his eyes before taking his arm off of the wall and turned to face the man.

"Always one to pop up during the most inconvenient times. Right, Taeil?"

Taeil looked at me with visible concern showing on his face.

"Leave the poor girl alone. I swear to god, sometimes you're worse than Mark."

Suddenly, a high-pitched scream arose from behind the door and Taeil hurriedly opened it while Yuta merely let out a bored yawn.

My body stressed with worry for the Madam.

This Johnny bastard could have just left the room if he didn't want to do anything with the Madam. He didn’t have to hurt her.

I looked inside the room expecting a bloodied Madam only to be struck with the sudden realization....Ten wasn't the one who screamed.

Johnny was lying on the bed, face covered with heavy lipstick marks, and the Madam on top of him.

You could tell that Johnny was not having as much fun as the Madam was, but she was as oblivious as always.

Having noticed his colleagues had come to his rescue, Johnny sat up. The Madam lifted herself up off of the bed and in turn, off Johnny.

"Johnny... Umm" Taeil stuttered.

Yuta entered the room and tossed a handkerchief to the lipstick covered man.

"Clean yourself off. The boss will be here any minute." Yuta stated calmly. The smirk on his face even more prominent than before.

There are more of them?

"What a shame it is to have such a..." Ten looked at us, "unfortunate interruption," she continued.

"Don't worry Madam. We'll bring him back to you after the show," Yuta winked and Johnny, who was wiping his face freezes in fear, making me feel almost sorry for him. 

Sadly, due to the power dynamics in gender roles, Madam Ten's lack of consent was being played off as a joke by his friend, instead of an actual close call for a possibly traumatic event. A kind of event I almost went through myself.

"I should probably go to greet the young man." The madam fixed her wig. 

"I should at least see the man responsible for tonight's sudden change in theme."

[supremeuppityone]

This was written for Klaroline Bingo @klaroline-events. 

You can read Part 2 here.

Prompt: Zombies. 

It was supposed to be a routine scouting mission for supplies, but the second wave of the virus changed the world and now nothing was routine.

Warning: Angst

Remains

“The fair face of nature was deformed as with the ravages of some loathsome disease” ― Edgar Allan Poe, The Colloquy of Monos and Una

           She didn’t dream anymore. No, that was a lie. Nightmares were still dreams. The infected changed the world, but perhaps Caroline should be grateful. Once the second wave of the virus spread, she was a new person. She became a survivor. Caroline impatiently pushed back the greasy strands that escaped her sloppy braid, snorting as she recalled a time when frizzy split ends like these would’ve led to instant banishment from her social circle. Right before the world died, she’d been posting tutorials on marble and tortoiseshell manicures and the best smudge-proof lipsticks to wear with face masks. And now she could field strip a Glock in under a minute. But there was no use mourning the remains of her old life.

           She was crouched behind a stack of old tires when she spied Klaus’ rally signal, indicating the all-clear to their group. The arrogant Brit in all of his alpha male glory easily had become the leader of their group of castoffs; some were intrigued by the brooding mystique he cultivated and others comforted by his confident, charismatic leadership. Caroline was still suspicious of his intentions, knowing better than to be swayed by those innocent dimples and playful smirk.

           Caroline shook her head in irritation, refusing to get distracted. They were at a landfill about eight miles outside of camp, searching for salvageable materials. The mission was what mattered. Survivors had grown desperate, swallowing their distaste at sifting through the remains of the world. She wrinkled her nose as she passed by a river of brown sludge, the smells of rotten eggs, motor oil and bleach making her stomach turn.

           “Nothing there for us; keep looking,” Klaus barked at her sharply, making her scowl. She recalled how furious Klaus had been on that first scouting mission to a landfill; shouting until he was hoarse when he realized how quickly food waste decomposed even in the mild spring. After the first wave of the virus, the grocery stores were raided; the second wave saw the residential areas ransacked. The zombie hordes had been timid at first, as though viewing the immune as the predators. But humanity was fragile, and soon they became prey.

           “I know,” Caroline snarled, feeling the need to bare her teeth when he held up his hands in mock surrender. She jerked her head toward a heap of milk-white containers in one of the mounds in the distance, telling him, “Those might be plastic jugs we could repurpose. You should be over there investigating instead of wasting time waiting on me to screw up.”  

           Anger registered on his handsome face before his expression went carefully blank. “Time spent with you is never a waste,” he muttered, quietly stalking away to signal Enzo, Bonnie and Tyler to follow him to the area she’d indicated.

           That was weird. Klaus always seemed irritated by her presence; he grumbled at her questions and mocked the efficiency protocols she’d established around camp. Plus, during his daily combat drills, Klaus always made her train harder than anyone else, running through every fight sequence over and over until her muscles shrieked. Between her explosive temper and his wild mood swings, they’d had some epic screaming matches, but ultimately a begrudging respect had formed and she was startled to realize she’d come to trust him implicitly with their group’s safety. So, why was he messing with her now?  

           Irritated that their asshat leader’s antics were so distracting, Caroline carefully stepped around broken glass, leaning forward to examine an overturned metal rowboat. Even with the streaks of rust, the hull was intact and they could take it out on the lake to fish.

           “You’ve got that look on your face, little bird,” Kol drawled, startling her with his close proximity. He grinned cheekily at her glare, adding, “The one where you’re planning to boast how you’ve scored the most useful haul on our mission. Tsk, tsk — you know what a sore loser Nik can be.”

           “Klaus is a grumpy asshat regardless. Pretty sure he came out of the womb with that smirky-scowl of his.”

           His brother snorted, kicking aside a dented oil pump that scattered several crank seals across the trash heap. “You didn’t know him from before, little bird. Trust me — Nik is almost downright cheerful these days.” His brown eyes twinkled mischievously as he mused, “I wonder why that is?”

           She ignored him, rooting around the edge of the rowboat to see if they could break it free from the black silt and thick sludge that she did her best not to identify. She impatiently pushed away some rusted-out tractor parts that likely belonged to the same pile Kol was kicking around. Actually, it was thanks to Klaus she even could identify tractor parts. He’d pulled her off of game hunting duty to help him work on the tractor they’d found in the woods behind the campgrounds. He taught her the different parts and tools used to free up the seized engine.

           “Oil down the cylinders,” he’d commanded, showing her how to neatly coat the spark plug holes in a manner that she absolutely refused to find erotic. Tractors weren’t sexy. British asshats who knew how to tune up carburetors were not sexy, damn it!

           She flicked her eyes up, skin prickling as she had the sensation of being watched. Klaus was watching her. Again. Was he seriously that concerned she’d screw up this scouting mission? Asshat. With a huff of annoyance, she turned her back, stooping a bit to inspect something shiny that had caught the sun’s rays. She checked to make sure she couldn’t identify any solvents or other chemicals before she touched it — a lesson they all learned last week when Enzo came back from a scouting mission with a nasty rash. He could’ve died. But they all could, at any time. They were stuck in this terrible world where everything kept trying to kill them.

           Her heart gave an unfamiliar tweak as she uncovered an old charm bracelet with several silver butterflies and cheap glass beads linked together. It looked nothing like the platinum and diamond butterfly one her father had given her as a child, but it was the last thing he’d gifted her before he died. Once the infected had swarmed her property, she’d had no choice but to leave it behind. She hadn’t cried when her childhood friend, Elena, succumbed to the virus and transformed, but she’d wept a river over losing that damn bracelet. She was fucked up long before the world ended.  

           She was focused on unwinding the bracelet from where it had caught on the hinge of a splintered cabinet door, and she didn’t hear Klaus’ piercing whistle until it was too late. Decayed arms grabbed at her long braid, yanking her back with surprising strength.

           “Fucking zombies!” Kol bellowed, bashing a skull in with the butt of his rifle as two more clawed at him.  

           Caroline’s body reacted of its own accord, muscle memory executing a fluid elbow strike as she reached for her gun. She hardly felt the recoil as the bullet messily severed the zombie’s brittle neck.

           Kol gestured wildly, shouting at her to run, but she stubbornly kept trying to free the bracelet, paying no mind to the splinters from the door shredding the back of her hands. She couldn’t explain, but she needed it. A connection. Another creature reached for her, gnashing its rotted teeth, but she paid it no mind as she swung the cabinet door, gouging out strips of its festering cheeks.

           The door broke just as Klaus reached her, his gray eyes feral as he jerked her arm, yelling, “Leave it! It’s not worth your life!”

           Caroline stubbornly shook her head, angry tears in her eyes as another group of infected raced toward them. Too many. Defeated, she left the bracelet where it had fallen and finally allowed Klaus to spirit her away with the rest of their team.

                                 ________________________________

           Klaus was a caged animal as he paced the short length of the small cabin Caroline shared with Bonnie, whirling around to face her with his blazing stare. “You could’ve died, Caroline!”

           “Yes.”

           Caroline’s simple answer seemed to spark something in him, and his voice grew dangerously quiet as he harshly said, “You jeopardized the safety of our people over trivial nonsense. My brother was nearly killed. How could you be so stupid? So utterly selfish?!”

           Fuck. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but somehow those words felt different coming from Klaus. “Because I needed it!” The raw emotion tore at her throat, and she’d never felt so small and weak. “You don’t have tell me I’m stupid and selfish — I already know. I’ve heard it my whole useless life.”

           She wasn’t sure when she started crying, but she didn’t duck her head in shame. Instead, she straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. She wanted him to understand. “I was always stupid and shallow and no one ever loved me as much as I loved them, but my dad gave me a bracelet with butterflies on it and I needed that connection to him!”

           Klaus opened his mouth to speak, a rare look of uncertainty in his gaze as he studied her. Shaking her head, she felt the fight leave her as she brokenly confessed, “It’s all I have left. And even if no one cared about who I was before, it’s all that remains of my humanity.”

           The silence between them was nothing but jagged edges that made Caroline want to curl away from him. Suddenly, Klaus was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, something unrecognizable flashing in her gaze. He kissed her roughly, clutching at her back as his lips moved over hers. Dominating. Possessing.

           The fiery kiss was over far too quickly, leaving her reeling from the heat of his touch. As she raised trembling fingers to touch her lips, Klaus wordlessly stormed away, his jaw tight. What the fuck just happened?

                                  ________________________________

           Hours later, a heavy banging on the warped wooden door woke her. Bleary eyed, Caroline stumbled out of her bedroll, flicking the safety off of her Glock. Her heart sped up when she spied Klaus standing at her doorstep with his fists clenched.

           “Um,” she stuttered inelegantly, unsure of what to say.

           “Here,” Klaus said gruffly, thrusting something at her and storming off again before she could speak.

           Caroline looked down at her hand, immediately tearing up when she saw it was the old charm bracelet from the landfill.

[carelessgraces]

@clpdwings said: five times of comparing matthias to the ice and one time he wasn't. ( five times | accepting )

one.

They stand with their backs to the door, Astoria’s shirt cast aside, her hair gathered over her left shoulder. Tidemaker and Heartrender stand together, and Nina’s hands glide across her companion’s tattooed skin — red lilies in bloom, beginning at her right shoulder and cascading over her back, the petals of the bottommost lily dipping just below the waistband of her skirt. It’s the sole burst of color on her skin — the other tattoos entirely black ink — and Nina marvels audibly.

     “Must have hurt,” she hums, and Astoria laughs. 

     “Especially over my spine.”

     “Why’d you get it?”

     “To own my own body again. Nineteen years in Fjerda made it everything besides a body — weapon of war, tool of destruction, vessel of sin. Now, it’s a work of art.” Astoria looks fondly at the ink that curls tenderly over her shoulder, but there’s some sorrow in her eyes. “I hate to cover it, but the more attention we can avoid in the Ice Court, the better. And I figured, better to start sooner than later with this. Your hands will be full with all my hair.”

     Nina laughs, that beautiful belly-laugh that warms Astoria to her core despite the chill in the air. “Thank you for that. Could we cut it, maybe?”

     Astoria looks at the hair in question, deep red curls that fall to her elbows; she certainly has enough to send Matthias back with a belt made from her braided hair, and unbidden comes the image of Matthias binding her hands with her own cut hair. She clears her throat, lets out a little laugh that sounds rattling and dry in her throat, and she says, tentatively, “You’ll be tailoring Matthias too?”

     “Mm. Black hair, I think. Brown eyes. He’s so tall, and he’ll draw attention whether or not we want him to, but those eyes have to go. They’re too — ”

     Remarkable, Astoria thinks despite herself, and she nods at whatever Nina says. Poor Nina is exhausted — between caring for Inej and the discomfort of being on a ship again, it’s been a great deal to carry, and she chatters comfortably as she starts at Astoria’s shoulder and begins the work. Her eyes are trained on Astoria’s tattoos as she talks, filling Astoria in on gossip from the White Rose, while Astoria listens, a small smile on her face, her eyes flickering across the reflection of her face. 

     They’ll have to change her, too. Her hair will become brown, not unlike Nina’s, and her eyes will darken to a deep blue. She sees the movement in the mirror before she hears it, and poor Nina, tired and distracted, doesn’t hear the arrival of a new heartbeat — but Astoria stops to listen for the sound of water, and she hears it as it picks up and beats an erratic rhythm. 

     She sees him in the mirror, too, his eyes widening at the sight of her half-undressed, the pale skin of her back against the deep deep red of the lilies, and she feels something shift in her.

     Astoria knows what she looks like, for all her jokes about her hair as the great draw. She knows that she has a graceful neck that begs to be marked, that the curve of her neck into her shoulders is like poetry. Elzinger used to tease that he could compose sonnets about the line of her spine along her bare back, which is now marked, beyond the tattoos, only by a puckered pink scar from the very same man’s knife. She can’t quite see where Matthias’ eyes are, only that they’re moving over her bare skin as if he’s in a daze. 

     For all her respect for his vow, she finds she wants to be watched. Astoria likes the thought of him looking at her, and so she keeps her eyes fixed on his reflection and she hooks the thumb of her left hand under the waistband of her skirt. Still watching him, she pulls it down enough to expose the last of the lilies, and at her left side, she pulls it down farther, exposing the second tattoo in its entirety. 

     She listens for the sound of his breath catching, but either Nina is speaking too loudly, or Matthias is all Fjerdan ice. His eyes move to the newly exposed skin before dragging up to her shoulder, along her hair, her eyes on his in the mirror. 

     Astoria smiles, then, and she rolls her lower lip between her teeth and bites down before releasing it again.

     For his part, Matthias, his expression inscrutible, simply takes a step back and out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. Ice, she decides, a little disappointed, but what had she been hoping for? For him to leap across the room and crawl under her skirt? 

     Nina continues speaking beside her, unaware of their visit, and Astoria says nothing until she’s finished. When she dresses again and goes to leave, she finds Matthias on the other side of the door — had he stayed? Had he left and returned? — and when he sees her, he simply nods before stepping into the room. He won’t meet her eyes. 

two.

She is ashamed to admit to any weakness, but especially now, and especially with him. The house beside them is unremarkable, painted a deep emerald green that looks almost blue when the sky is overcast; about a foot from the street, on the front wall, there is a smudge that came from a little hand and a great deal of mud that baked against the wall under the summer sun.

     Veronika had laughed when she’d seen it, and had pressed a kiss to the top of Astoria’s hair and told her that now the house was theirs forever, and that this would always be home. She catches sight of that smudge and she feels the wind knocked out of her. 

     And the worst of it is that there’s no one else to turn to but him, a drüskelle desperate to don his cloak once more. Nina and Inej and Jesper and Wylan know next to nothing about her childhood, certainly not the street where she grew up, or the little gap between the stones in the street where her foot got caught every spring between the ages of six and fourteen. Her left ankle is still perpetually a little tender as a result of the annual twists. They don’t know that this is where her first love begged her to marry him and where she’d turned him down, because she couldn’t tell him the truth and she wouldn’t have that hanging over them. They don’t know that this is where she told her closest friend, the boy across the street, that she could make the water dance at her fingertips, or that this is where she saw the white of her own bone piercing through her skin and the deep red of her mother’s blood spattered across the floor before her vision went black, black, black. 

     Kaz knows most of this. And were Kaz anyone else she would turn to him for comfort, but Kaz is himself, is Dirtyhands, is the Bastard of the Barrel. Kaz won’t hold her hand and stroke her hair and comfort her weariness, nor will he look kindly on the way she’s struggling to breathe if she calls his name. The others are huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, and only Matthias walks near her. 

     She doesn’t think — she reaches for him, clutching the sleeve of his shirt almost desperately. He looks down at her, his eyes the wrong color but still a strange comfort all the same, and then his eyes follow hers to the house, and she sees the recognition in his face. 

     Matthias doesn’t say a word; instead, he shakes her free from his sleeve and winds his arm around her shoulders, knowing that if she is left to her own devices the urge to walk through that front door and look for any trace of herself, of her mother, of the life that they lived there, will be too strong to resist. His grip is strong and sustained, his hand curled around her upper arm just tightly enough to steer her. There is something so comforting about him like this, when he embodies home — solid as the ice, reliable as the snow in the winter. 

     In these moments she thinks she can understand how Nina fell in love with him a year before, and Astoria wonders, not for the first time, if she is in entirely over her head. 

     When they pass the house he releases her; she puts a step of distance between them, but not before murmuring a quiet thank you. She fixes her eyes on Jesper’s back, a few feet in front of them, and she doesn’t see the way he flexes his hand, gaze flickering to his fingers, then, all too quickly, to her face. 

     When she turns to look at him again, he’s staring straight ahead, and she tells herself that she doesn’t feel the disappointment settling in her stomach like a stone in the water. 

three.

If she could apologize to him now, she would, but they must play their parts if they are to survive. Beside her, Kaz has her blood on his cane, and for the first time since they boarded the Ferolind she trusts him to do what’s right, not just for the Crows but for her. 

     ( It means that he’ll leave her there. It means that he’ll do as she asked and do his best to prevent Matthias from following. This is her share of the take: keep him safe, do not let him throw himself headfirst into danger for her sake, do not compromise his well-being for her own. She casts a look over her shoulder at Kaz, who doesn’t say a word, but he offers the barest hint of a nod. The deal is the deal. He will trade her life for theirs, and he won’t look back, and if they’re lucky and Matthias is the man she feared, the man she hopes, he’ll leave her there, too. ) 

     Astoria wears an expression of rage and defiance, blood drying around her mouth and under her nose, three of her fingers crooked and swelling, her hands bound behind her. Matthias’ hand is curled around her elbow and he guides her forward more gently than is necessary, and she wants to tell him to push her, to make her stumble, to insult her and shove her and make it look real. 

     More than that she wants to press close to him and let him taste her blood in her mouth and tell him that if they had more time, if they just had more time, she would have spent it with him. She will be the next in a line of women to leave him, and if she’s very lucky, he’ll forget her in a short while; she can be a memory for him to share with his good Fjerdan wife and his good Fjerdan children, the drüsje who heard songs in the water and thought the melody of his blood was the sweetest she’d heard, the witch audacious enough to spend her last thoughts on the shape of his mouth and the gentleness of his eyes and the power of his hands. 

     Instead, she says nothing, and she won’t turn to look at him, because if she turns to look at him she will weep, and she will beg, and she would rather he remember her like this. When the doors come into their field of vision, she clears her throat, and she feels Matthias’ hand tighten around her elbow. 

     “I’m sorry,” she says after a beat. “This is going to be unpleasant. But I’ll be fine.” 

     She is, it will, she won’t. She wants to wrap herself in his arms and close her eyes to the world and forget that this was ever a thought that crossed her mind, but if she doesn’t do this, they may not have the time to finish this, and get out. And she thinks of the others — Jesper’s debts paid and Inej free of her indenture and Wylan’s anger sated and Nina’s penance fulfilled and Kaz’s power grown and Matthias finally, finally coming home.

     The doors open. She misses the details of the conversation, and she flinches away from him when he turns his eyes to her. Behind her, Matthias grips her arm even tighter, as if he means to pull her away from there himself — but then the drüskelle speaking to them grabs her and calls for another to help him escort her to a cell, and she screams. 

     It’s an awful scream, filled with a fear she couldn’t feign if she tried — desperate and primal in its terror, and she is nineteen years old she is eleven years old she is four years old she is crying now, thrashing against their hold, and when she looks back over her shoulder for one last glance at them, Kaz’s shoulders are hunched, just barely, and Matthias is cold, unmoving. Unforgiving as the Fjerdan ice. For a moment she feels real doubt — had he wanted this from the start? Had he craved the sight of her bloodied and thrown to his brothers for whatever bloody retribution they intended to exact?

     When they hang her bound hands from a hook in her cell, she closes her eyes and she thinks of her mother, whom she loved, and her father, whom she never knew, and the first boy who said he loved her and asked her to be his wife, and the sight of Matthias’ smile that first night on the Ferolind, laughing at some shared and private joke, looking at her for a moment as though she might not be a monster but a miracle.

four.

The tailoring has been removed now and he looks like Matthias, like her Matthias, just as she looks like his Astoria, with her curls a shade or two darker than the lilies restored to her back. Matthias pays inordinate attention to her hair at times, watching it in wonder as he fists his hand in her curls and marveling at the strands that get caught in his fingers. She’s been doing the same with the color of his eyes, the impossibly distracting shade of ice whenever he looks at her. Even now, she’s distracted by it, as Matthias moves beneath her, one hand grasping desperately at the headboard, the other tight around her side. 

     Each step has been slow, taken only at Matthias’ guidance; she’d made it clear early on that it was up to him how quickly they moved, that she would respect whatever timetable he set for abandoning the vows of celibacy and abstinence, and he has surprised her less with his timeframe than with his intensity. Every time he touches her he does so with reverence; every inch of her is holy to him, and he makes it clear to her whenever given the opportunity. 

     The grip of his hands sometimes leaves bruises; he’d been apologetic at first before realizing that she preferred to have a few marks from him, that the purple imprint of her fingers on her sides was intoxicating. His hand falls from the headboard and settles on her hip, guiding her, and after a moment he sits upright and he winds his arms around her and he pulls her close as she rocks against him. 

     It occurs to her then that she has never been so close to another living soul. There’s something almost euphoric to it  — to being seen, held, known. Astoria winds an arm around his back, grips his shoulder with surprising ferocity, as if she means to keep her hold on him indefinitely. ( She does. ) Her other hand slips into his hair, but here her grip is gentle. He has been an apt student, responsive to her suggestions, watching her every move with the dedication of a lifelong scholar, and she wonders if he takes to all new things with such enthusiasm, or if it’s the sort of enthusiasm that only comes with love for the subject.

     He kisses her just before she comes and he smiles against her lips when she cries out, and he follows her soon after, his hands tightening at her sides. For a long moment, neither of them move, and Astoria watches him in silence. The blue of his eyes is distracting. Wonderful. Intoxicating. She could stay like this for hours, simply watching him, and be content. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his brow, over his shoulders and chest, and his hair is a mess of tangles from her ministrations. 

     “You are beautiful like this,” Astoria rasps when she can speak again, her voice hoarse but genuine. Her hands fall and instead she rests them lightly against his neck, and she kisses him slowly, carefully, as though she is afraid to break the spell between them.

     Spent, Matthias gingerly lowers himself back to the bed, drawing her down with him. He is everything of home worth preserving — the ice in his eyes and the strength of his hands and the way he sounds like he’s praying when he comes undone. He is beautiful, he is holy, he is pure magic — if there is enchantment to be discovered between them it’s in the way he says her name. Astoria, always, drüsje, when he teases, and mine, mine, mine. Astoria carefully climbs off of him only to curl up against his chest, one of his waiting arms winding around her shoulders the moment she’s settled in. She rests her head over his heart and she listens for the movement of his blood beneath his skin and she hears the song in him the same way she heard it in the water below the ash tree, or in the open sea, or in the snow and ice of their homeland. 

     “I hear Djel in you,” she says quietly. He is an honorable man and breaking any oath, no matter how little it serves him, is not something done lightly. She knows what it is to leave their old lives behind for something different, something so antithetical to everything they were taught in their youth, and she knows that it troubles him sometimes that there is nowhere to worship here, that the only god anyone prays to besides Ghezen is their own kruge. She feels it, too, though she has become skilled in pretending otherwise. She looks up at him and she says it again. “When I listen to your heartbeat, I can hear Djel singing. You are so beautiful.” 

     Matthias looks at her for a moment before he rolls her onto her back and hovers over her, propped up on his elbows. “What does it sound like?” he asks quietly. 

     He’s too far, even just inches away, and Astoria lifts herself up just enough to meet him, to press her mouth tenderly to his. “It sounds like home.” 

five.

The shares in the Crow Club come with Kaz’s warning that if she shirks her duties there or with the Dregs, she will regret it, and the caveat that as a shareholder, she will need to work in the club as well. And so she learns to deal, and she spends weeks at it before Kaz lets her take over one of the card tables, until she’s able to trick Jesper and Nina both while Kaz watches her shuffle. 

     Her costume changes as well — the higher necks she tends to prefer when leaving her room are traded in for something a bit more dramatic and plunging, but only on the nights when she deals. If her slender hands and sweet smile don’t attract attention, then her décolletage certainly will. Matthias laces her into the corsets, littering kisses along her bare neck and shoulder as he does, and he spends the first night she deals sitting at the bar to keep an eye on things. When a patron gets loud and indignant at a loss, he walks behind her and rests a hand on her shoulder, waiting for the patron to settle down, and later, when that same patron tries to corner her to apologize, Matthias watches, eyes narrowed, as she laughs. 

     “Careful now,” she says, the warning tone clear in her voice. “My husband is a possessive man.” 

     The patron lets out a drunken laugh and curls a hand around her arm, and then the offending hand is being held in Matthias’, the sound of cracking fingers loud enough to stop conversation at another table as everyone swivels around to watch. 

     “She was not exaggerating,” he says, releasing the patron, who cradles his injured hand against his chest and scurries toward the door. From across the room, she sees Kaz rolling his eyes at the intervention, though she knows Kaz is less annoyed by losing a handsy customer than he is by the way Astoria presses a kiss to Matthias’ cheek afterward.

     ( “You’re the one who encouraged me to flirt with him,” Astoria pointed out once, and Kaz had sighed so heavily she thought for a moment he was unwell.

     “I regret it everyday. I never would have if I’d guessed you two would be so disgusting in public.” )

     It’s the first and last time a patron tries anything similar, but Matthias spends time in the club with her when he can spare it, his fingers brushing along the back of her neck when he walks past. It keeps the patrons thinking she’s honest — too easily distracted to cheat, or catch them cheating — and it makes her smile every time he does it. It’s only once or twice a week, on a trial basis while they keep track of how much she brings in, but there’s a chance it will continue. 

     The rain that night is cold and heavy, and Astoria shivers a bit as she settles in at the table. Matthias isn’t with her tonight; he’s with Jesper, delivering a message. ( She had kissed Matthias goodbye warmly, and when she’d pulled away, Jesper offered his cheek expectantly and asked, “Where’s mine?” as she laughed. ) They hadn’t told her what they were looking for, and Astoria knew better than to press. Wylan is sitting at the bar, keeping her company, fidgeting with something she can’t identify, and Kaz is in his office.

     There are no clocks, no windows, and so she keeps track of time by the drinks served and the men working behind the bar. She nurses her own gin for well over an hour, and it takes some time for her to worry. It’s only a job; they’ve done this a dozen times by now, and rarely, if ever, with incident. ( But there are still things that concern her. The Dregs’ victory does not mean that they are beyond anyone’s reach. ) 

     She worries when Wylan, yawning, takes his leave of her. She worries when Jesper returns and Matthias does not, and when Jesper makes a point to avoid her as he moves through the club. Still, she focuses her attention on the cards, on the players and their clumsy hands and their eager faces. She smiles, and she shuffles, and she deals, and she doesn’t lose her composure even when she sees Kaz standing in a doorway, watching, unmoving. 

     When her shift ends she approaches him, and the only thing he says is, “There was trouble, and they were split up. We’re not sure where Matthias is.” 

     She doesn’t bother to change; she only grabs the long leather coat she wears in the rain from where she’d left it in behind the bar and she slips out of the Crow Club without another word, the low heel of her boots clicking, her hands shoved into her pockets and shoulders hunched and her hair dripping wet after only a few moments outside. 

     She knows every street of the Fifth Harbor inside out and backwards, just like she knows that it’s foolish for her to walk those streets alone, but she carries herself with a confidence she doesn’t quite feel and she cuts through the night as quickly as she can, ignoring the whistles and catcalls from drunken tourists. One falls into step beside her — a university student, she thinks, given his bearing and his obvious wealth — and he grins. 

     “This is a bad part of town for a pretty face,” he tells her, and the look she gives him is enough for him to stumble back as if pushed. 

     She’s out less than an hour, but long enough that she’s starting to feel hopeless, when she feels an icy hand brush along the back of her neck. Astoria whirls around, hands raised, only to let out a sigh of relief when she sees him — Matthias, shivering and soaked through, his face white from pain but wearing a smile nonetheless. 

     “What happened? Where have you been?”

     “We were separated. I was injured. Nothing terrible,” he rushes to assure her, seeing her eyes widen, “but with this rain, I need to go slowly.”

     She notices now that he’s favoring a leg, and she crouches down for a better look, her skirts soaking as she does. It looks like a break, his ankle bruised and swollen; there are a few scrapes on his hands and his knuckles are split and he’s sporting a nasty bruise on his cheek but otherwise, he looks whole. 

     She wants to ask who it was to touch him, whether or not any of them are nearby, if he’d mind terribly if she split their skulls open, but she’s too relieved to have him in front of her again to manage any of that. Instead, Astoria stands on her toes; his lips are cold, too, when she reaches them. When she settles back on her heels she takes his icy hands in hers and she warms them, and she moves around to wrap her arm around his waist, pulling his over her shoulders, on his injured side. 

     “Lean on me,” she says. “Try not to put weight on it. We’ll get you a medik, but first, let’s get you home.” 

     He shivers against her and she only pulls him closer. They begin their slow walk back to the Slat, the both of them soaked through and freezing when they arrive.

     He falls asleep with his nose buried in her hair and his arm around her and his cold hands held lovingly in hers. 

...and one.

They’d had no luck in Elling. Perhaps Veronika had gotten wind of Kaz’s agents looking for information, or perhaps she’d simply grown tired of the city, but by the time they reach it, she’s nowhere to be found, and neighbors report that a woman fitting her description vanished without warning one night weeks before. 

     There is some finality to it. She is alone in the world, now, except for the Dregs; the only family she knows is gone, determined not to be found, and Astoria doubts that she’ll be able to manage it. Matthias had wound his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her temple after she heard the news, but she had been less troubled than she might have imagined. She still has family. 

     That family is asleep now; they’ve taken shelter in a cave and huddled together, shivering, while they waited for a freak storm to pass. With them is the proof that their endeavor had been a success in part if not in whole: Matthias is curled up around a wolf he’d introduced as Trassel, who bared his teeth at Astoria at first before licking Matthias’ face and trying to climb into his lap. The laughter that echoed off the ice had been so bright, so warm, that her heart ached to hear it, and despite her discomfort Astoria has already begun to think of the isenulf as an extension of Matthias and, thus, as something she loves. 

     He looks younger in sleep, she realizes fondly. If he hadn’t fallen asleep beside a massive killing machine against which she had no defense, she would stroke his hair back, or curl up beside him; she can’t sleep, too uneasy with their company, and sits watch instead. She wonders if this will be the first night of many that she’s displaced by a wolf, but she supposes she can learn to live with it. 

     They should get a bigger bed, she thinks. Or, perhaps, find a place of their own, if there’s nothing bigger available at the Slat. There’s something almost comical about it, imagining playing house with Matthias while she’s huddling in a cave not unlike where she took refuge when she fled Fjerda in the first place. They’ll get a massive bed with room enough for the cats and Trassel both, and Matthias can sleep in the dead center, flanked by the great loves of his life. She’ll paint the front door emerald green and they’ll hang an ash bough over the hearth. 

     He wakes slowly, comfortably, and he stretches, reaching for her. He’s careful not to disturb the wolf beside him, who yawns and rolls onto his back, much more a needy pup than an insenulf in the moment. When he looks at Astoria he smiles, the dying fire reflecting in his eyes.

     “You can continue to rest,” Astoria says gently. “The storm won’t stop anytime soon.”

     “He won’t harm you.” Matthias’ voice is soft, and terribly sweet. “You can sleep too.”

     “Who will tend the fire if I do that?”

     “We are plenty warm here. You look exhausted.”

     “You’re supposed to tell me I look radiant.”

     “You are beautiful,” he promises, “but you look tired. Come.” He rolls onto his other side, Trassel settling against his back, and he gestures for Astoria to join him. 

     He is warm when she stretches out obediently beside him, her head tucked under his chin and her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, their cloaks through together over the both of them. 

     “I am sorry we could not find her,” he says finally, and Astoria shakes her head.

     “Don’t be. She knows what she is doing. I’m glad we found him.” Beside Matthias, the wolf lets out a noise that sounds a bit like a snore. “You seem brighter than I’ve ever seen you before.”

     And there’s that smile again, so beautiful it almost hurts to see.

     “We may need more room than what we have at the Slat,” he murmurs, and Astoria laughs, nestling closer. 

    “We may,” she agrees, and her eyes feel heavy, and when he drops a kiss to the top of her head moments later, she’s already asleep. 

     She wakes hours later, warm in his grasp, a weight across their bodies. Trassel is asleep across the both of them, his massive head resting on Astoria’s hip, and she doesn’t move except to reach down and scratch gently behind his ears. 

[lost-your-memory]

okay but what about mechanic Kara and the small garage she owns in midvale. Cat lives just outside and her husband at the time is some big business man and really wants to buy the land that the garage is on. and cat one day she has real bad car trouble. so she meets kara and then she starts to fall in love with the mechanic with the massive grin and an oil smudge on her cheek. NC x

Alright, I’m not entirely satisfied with this because at first, I wanted something rated M or even E but in the end, it didn’t fit. So this is really soft.Also, I am NOT a mechanic so nothing here is accurate, merely the fruit of some research to avoid being too far off. Hope you like it! 

—

A beautiful, golden morning greets Kara when the metal shutters of her garage opens.

The square across her shop is still half-plunged in the relative darkness of the end of the night but already, the first rays of a winter sunlight are hitting the buildings around it, highlighting the church tower. A few shop owners are opening, pulling up the metal shutters and adjusting their frontages, amicably waving at the few morning souls that are already up and heading to work.  

The air is cold and crisp, with morning dew hanging from the trees and flowers that add a touch of color to the little village. Behind the heady smell of freshly baked goods coming from the bakery next to her garage, Kara can still discern the distinct scent of salt water that come from the ocean, carried around by a very light winter breeze.

“Morning Kara,” Lucy waves, walking up the street to come drop a kiss on Kara’s cheek. “Beautiful day isn’t it? I have your usual bear-claw and a hot cocoa for you.”

“You are just the best, Luce,” Kara beams, taking the styrofoam cup and the pastry from her friend’s hands. “Wanna come in for a moment?”

“Not this time, sorry! I’m already late as it is,” Lucy shakes her head and drops another kiss on her friend’s cheek before going away, back to the bakery. “See you tonight, don’t be late!”

“I’m never late for game night!” Kara protests, despite her mouth full of bear-claw.

Lucy only laughs and then disappears into her shop.

—

“Thank you so much Kara! I don’t understand why it keeps breaking down”, Winn whines, climbing on the passenger side of Kara’s tow truck.

“Winn …” Kara sighs, waiting for her friend to close the door before starting the truck. “Honestly, I’m kind of impressed that your car still starts when you turn on the contact. I would know, I’ve disassembled and reassembled your car at least five times and I still don’t get it. Old doesn’t even begins to cover it, Winn. Your car should be in a museum, not on the streets.”

“I know, I know but … It has a sentimental value. I’m not ready to let it go,” Winn whispers and Kara doesn’t insist. She knows how much the car means to her friend and so she keeps trying to fix it, even though it’s not possible.

“Alright, then back to the garage it is,” Kara smiles, turning on the volume of the radio.

They’re about to enter Midvale when a car pass over them at an alarmingly high speed.

“Now that’s a fine car, even though the driver is crazy …” Kara whistles, admiring the back of the car before it disappears. “ A Ford Mustang Shelby, GT500 … probably a 2019 but it could be a 2020, I didn’t get a great look.”

Winn throws her a weird look and Kara arches a brow.

“What? Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You’re telling me you never fixed that specific car?” Winn sounds incredulous but then a thoughtful look flashes in his eyes. “Well, that makes sense actually. It’s Cat Grant’s car.”

“Cat Grant?” Kara frowns. “The name doesn’t ring any bell …”

They’ve just arrived in front of her shop and so she carefully maneuvers her truck to be able to easily enter her friend’s car in the garage.

“Really? Cat Grant, CEO of CatCo, the media conglomerate? The company’s headquarters are in National City but she’s recently moved here, in Midvale, with her young son and her new husband …” Winn says before he exits the truck and follows Kara into her office, all the way at the back of the garage. “Whom you probably heard of, his name is Alaric Byron-Price.”

Kara freezes and grits her teeth.

“I see why you’d think it makes sense that I never fixed Miss Grant’s car, then,” Kara says, coolly. “Since her husband is trying everything he can to buy my garage, I imagine she won’t be using my service anytime soon.”

Winn is about to say something when a voice echoes in the garage.

“Kara, I need some help over her!”

“Coming Alex”, Kara replies instantly.

She gestures for Winn to follow and quickly crosses back her shop to join her sister in front of it.

“Alex? What the hell?” Kara asks, eyes widening at the sight of her sister’s car. “How did that even happen?”

The blue and white Ford Police Interceptor in front of her is showing various stage of destroyed.

The word “police” usually plastered on the right aisle is scratched beyond readable, with lacerations so deep it almost show the inside of the car in some spots. Both windows on this side of the car are exploded and almost non-existent, aside from some piece of glass still hanging around the corners, and the driver’s door seems to have been hammered with such force it’s now bending in the inside.

“Errr …” Alex starts, looking a little uncomfortable. “I got carried away while chasing this mobster we’ve been after for months and … I didn’t realise the street would be too narrow for the car.”

“On the bright side,” Susan smiles next to Alex. “We got the guy and he’s now going to pay for his crimes!”

Kara doesn’t even smile, looking at the car in utter horror.

“You can fix it, right?” Alex asks, sounding all too hopeful. “The boss says that as long as the car comes back in the shape in which it left, he’s not going to care. Otherwise, it’s …”

“Some disciplinary sentence,” Susan grimaces.

“I …” Kara starts, moving around to circle the car and study the damages. She winces and frowns a lot before coming back to stand in front of the two cops. “I’m going to try but it’s going to take some time.”

“You’re the best, Sis’,” Alex smiles widely, exchanging a relieved glance with Susan. “We’ll come help this weekend, it’s the least we can do.”

Kara nods and then gestures for everyone to follow her back to her office.

It’s going to be a busy couple of days, she thinks.

—

“Another try from Lord Byron-Price?” Alex asks, waving a piece of paper with a golden logo at its top.

“He’s relentless,” Kara replies from under Winn’s car.

“He’s offering more money than either of us can make in a lifetime,” Alex muses, sounding amused. “How many time have you said no, already?”

“This is his ninth attempt,” Kara grunts, struggling to remote a piece of metal that shouldn’t even belong to this specific zone. “I’ll pop some champagne for his tenth try.”

Alex laughs and then walks to her sister, standing on the side of the pit in which Kara’s working, the car above her head and her table of tools next to her.

“Susan’s on her way, she says she wants to stop by Luce to buy some donuts.”

“That’s a bright idea,” Kara says before throwing away the piece of metal she finally managed to remove. “I need some help down here.”

“Sure,” Alex nods. “Let me put on some work clothes, though.”

She steps away, removes her favorite leather jacket and jumps into some red overalls before joining her sister.

“Hellooo!” Winn’s voice echoes in the garage. “Anyone here?”

“Down here Winn, we’re working on your car until Susan gets there,” Kara explains, waving at her friend. “Then we’ll try to do something to fix that police car my sister managed to destroy …”

“Hey! I was only doing my job,” Alex protests, greeting Winn with a wave and a smile before handing over some tools to Kara. “I really didn’t know the street would be too narrow.”

Kara throws her an unamused look and then focuses back on the fuel tank deflectors.

—

She gets a call from an insurance dispatcher one day, asking her to go pick up a car and its owner a few miles away from Midvale. She doesn’t get much more intel, just that the car has broken down on the side of the road.

It’s one of those rainy spring day where the sky is low and grey, where the nature is bending down under the weight of the water and where a cold, bitter wind is adding to the apocalyptic atmosphere.

It’s only when she sees the car that she realises who she is here to pick up.

The blue Ford Mustang is messily parked on the side of the narrow campaign road and with the back of it still on the asphalt, it looks dangerous. The rain is thick and dense, falling on the world like a curtain.

Kara stops her truck ahead of the Mustang and climbs out, running to the car to knock on the driver’s window. She’s already drenched by the time a woman opens it, and the look in her eyes is distraught, slightly distant.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” Kara asks, noticing the shaking hands on the wheel. “Let’s get you out of here, you’ll be more comfortable in my truck while I handle your car.”  

It takes a moment before the woman nods and lets go of the wheel. Kara guides her to the passenger side of her truck and leans over to crank up the heat.

“It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes, don’t worry,” Kara explains before closing the door.

It takes a little longer, because the rain has caused the car to get stuck in the mud. Kara struggles to drag the sport car onto her tow truck’s platform but eventually, it’s all set. She’s shivering when she climbs back in front of the wheel.

“Are you alright?” Kara asks again, glancing at the woman on the passenger’s seat.

She takes in the wet blond hair that barely reaches the woman’s shoulder and the hazel green eyes that still looks a bit distraught. Cat Grant, since it seems to be her, is wearing a navy-blue trench coat Kara recognises as a real Burberry, a pair of blue-jeans that are too well cut to be casual and high-heels of a daring red color. Idly, Kara wonders how it is possible to drive a car as capricious as the Ford Mustang with such impractical shoes.  

“I’m … fine, thank you,” Cat replies with a quick hand gesture Kara doesn’t know how to interpret. “What’s wrong with my car?”

Kara throws her a disbelieving look. She didn’t exactly stay under the rain to have a look under the hood so Cat couldn’t possibly believe Kara would have an answer to that question.

“I don’t know, I have to take it back to the garage to analyse it,” she replies, slowly pulling away from the side of the road and driving them back to Midvale. The pouring rain makes the drive really tricky, with big puddles that catch her tires and slow them down.

“I don’t have time for that,” Cat states, sounding deeply annoyed.

Kara forces herself to stay calm and to mentally count until ten. She should have guessed Cat Grant would be nothing else than a spoiled rich white woman, given who her husband was.

“I have to … pick up my son,” Cat eventually adds, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It’s brief but Kara notices it anyway.

“Oh,” Kara breathes, not having expected such a reasonable reason for Cat’s hurriedness. She quickly thinks and then asks “Hm … when do you need to pick him up?”

“In twenty minutes,” Cat replies after having checked her watch, looking a little surprised at the question.

Kara nods, going over her schedule in her head. She doesn’t have any plan, aside from Winn’s car and the police one. There’s a few repairs she needs to do on James’s bike but it can wait until later.

“If … I can always drop your car in my shop, drive you to the school and then home, if you’d like?”

Now Cat looks positively thrown off at the suggestion.

“I have a real car, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kara adds with a chuckle, knowing her tow truck isn’t exactly classy. Cat’s clearly standing out in it, with her fancy clothes and expensive jewelry.  

“No that’s not … I’m just … surprised, I guess?” Cat sounds a little hesitant, clearly out of her depths. “If it’s not too much trouble though, that would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Kara smiles and then focuses on the road.

—

“A real car, uh …” Cat muses, looking at the red Ford Boss 302 Mustang Kara just unveiled.

“I admit, I don’t drive around much with it, I usually take my bike or my tow truck …” Kara chuckles. She gets rids of her work overalls, washes her hand at the sink next to her locker and gathers her, still a little wet, hair in a high-ponytail. “Is that car alright with you?”

“It’s more than alright, it’s … an honor,” Cat breathes, letting her hand run across the hood of the car. “It’s an iconic car, you know?”

Kara laughs and walks around to open the door for Cat. “Oh I know! It’s a family heirloom of sort.”

Cat sits down and Kara hears her inhale the scent of used, clean leather.

“Not everyone can appreciate the car,” Kara points out as she slides behind the wheel.

“People nowadays, they don’t have any taste,” Cat retorts, with just a hint of disdain. “Do you need the address?”

“No, there’s only one school in this town,” Kara laughs and turns on the engine. She makes it roar just for Cat and the smiles on the woman’s lips is worth it. “I just hope your son doesn’t have Mrs Luthor as a teacher …”

Cat throws her a slightly impressed look. “He does, actually. I’ve heard good things about Lillian Luthor, why would you say something like that?”

Kara slowly exits her private garage and presses a button to close it behind her, before speeding up to reach the school in time.

“I went to school with her daughter Lena, we had her as our teacher and she was … extremely hard to please, let’s put it that way,” Kara explains, stopping at a crossroad and moving again after every cars drove by. “She’s got high standards, which is a good thing, but she doesn’t know how to handle children who are not made for the school system, like I was.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Cat says. Kara can’t help but to frown, wondering if it’s a hidden jab at the fact she’s now a mechanic. “Carter is doing well so far, let’s hope it lasts … his last school experience didn’t go too well.”

Kara hears the notes of regret and anger in Cat’s voice and she chooses not to push. Instead, she takes a few turns and then parks herself in one of the few free spots left in front of the school.

“Smooth driving,” Cat praises before glaring at Kara. “Please don’t do that when Carter’s in the car. He’s crazy about cars and speed, you’d only help his obsession of becoming a car racer.”

Kara laughs at that.

—

Carter’s his mother’s son.

Thirteen years old, not tall but not small either, with dark blond curls around his childish features, freckles over his nose and cheeks and deep blue eyes that sparkle with intelligence, he looks ecstatic when he sees the car.

He jumps and down on his spot, under the umbrella Kara gave his mother so she could go pick him up at the school’s gates.

“Whoa mom, I didn’t know you were going to buy a new car!”

Kara laughs from the driver’s seat. Cat shakes her head, open the backdoor and retorts “It’s not my car, Carter. It’s Kara’s, the mechanic. Say hello.”

“Hi Carter, I’m glad you like my car,” Kara greets him with a wink and a smile.

He looks surprised at first but then quickly recovers and returns the greeting.

“What happened to your car mom?” He asks once Cat’s back in the passenger’s seat.

“It broke down on my way back from National City. Kara was kind enough to offer me to drive me here so I could pick you up and bring you home,” Cat explains, before giving their address to Kara.

That’s when Kara realises she’s about to drive into her enemy’s land.

She doesn’t know if Cat’s aware of her husband’s deals and she doesn’t want to be the one bringing it up, so she simply nods and makes the engine roar, earning a giggle from Carter and another smile from Cat.

—

“You drove Cat Grant and her son back to their home, to the Byron-Price mansion?”

“I did,” Kara confirms, crouching in front of James’s bike while her sister paces the floor behind her.

“Do you realise you’re literally flirting with the enemy?” Alex insists, sounding more than a little alarmed.

“What?” Kara sputters, dropping her tool and stammering. “Who said anything about flirting? I’m not flirting!”

A heavy silence follows her little outburst and she knows she’s screwed.

“Oh my god …” Alex breathes. “You like her. You like Cat Grant.”

Kara retrieves her adjustable wrench and starts to use it on James’s bike, not turning around to avoid showing the blush that slowly creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks.

“I do not,” she tries to pass it off. “I mean, sure she seems nice enough and her son is a car aficionado but that’s pretty much it.”  

“Kara Danvers, look at me,” Alex calls and Kara winces, because there’s no disobeying Alex when she uses that commanding voice.

Slowly, Kara stands up and faces her sister, who takes one glance at her and throws her hands in the air.

“I can’t believe it! Seriously!” Alex exclaims, pacing even harder now. “It’s bad enough that she is married, but she’s not even married to some random dude you know nothing about! She’s the wife of the man who’s been trying to buy off the garage for a year!”

Kara ducks her head and looks down at her feet, feeling a little bad. She knows it’s a disaster, she saw it coming the moment Cat smiled after she’d heard the car roar for the first time but she can’t help herself.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid?” Alex eventually asks, eyes intent on her baby sister. She looks resigned, if not a little worried still.

“I won’t. She’s Cat Grant anyway, CEO of a media empire and married to Lord Byron-Price, with a son, a mansion and I think I even saw a few horses in the domain. I’m just the mechanics, I’ll fix her car and that’s it,” Kara replies with another shrug, trying to hide the hurt and sadness in her tone.

Judging by Alex’s meaningful look, she didn’t succeed.

—

“Hello?”

Kara jerks at the unexpected voice, causing her arm to violently hurt her table of tools and making everything fall with a loud, metallic raucous.

“Kara? Are you alright down here?” Cat asks, sounding worried.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, sorry! You took me by surprise,” Kara explains, picking up her table and then gathering back her tools, fixing her work space before coming out of the pit.

“Hello again, Miss Grant,” Kara greets, taking a look at her dirty hands and choosing to wave instead of going for the usual handshake. She laughs and then teases “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

It makes Cat smile, amusement shining in her hazel green eyes. She’s wearing her navy-blue trench coat again, opened on a grey pull over that looks impossibly soft and a pair of black trousers that fits her legs in a very flattering way. She’s perched on heels again but not the red ones, Kara notices.

“I came to see you about my car,” Cat replies, gesturing toward the blue Mustang under which Kara had been working since she woke up.

“You do know I have a phone, right?” Kara tilts her head with an amused smile.

“Do you, now? I wondered, since you’re not answering …” Cat retorts, looking a little smug.

Kara moves to go pick up her cellphone and sees that she has indeed a lot of missed calls, including some from Lucy, Alex and Winn.

“Eh, my bad. I’ve been working on your car all morning,” Kara explains, walking up to her locker to wash her hands before coming back in front of Cat.

“Dedicated, I see,” Cat smiles, looking back and forth between her car and Kara’s face.

“I don’t often have the occasion of working on such cool cars, it’s pretty cool,” Kara shrugs and grabs back her phone to shoot a text to Alex.

“So what’s wrong with it?” Cat asks, walking toward the blue Mustang held in the air.

“I don’t know yet,” Kara explains, joining her a few seconds later. “I’ve changed a few things for the suspensions and the brakes, since you’ve been using those a lot more than a normal person should, but I didn’t find the issue yet.”

Cat looks a little sad and Kara asks “Don’t you have another car you can use in the meantime?”

“I’m using one of my husband’s but it’s not the same,” Cat explains and Kara closes off a little at the mention of Cat’s spouse. “It’s a regular Ford, nothing comparable to this little piece of art.”

Kara has to agree, because the Mustang is really well built, with a lot of nice options and it must be a dream to drive, despite its temperament.

“When can I expect it back?” Cat asks, focusing back on Kara. The hazel of her eyes is fascinating to watch, intense and sparkling.

“I don’t know, I’d say something like a week because I don’t have too much work for the moment, so I can focus on your car,” Kara thinks out loud, glancing back at the Mustang and then at the Police car.

“You have … something … on your cheek,” Cat says, bringing Kara’s attention back to her. Cat’s pointing at something on her right cheek so Kara uses the sleeve of her work overalls to try to wipe it.

It causes Cat to laugh.

“You’re only spreading it,” Cat explains and she pulls off a tissue from one of her pockets, approaching it from Kara with a question in her eyes.

Kara doesn’t know how to react so she only nods and lets Cat take care of it, whatever it is. Cat smells like spring, like the grass after the rain and with hints of lemon and spices. She looks concentrated as she conscientiously erases whatever it is that stains Kara’s face. It leaves Kara speechless and a little breathless.

“There you go,” Cat says, showing off the dirty trace on her tissue. She looks pleased.

“Uh … Thank you,” Kara manages to say, still dazzled.

“You’re welcome. Give me a call once my car is ready?” Cat asks, handing over her card. It has a blue and grey logo on it, that says CatCo. “My personal number is on the back.”

After that, she leaves without another word, the sound of her heels fading away.

—

“Miss Danvers, what a surprise!”

Kara freezes, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. It’s not who she expected and she angrily stares at the CatCo card, already feeling betrayed.

“Lord Byron-Price. You’re not who I was calling,” Kara greets, coolly. “I’m simply calling to let your wife know her car is ready, she can come pick it up whenever she’s free.”

“Why thank you,” the man replies, sounding amused. “I’m surprised you agreed to handle Cat’s car.”

Kara greets her teeth and forces herself to stay calm before replying “It’s just business.”

“Is it, now?” Alaric asks, smugly. “I’ve been told you don’t have much work these days … Have you thought some more about my latest proposal?”

Kara recalls her last talk with Cat, how she said she could focus on the Mustang because she didn’t have much to do. The feeling of betrayal grows and settles, bringing with it the bitter taste of disappointment.

“I have, and my answer is still the same,” Kara replies. “Have a good evening, Lord Byron-Price.”

Kara hangs up before he could answer and sits down in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” Alex says, making Kara startle.

“I didn’t hear you come in … ” Kara arches a brow.

“You really should buy a new lock for your back door,” Alex replies, as matter-of-factly as she can sound. “Anyway. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

Kara nods but doesn’t answer. Alex doesn’t push it, simply moving to go grab a couple of beers in the fridge, handing one over to her sister before sitting down in front of the desk.

“Business’s not going so good, uh?”

“That’s … an understatement,” Kara sighs, looking at the papers spread on her desk. “I might not even have a choice in a few months, I’d have to hand my garage over to him.”

Her phone goes off and Kara recognize the number she’s just called. Cat’s number. She ignores it and turns her phone face down against the desk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alex asks, settling in more comfortably in her chair.

“Nah. I’m tempted to ask Lena for an investment but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea and beside, it’d only serve to buy me some time,” Kara explains, finishing her beer in a few gulps. “I think the end’s unavoidable …”

Alex doesn’t say anything after that.

—

“You’re not answering my calls.”

Kara doesn’t startle this time, she’s hear the heels before Cat spoke. She’s bent over the hood of Winn’s car and trying to fix a tiny leak that causes the engine to drown, provoking the many breakdowns she’s been wondering about.

“I left a message with your husband,” Kara replies, not even bothering with facing Cat. Her own voice echoes around her head.

“So it seems, yes,” Cat replies, her voice short and slightly angry.

“I fixed the wrong contact in the wire that caused a short-circuit chain reaction, it’s as good as new. Keys are on the contact, you can leave with it,” Kara continues, blindly reaching to her side to grab another tool.

There’s a silence behind her, only troubled by her own grunts as she struggles to screw on a tiny bolt on the side of the engine.

“How much do I owe you?” Cat eventually asks and Kara sees red.

She stands back up and throws her tool on the table before turning around. She’s tied the upper part of her work overalls around her hips today and her tank top is drenched with sweat, oil and grease. She grabs a relatively clean cloth and uses it to wipe her hands on it as she stares at Cat.

“I don’t want your money, Miss Grant,” She calmly states, lifting her chin up. “Your husband has been trying to buy my garage for over a year now, I’m not accepting anything that might come from him.”

Cat looks utterly appalled, so much that Kara wonders if she knew about it. Then, anger flares in the hazel green eyes and Cat steps forward, coming to stand into Kara’s personal space.

“What year do you think this is? Who do you think I am, exactly?” Cat bites, looking furious and slightly hurt, if Kara really looks. “I don’t need a man to make money, Kara. I never needed a man for anything, I’ve been making it on my own since I’m 16 and I don’t like you implying that I’m some kind of trophy wife!”

Kara returns the heated glare and doesn’t back off, despite the fact she can smell Cat’s dizzying perfume and see the freckles of gold that swirl in the hazel green eyes.

“You didn’t even know, right?” Kara accuses, her voice low but clear. A hint of guilt gleams in Cat’s eyes. “You don’t know what your husband has done to my business, my reputation even. You might not be a trophy wife, but you’re just as oblivious as one.”

Cat steps even closer and now they’re standing just inches away from each other.

“You take that back, Miss Danvers. You don’t know me, you don’t know my husband” Cat threats, anger dancing in the hazel of her eyes.

“Do you? Know your husband, I mean,” Kara attacks right back and for a second, she thinks Cat is about to slap her.

Instead, Cat leans forward and crashes her lips on Kara’s.

It’s a bruising kiss, heavy with anger, resentment and so much passion. Kara’s hands drop the cloth she’s been holding and wrap around Cat’s body, pulling her closer. Their tongues dance and explore, collide. Cat reaches out and wrap one hand around Kara’s neck,  the other one closing on Kara’s shoulder, fingernails already digging in the thin tank top.

It lasts and Kara finds herself leaning against the hood of Winn’s car, holding Cat and drowning in their kiss. Cat instinctively tilts her head and Kara takes advantage of it, leaving Cat’s lips to trail down to her jawline.

It’s only when one of Kara’s hand venture under the helm of Cat’s shirt that Cat pulls back, eyes wide and hooded, breath laboured and irregular.

“We can’t. It’s not … I’m …” Cat struggles to just breathe and Kara’s no better. Her head is spinning and the heady scent of lemon and spice screw with her focus.

“ … married,” Kara finishes, eventually regaining some form of composure.

Cat looks impossibly desperate at that, so lost and small that Kara just wants to hold her again, to kiss her until she’s smiling but she can’t. Cat’s married and this isn’t right.

“You should leave, Cat. Keys are on the contact,” Kara repeats and she turns around to hide the hot tears that are already gathering in her eyes.

She grabs back her adjusting wrench and bends over Winn’s car, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.

It takes a while but eventually, Cat’s heels walk away.

—

“Cat? What are you–” Kara stops right in her track, taking in the sight of Cat in front of her.

Cat’s been crying, there’s a reddish glow around her eyes and her make-up’s all messed up. Her hair is damp from the rain that’s beating down the street and her clothes are soaked through, crumpled and even ripped in some place. The most alarming parts, though, are the already darkening bruise on her jawline, the impressive, bleeding cut on the side of her head and the split on her lips.

“What the fuck? Are you alright? Come on in,” Kara opens her door and gently grabs one of Cat’s wrist to pull her in. She immediately guides Cat through her apartment to the bathroom, making her sit on the edge of the bath tube. She helps her out of her Trench and drops the wet piece of cloth in the laundry basket near the washing machine.

“Don’t move,” Kara orders and she leaves for a few minutes. When she comes back, she hands over a glass of what smells like Bourbon to Cat and then opens a drawer, pulling out an impressive pharmacy box.

“I’m going to disinfect everything, it’s going to sting,” Kara announces and Cat simply nods, seemingly too out of it to react.

Kara’s careful and gentle but firm, she doesn’t let Cat pull away when it hurts. She takes care of all the injuries and fixes them as best as she can, before rummaging around to find some tiger balm.

“This is going to hurt, Cat,” Kara explains, digging two fingers in the small can of medicine before approaching them from Cat’s jawline. With her other hand, she gently holds Cat’s face in place while she massages the darkening skin. She’s slow and careful, tender even.

“What happened, Cat? Did Alaric do this to you?” Kara asks, ready to drive over there and beat the shit out of him.

“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare raise his hand on me,” Cat retorts, a little of her usual fire returning to her. Kara doesn’t show it but she feels relieved at that. “I … we had an argument, about him wanting to buy your property.”

Kara freezes for a second but then returns to massaging Cat’s skin. The balm is penetrating the epidermis with difficulty, so she keeps at it.

“I’m … You didn’t have to …” Kara tries to say but Cat places a hand around her wrist, holding her in place.

“I wanted to know,” Cat whispers, looking a little forlorn. “I’ve been living in my own world for a long, long time Kara, I never paid enough attention to anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara replies. “It must not have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, no. I realise he … did this to other people, not just you. He’s been slowly buying out the whole town, you’re just one of the very few people standing up to him. It made me realise that I didn’t know him, at all. You were right, you know? I didn’t know my husband, at all.”

Kara doesn’t even try to deny it. She simply stops touching Cat, observing the result with attention before deeming it satisfying. She pulls away to go wash her hands.

“We got into a massive argument, at the end of which I asked for a divorce,” Cat lets out a strangled, dry chuckle. “He didn’t take it too well, we yelled some more and eventually, I left. I drove too fast, it was raining, I didn’t even know where to go … I crashed against a tree, not too far from here. Hence the injuries.”

Kara turns back to glare at Cat, looking really annoyed.

“Again, I do have a phone you know?”

“Would you have picked up, seeing my name on it?” Cat defies, eyes gleaming.

Kara doesn’t reply right away, thinking back on it. Eventually, she shakes her head no because she’s been too hurt to deal with Cat, in any capacity.

“I figured so,” Cat replies, hurt audible in her tone.

“Where’s Carter?” Kara asks, a little concerned at the idea of the young boy being alone with Alaric.

“With his father, in Metropolis,” Cat explains. “Carter’s the result of my first marriage, I only married Alaric two years ago.”

Kara thinks it makes sense, especially since Carter doesn’t look like Alaric at all.

“Do you want another drink?” Kara asks, gesturing to Cat’s empty glass.

Cat nods and Kara makes a motion for Cat to follow her back to the kitchen. Cat sits down at the kitchen’s bar and waits until Kara places the whole bottle in front of her.

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Kara offers, leaning back against her kitchen in front of Cat. “I’ll make up the guest room for you.”

“Thank you,” Cat replies, pouring herself another glass of alcohol.  

Kara doesn’t linger and goes to prepare the guest room.

—

“Do you know how bad this looks?” Alex hisses through her greeted teeth.

“I know!” Kara groans, handing over the right car key to a customer, who thanked her with a big smile and a firm handshake.

“I don’t think you do! For the love of God Kara, she’s going through a divorce! She can’t live with you!” Alex stresses, starting to pace in front of Kara’s desk.

“It’s not like that!” Kara protests, trying not to blush. “She’s in the guest room and nothing ever happened, I swear!”

“That’s not even the point Kara,” Alex rolls her eyes, looking impatient. “How do you think this will look for the divorce attorneys? She’s got a lot to lose, you know?”

Kara pauses at that. She never thought about it, especially not since Cat seems to be so comfortable in Kara’s place. She didn’t think about the divorce attorneys or any kind of official procedures and Alex has a point, it could look bad.

“I’ll … talk to her about it,” Kara eventually sighs. She doesn’t want Cat to move out, it’s been surprisingly nice to have some company, even as prickly and impossible as Cat is. Still, it’s the right thing to do.

“Do that,” Alex nods and waves at her sister before leaving the office.

—

“You want me to move out?” Cat asks, looking as hurt as she sounds.

“I don’t want to, no, but I think you have to,” Kara sighs, pouring herself another glass of wine. “What about the divorce procedure? I’m guessing your husband has an army of divorce attorneys looking for flaws to ping on you so he can get the most out of it … How does you living at my place might look, to the outside world?”

Cat opens her mouth but nothing comes out and so she closes it, looking thoughtful. It takes a little while, during which Kara switches to a beer because Cat’s wine is all good and fancy but it’s not her type.

“You … might have a point,” Cat finally concedes and she looks a little sad.

“Don’t worry Cat, as soon as the divorce’s official, if you want to keep living here you can,” Kara says without thinking, instinctively reacting to the look in Cat’s eyes. It takes a second before she realises what she just did.

“I mean, you have a lot of money and a media empire in National City, you probably should buy something there but you know, in the meantime … I mean …” Kara stammers and blushes, cursing herself in her mind.

Cat looks terribly amused now, which is a step up from the sad look but Kara feels like a fool.

“Why thank you, Kara,” Cat smiles. “I’ll consider it.”

“Whatever,” Kara mumbles and busies herself with her beer to avoid looking into Cat’s amused eyes.

—

“Whoa, what’s happening?” Alex asks, staring at the line of people waiting outside of Kara’s office, at the back of the garage.

“Hey Alex,” Winn greets, emerging from the pit in a dark blue work overalls. “Apparently, the divorce didn’t go so well for Lord Byron-Price and to be able to stay afloat, he had to sell a lot of properties back to their rightful owners. People have been coming back for weeks now, tourism is starting up again and with it, businesses.”

“That’s nice,” Susan quips from her spot against the fixed police car. “I take it Kara’s been busy with work?”

Winn nods and then throws a knowing look at Alex.

“She’s been a little out of it though. Cat hasn’t been back to Midvale since she left, right after their talk about Cat living with Kara at the beginning of the divorce …”

“That bad, uh,” Susan says and Alex sighs.

“I’ll handle it tonight. We’re having game night at Luce’s, I’ll talk to her then.”

Winn nods and goes back into the pit while Alex and Susan climb back into their car.

—

“Hello Kara,” Cat greets the moment Kara opens her door.

“Miss Grant,” Kara replies, arching a surprised brow. “Long time no see … What brings you to this neighborhood?”

Cat smiles and waves at her blue Mustang parked behind her.

“Care to join me for a ride? I have something I want to show you.”

Kara blinks and then frowns. Cat’s looking expectant, there’s some trepidation in her hazel eyes and the smile on her lips is genuine, wide. She’s wearing a simple but very elegant green summer dress that exposes her arms and her legs, but no heels.

“Alright,” Kara eventually agrees, grabbing her keys, her phone and her wallet before she closes behind her.

The ride is quiet but comfortable and after a little while, Kara notices they’re driving toward the ocean.

After one last swerve, Cat turns to take a smaller path that leads toward a beautiful beach house, located atop a cliff that overlook the ocean.

“See, you asked what brings me to this neighborhood … Well. I live here now,” Cat says as she parks in front of the house.

Kara exits the car and takes a few steps toward the house before she gets almost tackled to the ground by a teenager with dark blond curls and sparkling blue eyes.

“Hey Kara! Welcome to our house!” Carter greets her, hugging her tightly. “Come on, come see the view from the back of the house, it’s amazing!”

“I bet it is, kid! Lead the way,” Kara laughs, glancing back at Cat before following the young boy.

The house is huge and decorated with taste. It’s obvious the people living in it have money but somehow, it’s simple and homey, cozy. Kara walks across big rooms with wooden floor and soft tones, wide glasses that let the sunlight in and allow a really beautiful view of the ocean, beyond the well maintained gardens.

Eventually, she steps out in the back and walks with Carter to the end of the gardens, almost at the edge of the cliff. The ocean is spreading in front of them, joining the horizon in the far beyond in a simple line defined by two different shades of blue.

“It’s amazing indeed,” Kara breathes, inhaling the distinct scent of salt water and sand. “You’re very lucky to live here!”

Carter beams at her and then runs away back into the house. It’s Cat who comes to stand next to Kara.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back,” Cat starts, sounding a little hesitant. “The divorce didn’t exactly go as planned, at first.”

Kara frowns “It clearly turned at your advantage though, because Lord Byron-Price had to sell back a lot of the town’s properties, people have been moving back in and our business has never been better …”

“We’ve turned the tables around, yes,” Cat smirks, looking a little smug. “Turns out, he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, I only had to press on it …”

“This is a fine house, in any case,” Kara smiles, turning her head to face Cat.

“It is, yes. I’m hoping you’d … consider moving in with us, one day.”

“That was fast,” Kara laughs. “You lived with me for a few weeks and it’s all it takes for you to ask me to move in with you? Damn, woman, you’re impossible.”

Kara steps forward and reaches a hand to lift Cat’s chin.

“How about we go on a real date first?.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me out?” Cat smiles, golden sparkles of happiness floating in the hazel of her eyes.  

“Well, yes, it’s about time don’t you think?” Kara retorts, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s soft and tender but it’s also oddly familiar, for two people who only kissed once before.

It feels like coming home, Kara thinks as Cat’s lips open against her own

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt.3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 3

Chapter 3

This Isn't A Peace Talk

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child Words: 2.3k+ Warnings: SO MUCH ANGER AND SQUABBLING

Summary:

I get to use my mech skills, but also I have a fight with the bounty hunter.

Notes:

I don't know why it took so long to get this chapter out, but it's here now!!!

Thanks for reading!

Homecoming Masterlist

***GIF NOT MINE***

The hours bled into one another as we flew ever closer to the Mandalorian’s destination, and I was becoming nightmarishly restless. After checking the patched wiring in the hold’s crawlspace and tinkering with a few spare parts in need of cleaning, I snooped around the hold some more. Most of the hold was empty, except for a couple of crates marked FOOD AND MEDICAL and half-dozen still-frozen bounties in the carbonite lockers. With nothing to do and a whole lotta time to do it in, I prowled about the lower decks in tight figure-eights, much like a wild creature stuck in an observation tank. The boredom was driving me bonkers.

Unable to take the utter lack of stimulation anymore, I grabbed a portable equipment chest in one hand, shouldered the diagnostics kit on the opposite, and made my way precariously up the ladder to the top deck.

It didn’t take long for the bounty hunter to find me, borrowed tools scattered around me and a diagnostics pad in hand, pottering around the engineering room with grease smudged across my forehead.

“I told you to stay put,” the Mandalorian gruffed, nearly tripping over me. I sat cross-legged on the floor, running a simple program to check on the aural sensors. I glanced up at him dubiously. His fingers brushed his blaster in a convulsive if threatening manner.

“You told me to stay out of your way. Engineering isn’t anywhere near in your way, unless you deviate from your way on purpose.” I stopped, trying to sort out what exactly I meant by that. But I batted it away with a hmph. I didn’t have time to figure out my own nonsense. “Besides, can’t a person ogle another person’s band limiter cuffs without the third degree?” Still seated in front of the sensor panel, I craned my neck over my shoulder and up, agitated at the interruption.

The visor tilted upwards, contemplating. Gloved fingertips drummed on the pistol’s grip until he sighed deliberately and relaxed his arm. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just - don’t break anything important.”

“I’m a blackthumb. If I break it, I’ll fix it better,” I said, forcefully bright and smiling. The little diagnostics computer dinged. I unplugged it and stood up, stretching the kinks from my spine. Sidestepping the Mandalorian, I slapped his pauldron good-naturedly as I slithered past him and into the bay.

“I do want to take a look at your pressors, though. This ol’ girl ‘bout rattled the teeth out of my head when she came out of hyperspace. May also need to tweak the conversion module to keep up with all that new tech you’ve got back there,” I said, easily falling back into Professional Mechanic Mode. Making my way to the cockpit, I crawled underneath the control deck, holding a pen light between my teeth as I lay on my back and surveyed the wiring system.

A tiny, warm body flopped onto my legs, and I was delighted to see that the child had come to join me. He scrambled up my thighs, across my belly and came to rest on my chest. Big ears wiggling happily, the kid propped his chin in his hands and stared at me intently. I removed the flashlight from my mouth and wedged it between my neck and shoulder, making it easier to talk to him.

I happened to be in the middle of explaining the intricacies of navcomp programming to my rapt pupil when the toe of the hunter’s boot nudged my hip.

“What?” I asked curtly as the long mental list of small improvements faded from my mind. By then my hands were caked in carbon dust, and the child made no move to slide off of me. Resigning to my fate, I signaled for the Mandalorian to continue with whatever it was he had to say; I wasn’t going to be moving out from under the control deck any time soon.

A flutter of cloth on steel, and the bounty hunter was in my space, crouching beside the pilot’s chair, his helmet parallel to the lip of the deck.

“What are you doing to my ship.” His tone was smooth yet menacing.

Rolling my eyes, I shooed the child off of me and clambered out from under the panel. The Mandalorian had retreated to the door while I’d wriggled out. Brushing dirty fingers across the chest of my jumpsuit, I sunk heavily into the co-pilot’s seat, scratching my forehead with my opened multitool. The little one trundled to me from out of the console’s shadows and tugged at my pantleg until I was obliged to pick him up. He held a small silver object tightly in his grubby little hands, and he ferreted it away underneath his tunic as soon as he settled onto my lap.

“Just a few minor adjustments and reroutes. Nothing too fancy or critical. Did you know this ship was stripped by Jawas?” I gestured animatedly with my custom multi-purpose tool. “I wouldn’t have noticed with how amazing the rebuild was, but I could tell by the wiring harness modifications. Distinctly Jawa scavenged mods.” Grinning stupidly, I shook my head in amazement. “Whoever rebuilt the Crest sure knew what they were doing!”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter replied, a little more brusquely than I thought the conversation warranted. He leaned against the cockpit’s door frame, arms crossed and exuding false indifference. He was strangely emotive for how much beskar covered his body.

“No doshing way?” I exclaimed. The prospect of Jawas intrigued me to no end; they were a scavenging people, mainly dealing in mech and droids. Their methods of acquiring said mech and droids could be considered loosely in the vicinity of ethical, if you squinted really hard, but they always did have the best stuff.

The Mandalorian stared out into the inky dark of space, starlight blurring over the silvery dome of his helmet. He cleared his throat, started to say something and then stopped. I waited patiently, the prickly curiosity holding my jittery nerves in place. The kid whined and made grabby hands at my multitool, so I folded it back into itself and gave it to him. It looked absurdly gigantic in his tiny fingers, but he gnawed on it with gusto.

A sigh crackled over the bounty hunter’s vocoder. “An Ugna- my friend. His name was Kuiil. He negotiated to get all the parts back from the Jawas, and then he-he helped me repair the Razor Crest.” The tension he had been holding suddenly dissipated, and his shoulders sagged in something akin to relief. His breastplate rose and fell in a juttering, painful beat, and the strangled sigh of modulated air buzzing from his helmet told me everything I needed to know. Whoever Kuiil had happened to be, I knew that he must have been a very good friend to the Mandalorian, and his loss was still felt across hyperspace.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The bounty hunter huffed. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”

“Not gone, merely marching far away,” I murmured in turn.

The Mandalorian stilled. For a beat, neither of us moved. The silence widened the already substantial gap between us, sweeping away what little bit of common ground we had found purchase on. Having that tiny foothold crumble beneath me in a matter of seconds set me on edge. I didn’t like him any more than he liked me; our mutual dislike for one another had turned into something more, something almost companion-like. But since I had to go and open my big dumb mouth, we were back to Square One.

The kid let out a loud, wet snerkt!, pulling us both out of our respective thoughts.

Arms uncrossing and leather gloves tightening into fists at his sides, the bounty hunter took the two steps from the doorway to the co-pilot’s chair. Without a sound, he took the slumbering child from my arms and stomped off to his quarters.

“I -” A tiny kernel of guilt blared in warning. “Wait, I didn’t mean to- ah, blast it,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. I hadn’t meant any disrespect to his friend, or his Creed. I only knew enough Mando’a to get me into trouble, and I hoped I hadn’t overstepped any boundaries by saying the tribute in Basic. Fiddling with my multitool for a long moment, I tried to come up with some sort of apology that would convey my cultural misstep.

Wracking my brain for Mando’a phrases to express my regrets at my choice of words, I didn’t hear him return to the cockpit.

Huffing once more, the bounty hunter startled me from my guilt trip. I averted my eyes, swallowed my pride and braced myself to deliver an apology. “Look, bud. I’m not good with-”

“Where did you get this?” he asked, cutting me off from my apology.

“What are you -”

“Where did you get this necklace??” he repeated, hissing through his teeth.

Silver flashed into my field of vision. I blinked a few times, my eyes refusing to believe what the bounty hunter dangled in front of my face. “Wha-” My voice cracked dangerously. I couldn’t believe it. It was my pendant. My eyes followed the Mythosaur skull as it swung back and forth, mouth gaping in astonishment. A small spark of Hope rekindled somewhere deep down inside my chest, clearing a slim but bright path through the anger and the guilt that had been dogging me for the past several days.

“My - my..” I said weakly, tears pricking at my eyes. “Where did -”

The hunter lunged suddenly, slamming both fists down on the armrests on either side of me. I yelped in surprise, shrinking back in the co-pilot’s chair. Pinned in, I could do nothing more than stare at him, confused.

“This shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t be yours.”

The small, flickering flame of Hope guttered out, and once more I was cold and empty and full of rage.

“What gives you the right?” I spat. I leaned as far forward as the hunter’s presence would allow, my nose almost pressed against the beskar helmet. “You don’t know me. You don’t know where I came from, or what I’ve done to get here. All I am to you is a bounty that went wrong. It’s not up to you to decide what I can or can’t have.” Chest heaving and fists clenched together in my lap, I stared down the Mandalorian. I was too confused to be scared of what he could do to me, too pissed off to care about his reasons.

That pendant was mine. And I wanted it back.

The Mandalorian’s blank, glassy facade didn’t move. No words, no sounds escaped his modulator. Hot waves of anger rolled off of him, anger that I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. The co-pilot’s seat trembled underneath me, but I wasn’t sure if the movement was his or my own.

“Give it back,” I growled, finally breaking the silence. “It’s mine.”

“No.” The rumbling baritone was tense, straining against his control. His whole body held unspeakable amounts of emotion, and he was unwilling, or unable, to let it go.

“Bastard.” I swung up from my hips, clipping the lip of his helmet smartly with my clasped fists.

He stumbled back, dropping the necklace as both hands came up to straighten his helmet. Seeing an opening, I rushed the bounty hunter, driving my left shoulder into his side and pushing him into the opposite wall. With a roar, he ducked out of my grasp, using his momentum to kick out at my knees. I dodged sideways, his boot only grazing my shins. Now off-balanced, I staggered back and tripped over my own feet. I took a nosedive, landing heavily on the pilot’s seat. The air was knocked from my lungs, and for a moment too long I was dazed. At that opportunity, the Mandalorian grabbed the back of my collar and hauled me out of the chair.

“Hrrkt!” I choked, scrabbling to loosen the stranglehold my jumpsuit currently had on my neck.

“Last time. Where. Did. You. Get. This.” With each word, the hunter shook me like a ragdoll. The calm he exuded was frightening in comparison to the violence he was promising.

“Uunrkt,” I replied.

The Mandalorian released the back of my jumpsuit, and I crumpled, catching myself on the pilot’s seat. Pressing my forehead into the roughly-woven seat cushion, I panted laboriously. Tears were streaming down my face. I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose on my sleeve before I spoke.

“That is mine. It was given to me by my caretaker.” The anger I had been feeling melted into sadness. I was tired of fighting the emotion, so I embraced it, allowing myself to finally feel. “It’s the only thing I have left.” I broke off with a sob, burying my face in my hands.

“What was his name.”

I went rigid. Names held power, even I knew that growing up where I did. But he was dead, so surely the issue was moot? At least, I hoped he was dead. The alternatives to why he never returned hurt my heart too much to bear.

“You wouldn’t’ve known him,” I said thickly.

“Try me,” the hunter said gruffly.

I couldn’t get around it now. Even if he wasn’t dead, sharing his name with one of his brethren probably wasn’t the worst thing I could do.

But, then again, if he wasn’t dead, that meant I didn’t owe him anything for leaving me behind.

“Reyn. His name was Drys Reyn.”